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“Calm down! What’s gotten into you? Talk with me. Whatever it is, we can work it out!” he pleaded. “Work it out? Work this out!” I screamed, before throwing the antique vase his mother gave us as a wedding present. He ducked my throw, watching it dissolve into a million chips of porcelain as it vaporized against the wall. “That was childish. Grow up! What’s this about? Please talk with me.” He almost sounded convincing.“I have nothing to say to you except go fuck yourself, you lying, cheating sack of shit.” “What are you talking about?” He grabbed my arm, trying to pull me toward him, but my knee sunk into his adulterous groin, doubling him over in paralyzing pain. I ran towards the front door, grabbing the first set of keys on the entry table. I couldn’t move very fast in my flip-flop slippers but I managed to slam the door hard enough so it sounded like a sonic boom rattling the windows.“Oh shit!” I exclaimed, as I saw the keys I grabbed were David’s and they wouldn’t fit my Lexis. I saw him approaching in hot pursuit, so I jumped in his Jeep Wrangler and quickly turned the key in the ignition. The car leapt forward because it was in gear. Fucking stick shift! I thought to myself. By that time, Dave was at the driver’s door, trying to pry it open. “Karen! Where the hell are you going in the middle of the night? Whatever it is, we can work it out. Talk to me,” he shouted.I remembered his driving instructions and depressed the clutch. The engine started. After I ground it into gear, I pushed the accelerator and dropped the clutch. This time the Jeep shot forward with screeching tires, almost going sideways. It ran over Dave’s lighted lawn gnome before I got it under control. He continued screaming something as I drove away. I had no clue where to go. If I went to my mother’s house, she would just berate me. She’s always hated David and said he wasn’t in my class. I probably shouldn’t have married him after knowing him for such a short time, but I fell in love with his sexy good looks and smooth talk. Today was the day I had hoped to tell him I was pregnant, but life never seems to work out for me the way I plan. To make things worse, he was cheating with Debbie, my sister. My God! She had güvenilir bahis two kids and an adoring husband. This betrayal has so my levels I couldn’t count them. Barely able to see through my tears, I drove aimlessly around the city. I hadn’t realized there were areas like this in our city, with seedy looking bars and the homeless sleeping in cardboard box makeshifts. This seemed like a different planet. The stench of the ghetto flowed through the vents. All I could think of was him with Debbie. I had noticed she has been overtly friendly with Dave lately. I remember her whispering with him at Mason’s house party last week and how infuriating it was when she flashed me her glowing smile. I recognized that smile, the one she has when she’s keeping a secret. Was I foolish to believe my husband wasn’t susceptible to other women? Why didn’t I get suspicious when suddenly he had to work late, or his numerous private conversations with my sister? I just believed in him. I believed in us. Now I’m nothing but a fool. Suddenly I was aware that I was driving in an old industrial area because there were few cars on the street and the windows were dark. The only lights I saw were from fires burning in trash cans in an adjacent abandoned parking lot and a flashing neon sign at the end of the block. Just when I was thinking things couldn’t get any worse, my engine jerked, sputtered and quit. I had no clue where the hell I was as the Jeep came to an abrupt stop. Looking at the instruments, I was out of gas. I had been too preoccupied in my misery to even notice the blinking fuel light. I cranked the engine but it wouldn’t turn over. That was just the beginning of my problems. My first reaction was to call my mom. I looked at the empty passenger’s seat and an icy chill ran through me after realizing I didn’t bring my purse. I took a deep breath and evaluated my situation. I’m a professional counselor and believe no matter what the situation, there is always a solution. Okay, here I am out of gas in a seedy part of town. I’m dressed in my nightgown and bathrobe, with my hair in rollers. I have no identification, money, or phone, and the temperature outside is dropping rapidly. My options seemed limited. güvenilir bahis siteleri First, I put on the emergency flashers, hoping to attract the attention of a police patrol car or possibly a Good Samaritan. Next, I looked in the mirror and started pulling the rollers out of my hair. Alright, that might seem a bit vain, but I’ll be damned if I’ll look like a hag when I’m rescued. Then I looked for some spare change in the ashtray and glove compartment. Nothing! I thought, what kind of person cleans his car that carefully but is so careless as to not to erase his text messages? Bastard! Those text messages were all the damning evidence I needed. I remember how I caught them. I had heard a beep from an incoming text. We have the same brand of phones, so I picked it up. Quickly, I realized it was not my phone, but before I set it down, I noticed the text was from my sister. I was confused. Why would Debbie text David? I opened the phone record. My heart dropped. There it was in front of me. I thought this couldn’t be real, but after reading the conversation over, I realized they were having an affair. I sat for an hour thinking about my cheating husband while shivering and waiting for my rescuer that never came. Option two was to go seek help. The only sign of life I saw was the flashing sign at the end of the block. I cinched up my robe and stepped out of the car. A cold wind hit my exposed face and it felt like a thousand icicles. I thought, why couldn’t he at least cheat on me in the summer? As I approached the flashing sign, I saw that it read, Ricky’s Bar and Grill. There were several motorcycles parked at the entrance of the old building. I could hear the music blaring as I pulled open the door. The springs were so strong that the door slammed as I stepped inside. Conversations stopped and all attention was directed at me. “I need help,” I announced.“You need desperate help with your wardrobe, honey,” said one of the bar girls. Everyone laughed. Not knowing what to say or do, I cried. That always seemed to work. A big guy with tattoos on his arms and a full beard approached me as I wept. This guy had to be the biggest, most intimidating man I had ever seen. He gently iddaa siteleri put his hand on my shoulder and led me to a booth. I tightened my robe and crossed my arms in front of me, trying to modestly cover myself from the staring people. “Can I get you something to drink?” he asked. “I can’t drink alcohol because I’m pregnant.” “Really? How about some water or coffee then?”“Coffee sounds good.” I was still shivering.He called out to the bartender, “Another Bud for me and a coffee for the lady.”Then he looked me over and asked, “At the risk of sounding clichéd, what’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?” Like a dam burst, I poured out my situation and problems to this perfect stranger. He listened patiently while I shared the utterly hopeless story of my failing marriage. I didn’t even bother to ask his name. Behind the rough appearance and grizzly beard were eyes of understanding and compassion. I finally came to the end of my story and my face was soaked with tears. He patted the top of my hand and said, “That’s quite a saga. By the way, my name is Rick.”“I’m sorry I was rude and self absorbed. My name is Karen. Karen Holloway. I’m glad to meet you,” I said, giving him a finger shake. Rick looked over at the bar and said loudly, “Misty, would you come here a minute?” A thin blond girl came to the table popping gum and asked, “Wass up, Ricky?”“This is Karen. She is about your size. Do you have a change of clothes you could loan her?” “Sure. What are you, a size four? Follow me to the bedroom, hun, and we’ll see what we can do.” -oOo-I followed her into the back of the bar where it was more spacious than I would have believed. We passed a commercial kitchen and several storage rooms. Then, at the end of the hallway there was a large apartment size granny flat. Once in the room, she opened a closet and said, “Hun, I think my dresses might fit but I know my bras won’t. I’m a small “B” and you’re what, …a double-D?” “I was a full “C” but I’m pregnant and I’m growing.” “It would almost be worth getting knocked up to have some boobs like yours,” she chuckled. She handed me a cocktail dress and said, “Try this. I have some heels to match.” “Are you and Rick married?” I asked, walking toward the bathroom with the clothes draped over my arm. “Heavens no! Ricky ain’t the marrying kind. That’d be like cagin’ an eagle.” In the privacy of the bathroom I dropped my robe and removed my nightgown. The dress fit snugly but it was doable.
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