Once Bitten

Just doing a 750 word trial. Nothing serious, a bit derivative, but we all have to try new things, and for me, it's the shortened format.

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We had an argument again this morning. Another in a number of recent verbal fights. Subsequently, Melinda was not prepared to take our six year old son, Jarrod, to school, even though it was her day off. It left me scrambling to drive the twenty minutes out of my way to get him there on time. It was becoming a habit, and I was certain that she did it just to annoy me.

I sat, watching him waddle into the school grounds, dwarfed by his overly large Paw Patrol backpack. Once more I was going to be late for work, though thankfully I had an understanding boss and a flexible working arrangement.

I started to retrace my path, wending my way through the morning traffic to the office. I was mad because of the fight, the inconvenience and also for having had no coffee. The last reason saw me swing a few more minutes out of my way to get one from The Bean Counter.

It was a quaint little coffee shop and cafe, offering seating inside and out, as well as a hole in the wall for takeaway. I stood at the window, and placed my regular order for an extra large cappuccino with an extra shot and an ANZAC biscuit.

As I waited for my beverage and treat, I gazed into the cafe itself, passing the time with an absent minded peek at the patrons.

It was then that my blood ran cold.

I leaned through the takeaway window, beckoning to the barista, Kay, who I would usually chat aimlessly with. She was young, chubby, and very gregarious, a good trait for anyone slinging cups.

"Kay, how many times has my wife been in here with that man?" I asked through gritted teeth.

Kay looked over her shoulder then back at me, and I could see her worry.

"Every week for a month or so now, but they just sit and talk. I've never seen anything inappropriate if you're concerned." Her normal vivacious voice had dropped to a hush with her nervousness. "I'm not lying," she followed up. "I'd tell you if they were doing things that they shouldn't be."

"Oh, they are doing things that they shouldn't be. Don't worry about that." I said pointedly, as I left her with an open mouth but no more words.

I walked deliberately, steadily, into the cafe, grabbing a spare seat as I did. Neither Melinda nor Patrick saw me, not until I swung the chair around and sat down in it at their table.

"Sorry bud," Patrick began. Then he saw me, saw my face, and went deathly quiet.

Melinda for all that it was worth, had a panicked expression, but that didn't stop her talking. "This isn't anything to worry about, Mark. Patrick and I just ran into each other."

"Shut up Mel," I said icily. "Another lie. Kay told me you've been coming in here with this asshole for about a month now. And," I continued, in an ever hardening voice. "The deal was that you never saw or spoke to him again."

"We're just friends..." she began, trembling. Patrick tried to stand, looking to flee, but I gripped his arm and held fast. He was much smaller and weaker than I was, and with my hand holding him, he slumped back down.

"No, you are not. I forgave you once, even though every fibre in my body screamed at me to cast you aside. You begged me, your family begged me, even my own family begged me to give you another chance. And I did. But for what? For a faithless, lying, cheating bitch."

I shook my head, I was done. "I took you back with the understanding you would never have contact with him again. But look at you now. I guess every morning that we had a fight and I had to take Jarrod, that you've been meeting up with your lover here."

Mel started to sob, Patrick was quivering in fear. The other patrons were watching, the staff were worried about violence breaking out.

"We aren't lovers, not anymore."

"I don't believe you. Why should I?" I said as I rose.

"We're over. It took all of my compassion to forgive your first affair. Now you've been lying to me again, meeting up with your boyfriend. It's up to the lawyers now and the postnup." She started to sob, but I didn't care.

"And you," I turned to Patrick. "Your days are numbered."