The sun came up, peeking through the beige curtains and his eyes remained open. So empty. He was so empty, he doubted he’d ever be full again. The bottle of bourbon was as drained as he felt. Twenty days. It had been 20 day’s since she’d left him.
He counted the days on his fingers as his wife snored by his side. Twenty days. It added up to what felt like an eternity. He couldn’t go on like this. So tired he couldn’t will his brain to rest.
He somehow struggled to his feet and went downstairs. There he uncapped a fresh bottle of bourbon and chugged. The whiskey should have scorched his throat. It didn’t. He was beyond feeling anything by now.
He opened up the newspaper and tried to read. The words swirled in front of him. Would he ever feel whole.
“Would you like me to fix you some coffee? she asked, wiping the sleep from her eyes.
He grunted and trudged up the stairs. Maybe he would finally be able to sleep alone in his bed. He laid his head on the pillow and it felt as hard as a rock.
The phone rang, piercing shrill in his addled brain.
“I’ll be back,” she said. “When I get back, I’ll fix us a nice breakfast.”
Whatever. Nothing would feel him. Nothing with sate him. Nothing but her.
The door slammed closed. The phone. Yes, the phone. He cupped the phone in his hand and dialed the number by memory, willing her to answer.
Her voice made the room stop spinning.
“I love you, Dess.”
“No,” she said. “If you loved me, you would be here with me.”
“Okay, then that is what I will do.”
They made plans. He’d go in the morning to the bank. He’d get in his plane. To hell with them all. He’d go to her.
“I love you, Dess.”
Another empty bottle of bourbon. One more phone call. Now he could finally sleep.
Twenty years later and the decision had been made. No more tug of war. He was finally at peace.
He drifted off to sleep rationalizing he’d let her keep the house, her shop, whatever she wanted. Whatever it would take to get her to let him go. She could even have part if his business if she wanted it. Everyone else had their hands stuck in the pie. Two more hands wouldn’t matter all that much.
They would be okay. Dess had a house in Raleigh. He could see the her house here and they could live off that money for awhile. Then he’d call Crockett or maybe even Vince. It might be nice not to have to put his own cash on the line. Unless.
Fire shot through his jaw. He opened his eyes and saw her standing over him holding his gun. No, this wasn’t right. She wouldn’t, couldn’t do this to him, not her not his wife of over thirty years. His eye followed the barrel of the gun. He felt the steel press into his temple. There was a loud boob. Then he saw clouds. Big fat, fluffy grey clouds.
Nothing mattered now.
He looked down at his blood splattered body and what was left of his face.
His head didn’t hurt any more.
He could sleep.
Please excuse any typos or bad grammar as I channel this. I just wanted to get it down while he was sharing this with me.