February Sucs - Qmattempt

FEBRUARY SUCKS - QM's Resolution

STATION BREAK and LARP, the last two short stories of the WHIRLWIND collection, are both kicking my butt - writer's-block extraordinaire. So I went back to complete an old project in the hope it would shake some other inspirations loose.

A truly amazing story on the site is George Anderson's FEBRUARY SUCKS. If you haven't read it, then you should:

www.literotica.com/s/february-sucks

It is endlessly thought-provoking (and if you haven't, then this alternative ending won't make much sense!). Even if you have, you should probably re-read it and savor it again (or become outraged, or any one of a blizzard of emotions!). One of the truly fascinating aspects is the incredible number of alternate endings this array of creative minds here have come up with. If anyone is puzzling over what to do for a dissertation for a Ph.D. in Literature or Psychology, my vote would be to analyze this phenomenon.

My favorite alternate version is SaddleTramp1956's version, FEBRUARY SUCKS - BIG TIME, and while I admit a certain appreciation for some of the alternatives which end in gunfire, I cheer for the versions which have 'Jilted Jim' assemble a reception committee of family and friends to greet the much-vilified Linda when the Asshole brings her home. She deserves every ounce of humiliation which can be heaped upon her cheating head.

Anyway, I really appreciate the blanket permission given by Mr. Anderson to permit all of these marvelous flights of fancy. So, despite the fact that many have noted that they could be just a tad weary of 'one more version', I succumbed to temptation and wanted to offer up my own brainstorm. I admit I haven't read every version - yet - but while I know for certain this is not the most creative, or the most bloody, or the funniest, or most tragic, I think that there are at least a few unique elements which I hope might make it worthwhile. Jim has been a lot of things - a former Special Forces operative, a closet millionaire, a hapless dolt, an avenging angel, accident victim, etc., but I don't think this version is too common.

WARNING: This is not a BTB, though Linda gets pretty badly burned, in multiple ways. It does feature a reconciliation (eventually). That is one of the reasons for the length (which is long, I admit; a betrayal like that is NOT easily overcome). There are also some religious elements, as I find them necessary to overcome the level of pain and humiliation involved. I figure that if SaddleTramp1956 can redeem Cheryl, one of the most vile of villainesses (

www.literotica.com/s/cheryls-lament

), then there has to be a fragment of hope, even for Linda. I thank him very much for his beta-read! Any errors left are mine alone! Constructive feedback is always appreciated.

But for the BTBers, if you are proceeding at your own risk, there is a warning included before the reconciliation.

##### Preface #####

My version starts at Jim and Linda's home, with Jim having spent a sleepless and infuriating night failing to avoid thinking about his wife, the love of his life, the mother of his children, having a sex romp in the mansion of a local celebrity athlete rather than the luxury hotel suite he had splurged on for their 'special night'. It is the afternoon of the next day, and he hears the "Asshole's" extravagant, high-powered car roar up into the driveway and hears the opening and shutting of the car door, and heads over to the baseball bat he has stashed by the door, and he braces himself to tell Linda exactly what he thinks of her betrayal as he pummels the entitled, arrogant, miserable bastard who would do such a thing, just because he could...

##### Action #####

Jim paced the living room with barely repressed rage. His blood pressure was probably astronomical over unbelievable. The cuff would probably explode if anyone tried to measure it. He was acutely aware that his mood was cycling wildly from rage, to despair, to numb disbelief, and then back. Linda, his WIFE, the love of his life, the mother of their two children... at least he had always THOUGHT they were HIS children, but how the HELL was he to feel about that NOW?!... had abandoned his carefully crafted special romantic night together for a sex romp in the mansion of a local celebrity athlete. It was only the mind-blowingly surreal nature of the situation that was probably keeping him from a heart attack. He desperately wanted this to be a ludicrous nightmare and to wake up next to Linda in the hotel room after a rousing night of their own lovemaking.

But that didn't happen, did it? He hammered his fist against the wall, and the pictures bounced.

And the taunting, XXX-rated pictures and videoclips which Marc Asshole LeValliere had been sending him periodically through the night...! They tore his chest open like heart surgery without anesthetic and using a chainsaw.

He was literally torn between solving the problem with his hunting rifle and crumpling up like a wad of discarded aluminum foil. Greeting the Asshole and the Slut with a hail of bullets was a serious option, but he didn't want to leave the kids with one dead and one imprisoned parent. DAMN HER! DAMN HIM!

And to heap stinking insult on top of grotesque humiliation, it was after NOON! Hadn't one night of fucking been sufficient to crush him, they had to spend the morning too?!

His seething hate was interrupted by the deep throbbing of a high performance automotive engine. It became audible far down the street, zoomed nearer, and then stopped in the driveway, rumbling to itself. Jim stalked toward the front door. He had put a baseball bat near the door very deliberately last night. Someone was going to pay! He would shatter the flashy car and knock the Asshole's nuts into the next county!

The front door burst open and Linda literally flew in.

She was less than neat. Her special blue dress was torn in some places, and open in others. Her lack of underwear was obvious. Jim noticed THAT quickly, like a smack in the face. He did not notice her bloodshot, glassy eyes as she shot past and up the stairs. Her schoolgirl squeal finally penetrated the dense fog of his rage: "He said I was the best he ever had! The BEST! He had SOOOO many orgasms! He wants to marry me and carry me off to his mansion in the sky!"

Jim froze, totally bewildered. What the absolute fu...?!

Jim vaguely heard her flinging drawers open and throwing open the closet doors. In less than a minute she ran back down the stairs with her small travel suitcase. Portions of lingerie were hanging out of the hastily closed lid.

"Sorry, Jim! Marc's lawyer will take care of the paperwork! I'm off to the glorious life Marc promised. The life he told me that I deserve!"

She tugged the door shut behind her with a resounding thump, and seconds later, the high-power engine peeled out of the driveway to an impressive squealing of tires.

Jim stood staring at the door, his mind completely numb.

Seconds later his phone beeped the tune of an incoming message, but he was beyond hearing it and didn't move.

Fifteen months later...

Jim moved mechanically about the empty house, cleaning and tidying up. Emma and Tommy wouldn't be back for almost two weeks, but it was easier to keep things neat than go through a spasm of cleaning later. Child Protective Services had been by several times since the family stopped being 'intact'. Visits by CPS were evidently the occupational hazard of a single dad, especially one with... issues. He gave them coffee and answered their questions. They were all aware of his situation by now, but they had a job to do. They had to respond to every nasty anonymous phone call sent by one of his less-than-understanding neighbors or acquaintances. One CPS agent actually apologized by now, and brought oatmeal raisin cookies.

He had had DNA test done on the kids as soon as he was released from observation. His parents had been relieved that the grandchildren were theirs by blood. Her parents were relieved that their daughter hadn't been a tramp her ENTIRE life. He simply crossed off getting the birth certificates changed and looking for back child support off of his list. It also meant that suing Linda for Paternity Fraud could be crossed off.

When the kids were home, there was always a CD or DVD playing, at least for background noise. When he was alone, he didn't bother. Well other than a 'white noise' audio file to occasionally help him get to sleep if his biofeedback exercises didn't help. Many would have found the quietness of the house oppressive or creepy, but he found it soothing and easier to concentrate in.

While he usually cooked, dinner tonight had been a microwave meal. But at least it was a healthy one. It stated as much on the package. If not, it would be false advertising. He liked it quiet when he exercised, too; it helped him concentrate on the body mechanics, and the various martial arts forms. That kept his mind occupied in a healthy way. His therapist had assured him of that, so it must be true.

He was headed to the study to put in some time in on his company laptop on the Gunderson Project when it happened.

The home security system chimed quietly. That caught his attention. Seconds later there was a quiet, urgent knocking at the front door. That was... unusual. Someone had chosen to avoid the obvious doorbell even though the integral LED should have made it stand out. As if the person knocking was desperate but did not want to attract any other attention. Jim knew that unusual things could be dangerous and moved toward it cautiously. The screen of the doorbell camera revealed a not-too-tall person of slight build, wearing a hooded windbreaker, fidgeting nervously and looking around. There was only one. They had no obvious weapons and he was much taller and heavier than the person on the porch. He decided to respond.

He opened the door.

And there was Linda.

This was unexpected.

His sensei had taught him in the dojo that when faced with an unexpected threat, assume the classic defensive form immediately. This did not seem necessary. She was disheveled, and her hoodie had a large red splotch high on the left side of her chest. The scent of blood confirmed his initial impression. He was pleased at his correct evaluation.

He dismissed her as a threat and his eyes flicked to the driveway. No car. And then the curbside. No car. Certainly not a flashy, expensive vehicle like the Asshole had probably driven into their driveway that afternoon. How had she arrived here? Walking? Uber? Hitchhiking? The Asshole's mansion was 6.5 miles away, straight line distance; 8.1 mile by surface streets. It was puzzling and he was challenged by puzzles.

Linda darted past him, spitting out sharply, "For God's sake, shut the door!"

Jim shut the door but did not lock it. He opened one of the closets in the hall and pulled out his bug-out backpack and slid the medical kit out of its pocket.

Linda was pulling the curtains tightly shut in the living room with her right arm. She gritted her teeth. "I need keys. Let me take a car and I'll be out of your hair."

"No. First you have to stop bleeding. Remove the hoodie and blouse and sit there." He pointed at the ottoman.

She looked at him strangely. He just looked back; not quite blankly, but without any significant emotion. Finally she sat down and struggled out of her windbreaker and blouse with only one hand. She dropped wearily onto the ottoman.

He looked at her as she awkwardly peeled off the hoodie. It had no hole, but did have blood on the inside. The blouse had a hole in it, surrounded by blood, though mostly in the downward direction. There was a bloody hole in her shoulder but the blood was not freely pumping out so her arteries were intact. He glanced at her back. No exit wound. The bullet was still inside. He certainly wasn't going to go digging for it. Many past veterans lived long lives with inoperable bullets lodged inside them. He also knew that others died unexpectedly when the bullets shifted. Not his problem.

He could not affect the future. Well, the bleeding had to be controlled. He had helped Tommy with his first aid merit badge, and had taken the gun safety course getting his hunting license. He sterilized the area with alcohol wipes, which caused her to bite off a yelp. He ignored it and pulled out the trauma pack and covered the wound with coagulant. He pulled out a gauze pad, doubled it, and pasted it securely in place with tape. While doing that, he took note of some scars and what looked like small, circular burns on Linda's chest and back. Her bra was revealing, and, in fact, did not hide what looked like a couple of old bite marks on her breasts. Her eyes were closed and her facial expression was sad and weary. He took only a couple of steps to the clothes basket on the stairs going up and pulled out a shirt he had not yet ironed. He tossed the bloody blouse into a nearby wastebasket. He assumed that there must be some logical explanation for her showing up here rather than an emergency room somewhere, though he admitted that Linda was hardly a logical person. Once he got answers, she would have to go to a proper medical facility.

He was vaguely... unsettled... not having answers; answers were important.

He nudged Linda's uninjured shoulder and her eyes popped open. He handed her the shirt. "All of your clothes were given away or sent to your parents, but you will need something to wear."

She looked at him vaguely for a moment, as if puzzled; as if finding him here was as unreal as him finding her here.

"What the hell is the matter with you?" she snapped sarcastically in a strange tone as she grabbed the shirt and struggled into it. She moaned quietly. He assumed it involved pain. He took a plastic pouch and a bottle from the medical kit and shook out three ibuprofen gel-caps and held them out. She glared at him for a moment, and then snatched them and gulped them down. He ripped the corner off a sealed pouch of water and handed it to her. She looked at it suspiciously, and then squeezed it into her mouth.

"What do you mean," Jim responded, flatly, sitting on the coffee table and looking at her like a biologist looking through a microscope at the 100

th

slide of the day.

"After more than a year and me just showing up, wounded and bleeding, on the doorstep, I would expect you to slam the door on me, or curse me out, or make an endless string of snide comments."

"That is not important. It is more important to know why you got shot and for you not to bleed all over the carpet and furniture. I have cleaned."

She glared at him for a moment, then shook her head tiredly and looked around. "Where are the kids?"

"They went camping with my parents for two weeks. Tommy needed to do a number of things for Scouts, and my mother thought we could use a break from each other. I have a list of things to accomplish. I succeed at things. This makes me useful. This gives me purpose."

"I would have liked to have seen them." Linda looked momentarily distracted, almost wistful, but then snapped back into tired, sad... and pissed. "I just need a car. Loan me a car. You'll get it back, I promise." She winced slightly at his blank expression and looked away. "I realize my promises might not mean a lot," she admitted, suddenly subdued.

"Why do you need a car?"

"The car I stole from the mansion is probably trackable. I left it by the park and walked the last few blocks."

"Why do you need a car," Jim persisted in an absolutely level tone.

"I need to get to Lafayette, Louisiana."

"Why do you need to get to Lafayette, Louisiana."

"It doesn't matter. I just need to get there," she shot back, and then winced and readjusted her position.

"You are wearing an ankle bracelet," Jim observed. "You had never worn one before."

Linda glanced down and blushed, putting her legs back down. "All the... women... around the mansion wear them. Kind of have to wear them. We can talk about it later."

"We will talk about it later," Jim repeated, as if actually filing it away in a mental drawer somewhere.

There was a quiet 'ping' that sounded through the house, and a light above the front door went from green to red.

"What is that?" Linda asked, warily.

"Security system," Jim said, sliding the med kit back into the backpack and taking out his phone, with one finger tapping it quickly. "I installed it after you left. There was some annoying media interest sporadically until the divorce, and there were some kids and neighbors who were less than kind and got up to some hurtful vandalism. The system has been tripped and I am checking the cameras." He peered intently at the image as Linda looked on with skyrocketing anxiety.

"Yes, a car has parked across the end of my driveway. Two men have exited. One remains in the car, while the other two are approaching the house. It is growing dark and I do not see any bystanders or neighbors out."

Linda started to get up, and then her eyes snapped wide open when Jim pushed her gently, but very, very firmly back down. "Do nothing until I tell you. Panic kills more people than bullets."

"That is not the best thing to tell someone who's already toting a bullet around inside them," She shot back in a hoarse whisper.

"One is coming to the front door. The other is circling around; presumably to the back door." He grabbed her wrist and pulled her up. Fortunately it wasn't the one attached to her wounded shoulder. "Do as I tell you and be quiet." He choose not to tell her that the pair were carrying guns. She was emotional and might make a noise. His sensei always instructed him to deal with the situation as it was, so he would.

He pulled her after him as he went to the front door. He slid back the coat closet door behind the front door and pulled her in next to him. He held a finger to his lips and then peered intently at the phone.

Linda bit her lip and fidgeted frantically, but slowed at Jim's frown.

The knob of the front door turned, slowly and quietly, and then it began to ease open. Linda was about to scream when the silenced barrel of a pistol came out from behind the door and eased into the entrance hallway.

Jim lifted his leg, braced himself against the back of the closet. And then kicked the door, driving it nearly all the way shut with all his weight and strength in a lightning fast move.

There was the sound of a man biting off a scream as the forearm cracked as it was caught between the door and the jamb. Before Linda could finish the thought of screaming, Jim lunged forward, grabbed the arm still clutching the gun, and heaved the man into the room while twisting. The fracture turned into a compound fracture as bone splinters tore through the skin. The man started to scream but this was cut short as he stumbled forward and Jim put a hand behind his head and slammed his forehead into the back of a hardwood shoe cubby next to the door with a sickening crack. The man dropped, motionless, to the floor.

Jim thought that his sensei would be pleased.

The gun clattered to the floor as the intruder collapsed. Jim scooped it up and tossed it onto the top of the grandfather clock in the hallway, where it disappeared behind the fretwork crowning the seven-foot tall antique. He closed and locked the front door. They suddenly heard a pounding coming from the back door, and the crash of breaking glass.

"Come," he ordered, grabbing the backpack and striding toward the kitchen. He tossed his phone on the kitchen table.

"Don't you want your phone?" Linda hissed, gesturing at the table.

"No. Everyone knows it is my phone. The number is many places in records accessible to a good hacker. I have another phone in my pack. That one is not associated with my name. Hurry."