Hey, It's Payback Time, Ex-Husband

Julia Forster

2 A.M.

People often tell that you will grow used to it, but how exactly does one become accustomed to conditions like these? The unrelentingly frigid air in Los Angeles caused me to tremble all the way down to my bones, and I pulled my covers around me even more firmly as a result. It was just another night when I was hit with another wave of dread, and I felt even more isolated than before. But how exactly can one become accustomed to situations like these? It is a sensation that may break down even the strongest barriers, because no one should have to go through the filth that they are experiencing.

A shattered doll it would appear; have I reached the point where I am nothing more than a trophy wife for my husband to flaunt, or am I still valuable in some other way? Even if he has not arrived at home yet, I still have a general sense of what the other man is doing at this very time.

Think about someone who is stubbornly clinging to something that is doing nothing but causing them harm; imagine a terrible chain of circumstances that would make you want to give that person a good choking and force them to face the harsh realities of their situation. However, that is a cliché that is used almost exclusively in fairy tales since those stories always have a happy conclusion.

This is the way things actually are, and there is no such thing as a happy ending for everybody. Even if you had the entire planet in your hands, time would still pass through it just like water. You have no choice but to stand there and sob as you watch it slip away from you.

As I reposition myself in our bed, a bed that we have shared for years at this point, the tears fall from my face as my thoughts, as is typical, have taken a disturbing turn, causing me to imagine the very thing that my husband is doing at the moment: I imagine him looking at me with a blank expression on his face as he stares at the ceiling.

She was wailing loudly as the man penetrated her private regions, and each thrust he made was filled with an animalistic hunger that borders on nothing but passion. She was ecstatic. They weren't doing anything out of love for one another; rather, it was all about the pleasure they were getting from it.

The lady groans from below him as he continues to separate her. Each thrust was followed by a splattering sound as her body fluids poured into the bed that they were sharing. "Oh fuck yes, that's it honey, fuck me real well with that huge, filthy cock of yours," she says. The lady implores the guy with puppy eyes, "You're so nice hon, keep fucking me like that please," and the man responds by accelerating each thrust of his member into the woman. "You're so good hon, keep fucking me like that please."

"You enjoy that, right, you prudish little snob! " The guy growls now as he stretches the woman's legs by extending his arms forward. He was almost at the level of the woman's ear when he did this, and she shouted from the pure pleasure of it. "Yeah, you can have the whole thing. Take all I'm giving you, you filthy slut!"

"Oh yeah! Oh, absolutely, honey, you may call me your slut. I am your little sister! Take me for your own! Toss me about as if there is no tomorrow! The woman let out a scream as she felt him deep within her, the force of his penis pushing furiously into her, and her internal organs being rearranged as a result.

The man, who was not accustomed to having his intelligence questioned in this manner, became agitated as the lady teased him, "Fuck me even harder, is that the best you can do?!"

He put his hands around her throat and began to choke her. She was sputtering now, trying to fight against his force but the man was too strong for her. "What the fuck did you say?" he said in a deadly whisper now as the woman grinned smugly at him. He put his hands around her throat and began to choke her. He was still piercing her as he continued to thrust and fuck her despite the fact that he was already inside of her. Before he released her, her face had already begun to turn blue, and she was gasping for oxygen and breathing fast while also attempting to resist his rhythmic thrusts that had become far more intense.

He struck her before she could fully recover from the initial shock and collect her breath. It sounded like the snap of a whip, and it reverberated throughout the dim room where they were as he continued to smack her while he raped her. The woman was so broken down and humiliated by her treatment that she was now moaning and crying.

"You got that right. You should be ashamed of yourself, you miserable harlot! You don't even exist in my eyes! NOTHING!" the man yelled as he yanked violently and forcefully on the woman's hair while he held it in his hands and yanked on it.

The man who was fucking the lady in pain was a crazed individual who the woman had somehow transformed into something different after she had only trampled on his ego. The woman screamed in anguish while the man was doing it.

"I am going to cum inside you slut," the other person said. The man said under his breath as he began to build up to his climax, "You will take every fucking drop of it!"

My eyes fly wide with a gasp as I try to comprehend the severity of the situation. It is getting progressively more difficult, like walking through a funhouse of mirrors that is warping reality rather than your reflection this time. I had caught him a number of times, to the point where anybody else would have given up and left, but I stuck by his side the entire time. I was still here despite the fact that I did not fully understand the reasons why.

I had thought that maybe things might change, but it's too late for anything at this point. Perhaps this is what he was, or perhaps I am clinging to a hope that will never be realized even if it is possible that this is the case. Maybe. It's possible that this is what the future holds for me. Perhaps he is unable to love at all, and all he wants is for someone to understand him. Perhaps the challenges of life had been too great for him.

As I struggled against the onslaught of maybes that were playing over and over in my thoughts, the door eventually opened, and I saw his silhouette approach the room where I was sleeping.

After turning on the lamp next to the bed and looking in that direction, I saw him standing there. He was looking at me with a confused and irritated expression. His features were worthy of being sculpted by Michelangelo, but his hair, which he wore slicked back most of the time, was a mess. His button-up long sleeves were frayed, and some of the buttons were in the wrong position. His button-up long sleeves were frayed. His button-up long sleeves were frayed. Love bites covered his neck and portions of his chest, and at first I assumed the red stains on his face were blood but upon closer inspection I realized they were lipstick stains. His face was covered in lipstick stains, and his neck and parts of his breast were covered in love bites.

I ask him in a calm tone, "So, you are home," and his response is simply a grunt that says, "Where have you been, love?"

He greeted me with quiet, an iciness that I had been accustomed to by this point, and I, being the naive idiot that I am, had no choice but to continue questioning him despite the fact that I was aware of what he had done.

Who were you hanging out with? I continue, doing my best to keep up the appearance of composure, despite the fact that, in reality, I am becoming increasingly anxious about the impending storm that is directly in front of him.

My husband eventually opened his mouth to respond, and the first thing he said to me was, "You talk too much." His tone was like a raging inferno, one that radiated rage and indignation towards the listener.