We were at it again, I was yelling at him, screaming about his infidelity. He could never stay true to me; he is a sex addict. I wish he could keep himself limited to a somewhat reasonable point that I could satisfy, but ho often cannot wait for me. He’s like a drug addict; he doesn’t care about what his addiction does to me, as long as he gets his fix. As long as he gets that fix he’ll be fine.
“Dan, why can’t you just stay true to me?” I screamed at him.
“Jamie, you’re never here to satisfy any of my needs. You don’t care about the fact that I have a problem. If you were here for me more often then I wouldn’t be out with other women!” He stomped into the next room. I chased after him.
“If you could just keep your pants zipped until I got home, for crying’ out loud than maybe you wouldn’t be with every women in the city. God knows what kind of diseases you brought into my home, into my bed!” I thought about this every time he had been with another woman. I worry about this when he comes with lipstick on him, perfume lurking and an uneventful face. What if he got another woman pregnant? What if he got a disease? What If he gave it to me? I don’t know what I would do.
I can’t believe I let my marriage turn into the hell it’s become. My marriage was supposed to be different. It was supposed to be all happiness, beautiful children, and ripe love until rotten age. Why didn’t I see this before we got married? When we were engaged he cheated on me once, with Sylvia, my maid of honor. I didn’t find out until well after our wedding and even our honeymoon. One night were sitting in the kitchen making love on the table after I had made lasagna when the doorbell rang. We quickly and threw our clothes on and I ran to the door. Daniel was washing up in the bathroom when I opened the door to see Sylvia standing there. “Jamie, we have to talk,” she said to me.
“What’s the matter?” I could tell something was bothering her; I could see it in her eyes and face.
“Let me just get it out and say it. The day before your wedding, I slept with Dan. He came onto me, and it was the rehearsal dinner so I was drunk,” she began to sob. My face turned quickly from the happiness to see her to a slumping frown. She kept on about details and how she was sorry, but I couldn’t listen to her. I was too devastated. After she left, Dan had pretty much figured out that I knew what had happened. I sat in my bed for three days crying about what had happened. On the third day Dan explained his addiction to me. He explained how it would never happen again, and I believed him, that time.
It all rehashed again when Dan and I were fighting. As much as it hurt when he slept with strangers, it hurt worse when it’s with someone I know, like Sylvia, and that time he slept with my mother. It happened pretty much the same way with my mother as it did with Sylvia, but this time my dad told me. Dan was the reason my parents got divorced. But I stayed with him, because I wanted to make it work.
This time we were fighting about a stranger. But somehow, whether it was a stranger or not, I always found out. I just knew, I could tell in his face. But this, this was the last straw. I can’t take this anymore. I can’t let him hurt me again. I can’t live like this. Dan sat on our bed, where he had brought several girls to make love to them, in my bed; he talked about how much he loved me and wanted me to forgive him, again. I walked behind him and began to kiss him on the neck, telling him I forgave him. “I’ll forgive you but you can’t do this to me anymore. You must promise,” I said slowly undoing his shirt.
“Oh, I promise,” he turned around and kissed me on the mouth, I could feel the other women on him, feel their mouths on him, their bodies on him, their warmth around him.
“Close your eyes.” I said and motioned him towards the top of the bed. I grabbed the pair of panty hose I wore earlier that day, and tied his hands to the bed. He stuck his feet under the covers and we began to kiss. He opened his eyes and looked at me. I took my hand and blanketed it over his eyes forcing his to shut them. I looked on the floor, and there was a pair of ruby red underwear, not mine. I reached down and grabbed the pair of underwear, while his eyes were still shut, slipped them around his neck, and placed my hands over the underwear and began to squeeze. I squeezed his neck so hard, he deserved this for all the things he had done to me. He hurt me more than he could imagine. I could almost see the blood vessels bursting in his neck. His arms flailed trying to get me off of him. He eyes slammed open. He stared at me, his eyes bulging out of his head. He could not move his feet because, my backside rested on his hips, and his feet were tangled in the blankets. He soon began to stop struggling. He finally stopped and after a few minutes began to turn a deep blue. I stepped up off his body, leaving him strung out on the bed. He always liked being in someone else’s underwear, only this pair was his last. I felt empowered and strong. I finally felt like I was in control of my emotions. I wanted to do the same to everyone who had hurt me. I untied Dan’s hands and placed his body and the pair of underwear in an old suitcase I used on our honeymoon. I walked out of our apartment and stepped down the two flights of stairs that led to the lobby of my New York City apartment. I carried it out the door and around to the back of the building to throw it in the dumpster. Just as I got there, I heard a loud screech of tires stopping, it was the dumpster company, “Let me take that for you,” said one man. I handed him the suitcase, “umph, this suitcase is heavy! What do you have in here bricks?” he said as he groaned and threw it into the dumpster.
“Oh no, just some old crap I needed to get rid of,” I smiled.
“Ok, George lift her up,” he yelled to the driver in the front seat of the large truck. Slowly the dumpster lifted into the air and I watched as all the trash and the suitcase fell into the truck to be sent to a landfill.
“Thank you” I said as I headed off towards my mothers, but not until after I stopped at Sylvia’s.