Against All Odds Pt. 04

Against All Odds

A story of lost love, coming of age, cheating, addiction, and trying to turn back time.

First, I apologize for writing a book on my first effort. Second, I should have really finished before I started releasing the chapters. I had no clue the story would get any attention. I knew going in, Loving Wives was a potential mind field, but I was unprepared for the volume of comments.

Taking in all feedback in the aggregate was a massive learning experience. Thank you everyone!

1)The story was way too long

2)To brave in the point of view changes

3) Too much overlap and repetition in the story

4) God forbid too much sex

5) Deplorable characters (I really tried to make each flawed and two-dimensional, with redemption always possible, but I was shocked at the judgments people made. This is noted for the future)

6) I'm a totally shit writer

7) Enough positive feedback to ignore those that claimed #6

8) And all the rest

Yes, I used the dreaded "Hater" term. However, their feedback was as important in the total as the positive. My beef is the vehemence and vitriol. I just don't understand meanness. I know we live firmly in the 'grievance culture,' but oh man, does it come alive in the Loving Wives category!

I did delete some nasty feedback but left most intact. Why not.

With all the feedback in mind, I became paralyzed to finish the story. I considered starting from scratch with a total rewrite. Or changing my notes for the finish. To turn left and try to make the haters happy.

What did I decide?

To die by the sword with which I started the story in the first place. It was my first work, so I kept writing how it came out. It's still too long and needs an editor, and I still need a lot of work with this craft.

I desperately looked for an editor before I published. I struck out in this. I did get one piece of advice that said to publish something, and you might find editors. I did, in fact, get some offers, and I will call upon them for my subsequent work.

Thank you, everyone, for the ride ...

Now - an important news flash. This story was ultimately about addiction. This last entry deals with this. There is very little sex, and for those that want burning bitches will be disappointed. Addiction is a hard reality in our society and can wreak considerable wreckage on families. There is a path ...

Thank you for your indulgence in reading this crazy big thing I created.

Marc Dwayne

Part Four

Dave Lost and Going Down Fast

After Mel left, I remained at the table. The tears had slowed, and I was trying to hydrate with beer. Now almost drunk, I eyed the cocaine on the coffee table, but the futon was like a menacing demon, wet with lust; it was mocking me. I couldn't get the images out of my head. I caved and grabbed the cocaine mirror. They had left enough for me to get hella high really quick. The futon was still making sex sounds at me, "Oh Ryan, you're so huge, fuck me, fuck me with your big cock!" I was tweaking from the line of coke but also relieved it seemed to quell the mocking futon. I grabbed more beer and realized I would probably have to drink fuck-dicks brand Mel probably got for him. That's going to be fun.

For a second, I considered cleaning up, but that thought made the futon start to buck and bounce, with naked demons emerging to dance on the bed in time with the sex sounds. More coke! More beer! I put on some downtempo music. The thought of Dubstep made me want to vomit. I was high; the beer was barely cutting through the coke. It was black hash time. I revelled in the ritual of rolling the perfect hash spliff. The slow heating of my big chunk of rare black hash from the Middle East. It had mold and a gold seal. I was a hash man in the era of plentiful engineered turbo bud. I needed its small buzz. It was warm, and the smell was delicious. I rolled two perfect spliffs. Works of art, I thought. Mel had always chuckled at how fastidious I was rolling spliffs. She said it reminded her of a Japanese tea ceremony.

Fresh cold beer, I had four of my Indian pale ale left. I lit the spliff, inhaled its pungent aroma and let the smell waft into my face. I slowly rolled my hands into my face like a sage burn, pretending the smoke was cleansing me. I was barely holding off the demons. They had multiplied. Some were crouching in the corner of the loft. At least two of them were on the futon, humping each other. Two more were playing my bass, sitting on the desk. As terror was filling my frontal cortex, I downed another beer and realized I had arrived at a completely numb state of mind. Hallucinating, obviously, but numb.

In a flash, I re-lived the last two years of my life while being sucked into a vortex of denial. I knew what was coming. I'd been here before and fought it with every ounce of my being. I wanted to get angry immediately, but the denial surge was all-encompassing.

She still loved me. I had hallucinated the entire thing. It was a one-night stand! She didn't give me sloppy seconds. She didn't lie to me. She would come back. She would choose me. She still loved me.

Wave after wave of denial kept coming, and the more I fought, the bigger the waves became. The demons were all cackling. Now all of them were humping on the futon. Just as I was about to succumb to my insanity, I surrendered. With a noticeable whoosh, the waves of denial passed through me, and I was left with a moment of clarity. Acceptance pulsed through me. I knew this was a phantom; this is how the stages went. I experienced them all simultaneously but knew each would need its moment on the stage. The order could never be truly changed.

In that brief moment, I surrendered to my loss. Melissa was gone. I was not enough for her. I was not right for her. She never loved me or, at the very least, no longer loved me. I did a line of coke, then a coco puff in a cigarette. I would need to quit that, too, I thought. I took a big gulp of beer and lit the second spliff. Comfortably numb and still swimming in the phantom of acceptance, I laughed out loud at the cliche of losing her to a fucking porn cock. Holy shit, just that alone was enough to short-circuit my brain. Do you laugh or cry? I guess I had a small dick after all. Oh well, nothing I could do about that. I then had a fleeting thought and, in kindness, hoped this Ryan dude was more than just a hung stud. I hoped he made her laugh and could see her like I did. I mean, really see her. See the real Mel. The woman I was still hopelessly in love with.

With that thought, the demons went into full orgy mode. Denial exploded all around me, and my heart shattered again into a thousand little pieces. This was not happening! This was a nightmare! I was going to wake up and have Melissa asleep beside me, and we would make soft love and then have our Sunday chill day on the futon. With my sigh, the demons on the futon all started to have orgasms. Cum was flying everywhere. They were all chanting in unison, "fuck me with that huge cock. It's twice the size of my boyfriend's cock." then, in a chorus, the demons chanted, "Tiny dick, tiny dick. Dave has a tiny dick." I started to cry in deep heaves of despair.

I had downed at least ten beers and was stone-cold sober. There was no more coke, and I desperately needed to be drunk and pass out. I went to the fridge and said, "fuck it," and started to drink dick wads shitty beer. Three of them did the trick. I staggered to the bedroom. Eyed the bed and realized Mel had made the room all sexy and clean but had obviously not fucked there. At least not last night or not by the time I arrived. I stripped naked and laughed at my pudgy hairy body and wished I had a porn cock like Ryan. I tried to masturbate, but my dick was dead. I turned out the light, thankful for the darkness surrounding me. The demons were still fucking on the futon, but the old wooden walls were enough to shield me from their screaming. Darkness, oh-so-beautiful darkness, merged with denial, and I eventually fell into a deep, troubled sleep.

Sunday at the Loft

I woke with light leaking into the lone window through the closed slats of the blinds. The window faced south, so it took a while for the sun to rise and get the right angle to paint the hazy sun lines on the bedroom walls. It was around ten am, and for a brief instant, I thought I just woke up from a nightmare, but the emptiness beside me brought reality back with a vengeance. I moved my head and groaned at such a loud noise. How could a pillow make such a sound? I closed my eyes and started to shake as I couldn't catch my breath. A coldness emerged from my feet and rose upwards like being slowly put in a barrel of ice. When it reached my heart, my eyes shot open, and I took a gasping inhale of breath and fought back the terror that I was feeling. Holy fuck, this hurts, I thought. I took some deep, slow breaths. A trick I used before public speaking or being on-stage. Slow and deep in and out through my nose. As I calmed down, I slowly rose and got my feet on the floor. The rays were painting stripes on my head, and my eyes were blinking from the direct contact. I needed some Advil.

I put on shorts and a white T-shirt. My lazy Sunday uniform. Why change it now? I got up, ambled to the bathroom for the Advil, went back to the fridge, and opened one of the home wrecker's beers. It was cold and bitter. I popped the four Advil's in my mouth and downed the beer with one big swig. In seconds, my head was happy. My stomach, not so much. I was hungry but knew food would not be part of my life for a while. I would eat the bare minimum that was needed. I knew the drinking would have to stop, but not today. I put on coffee as the plan was to alternate between beer and joe until the afternoon. I got my phone, and sadly, I hadn't received any texts or messages. The silence was in keeping with my mood. The phone was in low battery mode. I had forgotten to plug it in, but then I had to face the Futon again. The charger was on the table beside the scene of the crime. At least the demons were gone. I couldn't go there yet, so I got a charger from my knapsack and plugged my phone in by my desk.

It was then that I noticed it was a bright and beautiful day. As the sun rose, it drenched the entire loft in brilliant sunlight. By eleven AM, there was not a cloud in the sky. No wind, just blue sky. The contradiction of the day and my current state of mind made me instantly angry. Denial was still in play, but the phantom of anger had come to save me. I sat there and drank coffee, angry. Smoked a spliff, angry. Drank a beer, angry. I could not believe how good it felt. Then my phone buzzed on my desk. That made me angry. I stomped over the desk, and it was a text from Melissa.

"Can I come over?"

I just held the phone and stared at the text. My anger was gone in an instant, and I was consumed by the overwhelming emotion. Of how deeply I loved this woman. I started to deny that I was heartbroken. Then deny I was jealous of her new boyfriend. She was young; she should be free. Then, the anger came back to save me.

I texted, "If you want, no one is stopping you!"

I paused, trying to hold back more tears. I thought, save me anger, save me! I sighed and texted, "When?"

Almost instantly, I got back, "I'm downstairs, I'll be up in a minute."

I panicked for a second, the place was a mess, but then I thought, who the fuck cares? And she made the mess! Anger had my back. I would not cry. It was over, and I would keep a stiff upper lip. I went to the fridge, got a beer, and sat back down in the exact spot I was when she left the night before. The table was littered with empties, the hash stash, and the coke mirror. I was drinking fuck dicks beer when she knocked on the door.

"It's open," I yelled, and you have a fucking key, I thought to myself.

Mel walked in. She was dressed as she left last night, in jeans, flats and a shirt with her jacket over her arms. Her eyes were puffy, and she saw the Futon the minute she walked in. Maybe the demons were welcoming her back.

She didn't say much but started to cry, but at the same time, she put the Futon back. Took off the blanket she had put down. Cleaned up the coffee table and wiped down the Futon. In a flash, it was as if nothing ever happened. She inspired me, so I grabbed an empty case and put the beer bottles away. Put the stash away. Hid the dirty coke mirror and washed the dining room table. I also put on fresh coffee, opened the fridge, and cracked another one of donkey dick's beers. They still tasted like shit.

Minutes before, as Melissa walked up the five flights of stairs, she was terrified and ashamed. Cathy had told her all morning she needed to tell Dave how she felt. She needed to take ownership of her affair with Ryan. Melissa needed to be honest with Dave. She was ashamed of everything but terrified because she knew she was going to lose this man. Her best friend. It gutted her. The terror was running rampant through her soul. Be honest, she said to herself.

When she walked into the loft, she saw Dave in the same chair as when she'd left. Then she saw the Futon was still open. The unfortunate set in which that porn scene was played out was mocking her. Tears started flowing. Dave had to see this; she knew he could not bear to touch any of it.

She looked at the man she loved more than anything. He was drinking the beer she had bought for Ryan. She cried more, and her Irish bad girl inside was also crying. "You bitch" the bad girl said. "You fucked everything up. Are you happy now?" Mel couldn't take the mess she'd created. She put her purse and coat down and started to clean everything. It was a futile metaphor, Melissa thought. Her eyes darted, looking for the coke mirror, but she spied it on the dining room table by Dave. He was now up and cleaning the giant pool of empty beer bottles. She eyed his bass, and that made her cry more. She tried to look at Dave, but he still had the faraway stare in his eyes, and his clenched jaw spoke loudly of other emotions. She was in tune with him, and his despair and hurt were throbbing all around him. It broke her heart all over again. The whole scene destroyed every intention she may have had. She was once again frozen. Terrified and stuck.

With as much courage as she could muster, she walked over and put Dave's bass back on the wall hooks. She turned around and said to him. "I'm so sorry, he touched this. I'm so sorry, Dave."

She gasped when he looked at her. Those beautiful blue eyes of his, she thought, were so hollow now.

"Yeah, I'm sorry he touched a lot of things." His eyes misted, pooled with tears. She could tell he was holding them back. His jaw clenched, and his eyes started to burn with fire. "How long, Mel, how long has this been going on?"

Melissa was frozen. So she walked over and made herself a coffee. Be honest, she told herself.

I watched her make a coffee and come back to the table. She was so beautiful. It was a profound feeling to lose a person so abruptly. She sat down, still crying quietly.

"Not long," she said, realizing that was vague, so she decided, "A couple months, maybe more. But it started before that, just not ...." she stopped as she could see the realization hit him. Obviously, he had hoped it was a one-night thing but had feared it was not. Ryan made sure of that last night. She could see him piecing together a timeline. His tears welled and started their silent descent down his face. That ghostly, far away stare now tilted to the beer before him.

I was sad and now cresting into despair as I realized I had lost the love of my life. She sat there with tears matching mine. But I was sure they were breaking up tears. She was trying hard to let me down without hurting me further. Why not just tell me it was over? It was torture. That first stage of denial was losing its hold on me. There was no denying the reality of what was in front of me. She was leaving me for another Man. As my denial lost ground, anger started to take the stage of my emotional wreckage.

I took a deep pull on the shitty beer, put it down and looked at her as the heat of my anger gave me false courage. "Do you love him?" I asked her.

Melissa was deeply wrapped in a hopeless situation. She had no excuses. Her stubborn Irish side was fighting to rationalize the behavior. Her coke-addicted brain was playing reality tricks with her. He should be OK with this. They had an open relationship. Then she didn't want to cheapen her behavior by making it all about sex or about Ryan's huge fucking cock. So, her reply was not what she and Cathy had talked about.

"I don't know Dave," she said. "Maybe?" What she wanted to say was... No! I don't love him. I love you. I love you with every inch of my being. I'm damaged and need help, but my love for you is without question. His demeanour changed instantly. She could sense his rage. It was fighting to explode, but she could tell he controlled himself. He'd been here before with another girlfriend, and that did not end well.

"Well, isn't that nice," I paused, then continued, "Well, it was good while it lasted, Melissa." I got up, got the coke mirror and brought it back to the table. I pulled out a packet and laid out two lines.

Her Irish bad girl was screaming at her. "Tell him you love him, you fucking bitch. Open your mouth and say the words!" But as soon as Dave put out the lines, her coke brain started tweaking. She had woken up with a promise to quit. The thought terrified her, and she failed when she tried to throw out her stash. Dave snorted a line and handed the mirror and the rolled bill to her. Everything she wanted to say went poof as she reached for the mirror and snorted the entire line of coke with a vengeance.

Melissa watched Dave stand up and pour himself a cup of coffee. "Look, Melissa, I'm not that drunk. Why don't you pack a bag of what you need and get the fuck out of here, OK?" He was now angry. It was radiating from him. She deserved it. Then he said something that gutted her. "I'm sure your new boyfriend is waiting for you."

He's not my boyfriend; you are, she thought. The Irish bad girl screamed, "Say it, tell him you love him. Say it!"... I did nothing. "I'm going to go to my parents, Dave. I'm really fucked up." Tears were flowing now from both of us. Dave just sat there wrapped in an angry blanket. She could tell he didn't believe a word she said. It was like a storm cloud was getting darker just above his head. It did nothing but make her freeze even more. Emotionally, she was a turtle with its head deeply hidden in its shell. With total despair, she got up, grabbed a bag from the closet and packed a few things.

I watched Melissa walk around, crying and packing, making it look good as she was dumping my ass for a younger guy. One that I had no chance of competing against. I was so angry I was doing everything possible not to explode.

Melissa was trying desperately to say something. It was only sex. We had an open relationship. His big cock had nothing to do with it, but each excuse felt ugly. She felt ugly. The coke was keeping her amped up, but it did nothing for her courage. She would throw caution to the wind, run into his arms, and kiss him. She was going to tell him she loved him. She was fucked and needed help. But just as she was mustering the courage, Dave walked up to her with his hand outstretched.

"You might as well give back the ring, Melissa. It didn't mean anything anyway. I'm sorry asking you to marry me was not enough. I'm sorry I'm not enough. I hope you find what you are looking for."