Day 304 – The Salesman – Part 7

Word count: 646

“Why the fuck would you do that?” Michelle was screaming at him.
Tony had gone, hopefully forever if Brian had his way.
Michelle was frolicking around the living room, frantically tidying in the panic to do something other than hit Brian no doubt. Brian, on the other hand was not in the mood for this. All he had wanted to do was come home to the person that used to be his wife and have a laugh with her. Those days were through now though: there was no hope for them anymore.
“I’ve had enough,” Brian whimpered.
“You’ve had enough? I’ve had enough! I want you out!”
“No, Michelle. I paid for this fucking place. I bought it. It’s in my fucking name. Get out. Get out with all your fucking pathetic games. Take all your designer clothes or whatever it is that you spend hours drooling over when you think no one is looking: take every last piece of you and get out. “
“Excuse me?”
Brian was tired of this. He felt sick. He thought for one pathetic moment he had his old wife back. “You heard, just go.”
“You can’t do this!”
“Then get a lawyer and fight me in court. I am not having this argument now,” Brian lay back on the sofa and turned on the television.
Michelle stomped and shouted to no avail; he was no longer listening. After a few minutes she retreated into her bedroom and moments later he heard the definite sounds of a suitcase being packed. Half his heart still wanted her to stay, but the other half was delighted she was leaving. She had betrayed his feelings one too many times.
Twenty minutes later she lugged the case back through to the living room, “I’m going to Tony’s,” she declared.
“That’s fine by me, see ya,” he changed channels to some sporting event.
He heard her turn the ignition of the car and reverse out of the driveway. Peace, at last.
Brian was not sure what had made him tell her to leave so suddenly. It wasn’t specifically finding Tony in his bedroom; it was more than that. He wanted to come home, but he finally realised that she wasn’t home anymore: she would never be. Brian went to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a large whisky. Celebrations or commiserations, he was unsure – could it not be both?
Tomorrow he would wake up in his own bed; tomorrow he would do whatever he like; tomorrow he would stack the dishes any which way he cared for; tomorrow he would make the biggest sell of his year. He felt good about everything. He felt good about life; he was strong after all. He was not this pathetic little creature of a pending ex-husband that camped out on the sofa and left before the witch arose. He was special; he was talented, strong and better than her.
“Here’s to you, Shelly!” he raised the glass and drank it all up in one.
The phone rang at that moment.
“Oh god Shelly, please don’t be you,” he had a feeling grinding in his knees that his celebrations were to be short lived.
He took out his phone and looked at the number. It wasn’ t Michelle, at least it wasn’t the number he had for Michelle. He picked up.
“Hello, Brian speaking,” he answered, waiting for the voice at the other end.
“Hello, hello? Is this Brian?”
“Yes,” the voice sounded vaguely familiar. “Who is this?”
“It’s me, I was wondering if you had reconsidered? I cannot press too much about how much it would mean to… and how much I would pay?”
“What? How did you get this number?”
“You left it in my house this morning, don’t you remember?”
“I’m sorry, I’m going to have to refuse, thank you.”
“Not even if I offer fifty-thousand?”

~ by S.G. Mark on August 6, 2012.

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