Day 298 – The Salesman – Part 8

Word count: 641

Brian laughed all the way home. The mad old woman had not only made his day, but had made his month. It was exactly what he had needed all these months: laughter. He was almost tempted to go back and hear more of her request – perhaps she’d made up a whole backstory, perhaps she wanted more people in her family dead.
Cruising back home in his old banger of a car, he parked in the drive way and bounced up the stairs into the flat. He couldn’t wait, in some nostalgic and innocent way, to tell his wife. A long time ago – though not really so long ago – she would have nearly wet herself with laughter. They would have giggled about it for weeks, probably months. It would have been something they’d have told all the guests at parties – that time where Brian got offered the hitman job… but Brian didn’t get back to that reception.

Michelle was in the living room dressed in nothing but her towel. She was looking for something it seemed. The TV was on. She looked surprised to see him when he opened the door.
“Oh sorry, I’ll get back in my room…”
“No, you don’t have to go – you don’t have to leave…”
“No, sorry, I shouldn’t. Not like this.”
“Come on Shelly, you never used to feel this way…”
She blushed, almost as if she were a teenager again.
“You look beautiful.”
“Stop it, Brian. Please.”
She was angry.
“Why do you always do this?”
“Do what? We agreed. You keep pushing.”
Brian’s stomached turned. He had been so happy. Now it all felt like as if he had been foolish to think that he could ever have a normal conversation with this bitch. She was always like this – as soon as things were vaguely nice, vaguely normal –vaguely civil – she would retreat into herself and treat him like a criminal.
“Then why do you do this?”
“What?” she scowled.
“This? You always do it. Every time I’m happy, you have to eat away it. You have to treat me like crap every time we talk properly like we actually care about each other, you make sure you stamp it out.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she tried to dismiss him, tightening her towel and heading back towards the bedroom.
At that moment the bedroom door opened and Brian’s stomach flipped. A man stood in the door way, boxers only. He was perfect. Muscles, abs, stomach toned and his legs were fantastic. He was everything that Brian wasn’t.
“What’s going on?” he said.
“Nothing, just go back in there for a bit, I’ll join you,” Michelle desperately tried to get this man out of Brian’s sight.
“No, you get the fuck out of my house.”
The man looked back at Brian as if he were something pathetic that he’d accidentally stepped on.
“Brian, please – don’t do this. Tony, stay, please.”
Tony eyed Brian up. Brian stared back at him, as if he were the barrel of a gun.
“Michelle, if you don’t get this piece of greased up shit out of my house, I will throw him out.”
“I’d like to see you try,” Tony threatened.
“Guys, please – Tony can you please just go back in the bedroom.”
“He isn’t going anywhere but out that door!” Brian advanced, Michelle tried to stop him but he pushed out aside.
“I don’t give a shit which gutter my wife picked you up from, but you sure as hell aren’t going to stay in my house,” Brian’s fist had flung at Tony before he knew what he was doing.
Tony wasn’t expecting it either. Brian’s fist ploughed right into his nose and bloody spewed forth immediately. A wild expression struck Tony’s eyes and Brian’s surge of masculinity was installed showered with a torrent of regret.

~ by S.G. Mark on July 31, 2012.

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