Hi guys! It feels like it's been forever. I'm sorry for the (really long) wait for this chapter.
It's been a busy few months.
The reception for Ch. 07 was quite mixed, but I think a few people are still reading and I hope they enjoy Ch. 08. Thanks for all the comments/messages. Your constructive feedback is always much appreciated.
As always, I remind readers that this is a work of fiction, and as much as I hope for a crossover to reality sometimes, it's not. Any mentions of political figures/police are also fictional.
Let me know what you think in the comments.
Ch. 09 (entitled Linda's Parents) is being penned now, and I'm hoping for a prompt publish.
I've always found the most unsettling of dreams to be the ones that run uncomfortably closely parallel to reality. They're the kind of dreams that have you sweating on waking, disoriented and looking around the room frantically, trying to determine whether the events imagined actually happened. The dreams that stay in your mind, hours after waking from them, confused by your subconscious effort to make rationalise things.
The dream I had last night was one of the most unsettling experiences I can ever remember having, offering no comfort or escapism from the nightmare that has become my life, and leading me to wake up relievedly, almost thankful to be in the camp bed, far removed from the abyss of my worsened imaginings.
***
The dream had started in the living room of my marital home, the one I'd shared happily with Tom for eleven years. The one that's now redesigned to Linda's specification.
The television news theme had blared loudly, and a smartly dressed newsreader had appeared on the screen, sat behind an oak desk in a news studio, shuffling a pile of papers and looking sombrely into the camera.
"This is BBC news at six," she'd cordially announced.
"Investigations continue today, into the case of Gabrielle, whose life as an administration clerk and wife completely changed when her capabilities of the latter were found to be grossly insufficient.
Gabrielle has been revealed to have subjected her long-suffering husband Tom to spousal negligence and sexual inadequacy for years, while maintaining the outward appearance of marital bliss. Last night, a police spokesperson announced that Tom's new partner Linda, has been nominated for an MBE as thanks for her benevolent actions to liberate him from his desperate plight and for providing him with a happy, functional relationship in which to thrive in."
The newsreader had sustained her serious expression as she'd continued to speak.
"The prime minister also issued a statement this morning, appearing to speak directly to Tom and expressing a 'deep personal understanding' of loveless marriages. He voiced a profound empathy for Tom in his suffering and extended his thanks to Linda for her heroic interventions and for becoming a suitable life partner to him. During the subsequent questions, the prime minister commended Linda's keeping of Gabrielle in the couple's home, despite the monumental failings she'd made during her years as a wife. We go now to the Midlands, where our Spousal Relations correspondent is standing by, as the scene unfolds."
The screen had flashed, changing to show a view of our house. A bespectacled reporter had stood at the edge of the driveway, talking inaudibly to someone off camera. When he'd realised that he was being broadcast, he'd straightened his posture, and adopted a portentous expression.
"Thank you, Karen," he'd said.
"I'm currently standing in Franklin Street, once a seemingly happy home to Gabrielle and her husband Tom. A series of reports by the BBC this week, however, have revealed that the perceived happiness behind the walls of this house were merely an illusion. Despite satisfied appearances, Tom was deeply unhappy here, deprived of his fundamental needs and severely lacking sexual stimulation, sometimes for months at a time."
He'd paused to let the enormity of his statement sink in before continuing.
"We spoke to one of the former couple's neighbours a few moments ago, who felt that the warning signs of Tom's suffering were there all along."
Pre-recorded footage had been played, showing one of our immediate neighbours, a portly red-faced man, being interviewed by the reporter.
"In hindsight, I think it was quite clear how miserable Tom really was. He never really talked to anyone and always looked serious," he'd recalled, pompously, trying to sound knowledgeable about the matter.
"Did you ever try to find out what was happening inside the house?" the reporter had asked.
The man had cleared his throat and furrowed his eyebrows, buying himself time to think of an answer.
"Well, no, we didn't. Tom never reached out to anyone, so what could we really do? Knowing what I know now, I think he was trying to be strong and just 'get on with' it. If we had have known we would've done something, of course. The whole street is in shock at what was going on. I mean, six weeks without a blowjob. From his wife? It's criminal! We all feel guilty about not seeing the signs earlier," he'd rationalised.