Friends and anger 1.

Posted by Pointman on August 24, 2018 · 11 Comments 

Bang, bang, bang on your front door. There’s a certain recognition in the cadence it’s done. Too quick and five seconds later you have cops all over you looking for some results from the probable cause warrant they’ve wangled out of some sympathetic judge. This one is different, it’s more knock, knock, knock. A quiet knock. This is a request to open up rather than a token prelude to breaking down the door.

You open the door and she’s there. The left side of her face is freshly swollen up. Hit by a right hander and he knows exactly who that person was. The anger arises like a vomit gorge in him. He has to press down very hard on the control pedal and be a good boy. They’d never been lovers because they’d always somehow managed to have other lovers they were invested in at the time, but they’d always been friends. Friends in a deep way.

She starts talking, trying to explain but he pulls her in and closes the door behind her. Fuckit. She’s made it, she’s safe. Hush up my dear. They’ve been through this routine a couple of times before and his gaff has become a safe place of haven for her to flee to. He hates the fucker with a burning ferocity that can barely be contained. One day, and it’s a sure thing, he’s going to pay him a long and painful visit, and that day is not that distant.

They do a couple of hours of him listening and her explaining about why it was all somehow her fault. All the noddies are done and eventually he steers her into his bedroom. He leaves her sitting on the side of the bed and it’s somehow a forlorn sigh from despair to see the poor lonely bitch sitting on the side of it. The plan is she’s supposed to nod off while he does another impromptu night on the couch.

He sits and reads an obscure writer and time passes. After fifteen minutes, he peeks into his bedroom. She’s still there, sitting exactly as he placed her on the edge of his bed. So much for plans. It’s time to go a bit more active. Life has a habit of interfering with the best laid plans.

He removes her shoes and unbuttons her top and she shucks out of it. He unzips her skirt and takes it off her. She’s nearly robotic. It breaks his heart. How any man could do so much damage to such a delicate fawn like her is beyond his comprehension. He lifts the quilt and presses her head down gently onto the pillow. He lifts her legs and pops them underneath the covers and can feel her letting go, relaxing. He covers her over with the quilt before heading back to the living room.

Please don’t leave me alone.

He pauses before the bedroom door.

Please.

He returns to sit on the other side of the bed and a long think.

Eventually he stands up and starts to undress. She watches him dispassionately. When he’s naked, he lifts the quilt and gets into bed beside her. He puts his right arm out over her head and she lifts it automatically to accept the gesture of affection.

She rolls into him and under his protective arm and is soon deep asleep and covered. He can’t sleep. The anger is just too much burning in him. Unless something is done, the bastard will kill her in the end.

He decides that’ll never happen.

©Pointman

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