Another BobWrongerer Story

Bob just shook his head.

Sally said, "Fuck. Well, it was a long shot. I guess I always knew that."

Sally sighed.

Bob leaned back in his chair. "So, what do you want to do?"

"Killing Sam would be a start, if he wasn't dead. I don't know, Bob. I never wanted to lose you, I never did. But right now, I would guess what I thought or wanted doesn't really doesn't matter, does it?"

"Actually, Sally, that is exactly the right question. You say you didn't want to lose me. How did you figure stuffing that asshole down my throat--especially after I explicitly told you I didn't want it--would work out? That sure doesn't sound like the actions of a loving wife..." Bob's voice puttered out.

Sally just looked down at the kitchen table, took a deep breath, looked up at Bob and said, "What do you want?"

"I want a lot of things, but like you, I really need to get my head sorted out."

Sally gave Bob space; she got a motel room that afternoon.

So began an uneasy, unstable and unsettling time in the marriage of Bob and Sally.

The thing about Bob and Sally that truly made it all too complex, was that they really were, and had been, the perfect match for each other. Ever since their very first day. Yes, Bob still lived at home, and yes, Sally was staying in a fleabag no-tell motel, because it was all she could afford. She couldn't ask Bob for money; they were a bit short on cash, seeing how much Sally had spent on "that whole Sam thing".

But, where did THE Couple live? That, of course, Dear Reader, was to become THE essential question.

After a week, the level of misery was bad. Bob still wanted to express his anger and hurt. Bob was smart enough to know that if he did that, shit would get broken. Of course, Bob did exactly that. He headed to his local bar and moved in. That didn't go particularly well.

As for Sally, she punished herself like no other human could.

The Couple, Bob and Sally, was in bad shape. Homeless, wandering in a desolate desert, starving and so alone, so destitute. After two weeks their depths of misery were shared only by those poor tortured souls residing in Hell. Three weeks in, it just kept getting worse.

Bob, near suicidal, found himself at Sally's roach infested motel. As he got out of his car, a couple of exceedingly nasty hookers accosted him. He actually had to get loud with them. They were, after all, independent business folks and were somewhat tenacious about making the sale.

The litter, used condoms, needles, and fast-food wrappers added a slovenly overtone to the drab, weathered motel.

Bob stood there, just taking it in. He made his way to the manager's office.

The Manager first thought Bob wanted a room. Yeah, that's how bad Bob looked. The manager sent him up the stairs to the end unit. Bob trudged up the stairs, each step, agony. Bob couldn't live with her and he couldn't live without her.

Rock meet hard place.

Bob must have stood outside her door for an hour, when the door opened and there was Sally.

Sally, was heading out to dump the trash. She opened the door, and there was Bob. That's when Sally fainted.

This was the crack in the ice. This was the moment, tinged with divine beatification, that Bob and Sally, The Couple, rescued Bob and Sally.

Bob looked down at Sally, lying in the trash, and he couldn't tolerate any more. He scooped Sally up and carried her to his car. She awoke the next morning in her bed, in their bedroom.

She actually pinched herself, twice.

While things just didn't magically "get better", Bob and Sally reached the place where they had a chance. And a chance, is all that anyone can ever ask for.

---------

Dear Reader,

It seems at LW there are some who demand predictability. Some demand boxes be built for stories. Hell, some insist that fiction must conform to their oddly twisted perceptions of reality. Tags, that one can perceive to be suggestions, coloring of thoughts; to others, they demand orthodox. Into this twisted shit rides Bob Wrongerer. Bob writes wrongerer shit in his stories. When he connects with readers enough that they are pulled deep enough into his stories that when their boxes are challenged, it pisses them off enough to post incepted comments (which he never deletes); it makes him smile.

---------

Please be well,

B Wrongerer

Very Great Thanks to TRCIII for editing