Editor's Note: this fictional work contains non-sexual graphic violence.
This is a short, violent BTB for
ChloeTzang
's Hammered event. Hey, sometimes I like a nice popcorn revenge flick, too. Thanks for giving me a chance to indulge, Chloe!
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My bitch was the best girl I could ever hope to have in my life. Greta was smart as a whip, loyal to a fault, friendly, protective of me, and came quickly when I wanted her to. She also had a shiny coat, terrible breath, and drooled nonstop. I had bought the Doberman to keep my wife, Kelsey, safe while I traveled, but she didn't want to help with the training Greta needed as a puppy.
Greta's original commands were all in German, at the advice of a trainer, but I taught her a subset of simple ones in English for Kelsey. Greta bonded with me rather than my wife; she was mine, but she watched over my wife while I was away, because Kelsey was also mine. Or so I had thought.
It wasn't any surprise, therefore, that she was waiting patiently for me as I opened the door to our home. Greta, that is; Kelsey was nowhere to be seen. I patted her head and was rewarded with a loving lick on the hand. I'd never entirely eliminated that tic, but we all have our eccentricities. The overgrown pup whined at me; she could always tell when I was stressed. "It's okay, girl. It'll all be okay." I hoped it was. I hoped it would be.
Kelsey and I had argued before I left; not for the first time, and not even for the first time about this subject. When we met just after college, we had talked long and hard about the important issues before we got in too deep. She'd had a bad breakup her sophomore year that had destroyed her trust in men and their promises. One subject we discussed was the issue of children. We both agreed that we wanted them, but she'd waffled on that in the eight years since we married.
Finally, before my latest trip, we argued about it again. This time, though, we made up before I left, and she told me she'd be ready to start trying for kids when I got back. But there was something... something off about how she said it. The words she used. Her phrasing. I couldn't put my finger on it, but they made me uneasy. And, on my return, I could tell Greta was uneasy, too, more than she should have been just from mirroring my mood. Her submissive manner bore no relation to the usual behavior of my goofy, happy girl.
I heard Kelsey call out from the living room, "We're in here, Aaron." We? Someone else was in the house. I knew why Greta was on edge. Why I was, too. A home feels different when there's an intruder in it.
"C'mon, girl." We rounded the corner from the entryway to the living room and found Kelsey sitting on the couch next to a man that seemed strangely familiar in a way I couldn't quite place. Sitting on the couch, and sitting too close to him.
They stood as I entered, and he extended his hand. "Julien St. Croix. Kelsey's told me so much about you, Aaron." Now I knew; it was Kelsey's asshole ex, the one that broke her heart. I took his hand and found that his grip was firm; then he tried to make it crushing, attempting to assert dominance. I hadn't liked him when I first saw him, and now I despised him.
He was a tall man, almost half a head taller than me. A brilliant smile manufactured by the best orthodontists money could buy. Immaculately dressed in casual clothes that would cost the entire sweatshop crew that made them a decade's pay. A muscular physique honed on the latest machines by a string of personal trainers. Blonde and tanned, like a Ken doll, with about as much character. Everything about him screamed "unearned, unexamined privilege." He was everything I hated in a person, the rich kid born on third base who insisted he hit a triple.
I started at home plate with two strikes and a crooked umpire. My parents both worked, and we still needed food stamps. I worked my way through college and was crushed under student debt. I built my muscle through hard work at my night job, then maintained it with the free weights I could use at the rec center. He had show muscle, bulk without much strength. I had real muscle, strength without much bulk.
The flesh and bone vice squeezing Julien St. Croix's hand showed him some things only come from hard work. Shithead gritted his teeth and broke away first, then clenched and unclenched a fist as he tried to recover. "Quite a grip there, Aaron."
Kelsey got in between us, voice nervous. "Aaron, how was your trip?"
I looked back and forth at them, then at how she stood. She wasn't trying to stop a fight; not really. Her stance reflected her priorities: she was protecting him from me but unconcerned with what he might do to me. "It was good until I got home. What's the prettyboy doing here?"
He bristled, but Kelsey said, "Let's all calm down. We've already gotten off on the wrong foot, and there's a lot we need to talk about." She motioned for Julien to sit, then asked, "Would you like something to drink, Aaron?"
"No. What do you mean we have a lot to talk about?"
Her smile seemed forced, an undercurrent of worry rippling behind it. "Why don't you sit, Aaron?" Not "honey." Not "babe." Kelsey almost always used a pet name when addressing me. She hadn't once since I'd gotten home. My irritation was turning to a sinking feeling.
