Fatigue

I never touched her.

I never stared at her long... but I did occasionally stare.

I never said anything to her that could even come close to sexual innuendo.

Two reasons: the first, the company had seriously strict rules about sexual harassment. Monster big rules. The owner and CEO did not want to be sued for anything like that.

If you were caught harassing someone? Not only were you fired, you could expect to get into a legal battle with the company. They were dead serious.

The second reason was her boyfriend.

He was totally into her.

He showed up most days to take her to lunch. If we were all going to lunch, he came with us. He was a good guy. I liked him.

I was also jealous of him. Big green radiation 'roid-monster jealous.

If I hadn't been married, and my EA didn't work with me, yeah, I would have chased her down. My hormones lit up around her. She had the hot body, she had the personality, mostly she wasn't afraid to scrap with people. Those were my buttons.

How did I use that to trigger the hormone storm? Simple!

I'd psyche myself on the right day, when Helen would have a date, about the time when my EA's boyfriend came along to pick her up after work. I'd tell myself she was mine, that he was the interloper, and I had to take her back.

My inner-troglodyte would pop up, go "Rargh! Fuck!" and I'd take that home to Helen.

It wasn't the reclamation hormone-storm, it was I-can't-have-what-I-want-storm.

It worked surprisingly well, but I could tell there were dangers. I couldn't let those thoughts and sensations get too 'real,' my EA didn't deserve that, her boyfriend either.

The reaction was also diminishing in intensity the more I used it. It had a limited shelf-life.

But for now? Watch my EA drive off with her boyfriend, who I saw a couple times start to grope her in the car, and set my mental wheel in motion? Yeah. I would show up at home with a hardon and ragefuck Helen up a wall.

Helen was ecstatic.

Helen thought it was me 'coming to understand my position' and doing my duty to her. She took the credit for 'fixing the marriage.'

It wasn't fixed. It was camouflage.

I had a plan.

++++++

Post-release-from-holding, after negotiating not being prosecuted by my wifes lover, with my wife, wasn't fun.

I'd circled the date I had been allowed out and officially told that the police couldn't hold me any longer. That didn't mean those charges couldn't be reinstated though. No, that was my personal Sword of Damocles, hanging over my head.

You see, where we live, felony charges for assault take six years to no longer be enforceable. Within those six? If Malcolm wanted to say 'I want to press charges,' the police would come and get me, and off to the hoosegow I'd go. Malcolm had never said he was dropping the charges, he'd not said anything.

Week 311 of that six-year post-release timeline, I'd set things up, and I was ready.

The bullshit was ending.

++++++

Week 311.

"Jim, Mr. Travers, sir. Joe reporting for firing." I said, stepping into my friend's, the CEO's office.

"Yeah... right." He looked at me from across the table he and his father were leaning over, shuffling a stack of papers around. "You sure about this?"

"Joe, you can trust us, but this is still a leap." Mr. Travers Sr, said. "You're certain?"

"Fuck yes, I'm sure." I laughed. "Here's the file, here's the trail, and here's the 'other stuff.'

They took the manilla folder, and the flash drive. It went into a desk drawer.

"It's like we talked about?" Jim Jr. asked me.

"Exactly. Both sides."

My boss looked at me, shook his head, and with a laugh he said "Joe, you're fired. See you in eight months."

++++++

I'd thrown money at the lawyer my boss had sent me to. Some moves had been made over the past year.

Some of that money went to securing Private Investigators reports.

Some went to equipment installation and services.

Some went to making certain some assets couldn't be touched. Or at least, touched more than I wanted.

I visited my lawyer right after I was fired, and showed him my letter of termination. He made some copies, got it notarized, did some things I don't understand, and gave me a hopeful look.

I laughed, clapped him one on the shoulder and told him I'd be talking to him soon.

++++++

I let week 311 pass as normal.

I could weather week 312, but the anticipation was killing me. It was really hard to not move too early, and just let it all hang out.

I made it though. It was close, when that paddle came out. I almost lost it. But I made it.

The six years was up.

I started week 313. I only had to make it to Friday.

++++++

"Hey, give it a rest, will you? I'm not interested." I told her.

"...What did you just say?" she said, more accusation than question.

"I said, give it a rest." I repeated. "I'm not interested. I've had a day, and I'm just not going to do this bullshit you.... I'm just not."

She gave me a glare, disbelief and accusation in her features.

"Fine." She breathed heavily. "We're going to talk though," she turned and left the bedroom.

++++++

I spied the damned paddle as it sat on the table, when I walked into the kitchen. No more of that damn thing after today. I promised that to myself.

"I want my orgasm." She said, standing there in her fancy, seductive underwear and see-through lace negligee.

"It's nice to want things." I agreed with her as I opened the 'fridge. Ah, there it was, the energy-drink I wanted.

"What does that mean?" Helen nearly snarled at me. She was tapping one foot, her shoes making a "tik tik tik" sound on the floor.

"It means, I don't feel like giving you an orgasm right now." I said, opening the drink after closing the door on the icebox. I pumped my eyebrows at my wife.

"You agreed to do it. You've been doing it for years." She said. "Why are you risking punishment?"

"Mmm," I finished my mouthful of my drink. "See, I'm not risking anything. I'm not going to let you spank me."

"Pet, you agreed to that too."

"Well, see, that's the thing..." I said, stepping around her to the table and putting my drink down on it. The paddle was on the table behind me. "... I never agreed to any of that crap. You told me, and I went along, because I wanted to keep you happy."

"That should always be on your mind," she said. "How to keep me happy."

"What about mine? When do I get mine?" I asked.

"What?" she seemed confused. "What about you?"

Holy shit, I hate that phrase.

"When do I get my happiness?" I asked her, leaning back against the table and crossing my arms. I stared her in the eyes as I asked.

"Joe, you are making me angry."

"Answer the question." I pushed with.

"Joe, I am first in this relationship. I come first. You know that."

"See, that's interesting," I wondered aloud looking around the room. "You called it a 'relationship.' I would have said 'marriage.' At least, at one time I would have."

"What do you mean?"

"It wasn't hard. You yourself called us,..." I used both hands to fan the space between us. "... this... us... a 'relationship.' You didn't used to say that. You used to say 'marriage.'

"I meant marriage." She defended.

"No, I don't think so. I think in your anger, you spoke what you meant." I looked contemplative. "How do you see us? Right now. Here. How do you view us?"

"We're wife and husband." She answered, wondering where I was going.

"Are you sure?"

She gave me an indignant look. That 'What-are-you-stupid?' look people do.

"I wouldn't call us man-and-wife. I'd call us bitch and poor-sucker." I explained.

"Joe, go into the living room, take off your pants, and bend over the couch."

That was how she would let me know I was about to get a paddling. It had worked for years. She'd spout that, and off I'd go. The couch had a subtle discoloration, sweat stains from how I'd pop moisture after twenty lashes.

"Nah." I said, half turning and picking up my drink. I took a swig as I looked at her, smirking.

"Joe..."

"Helen..." I mimicked.

"Joe, this isn't how you should behave." She explained to me, her tone shifting to lecture-mode. "What we do is working very well. I make the decisions inside this house, and you help me make sure they happen. It's been good for us."

"See, I disagree." I went into lecture mode myself. Surprising, huh? I'd learned to do that over the past couple of years. "It's how I behaved, because I wanted things to work between us. I don't think it worked well. You got all you wanted, I got humiliated, put in pain, and torn down. I don't feel like making your decisions happen right now. I think it's been good for you, you sick bitch, but good for us? No."

"Joe, stop this." She tried cajoling me now. "You are not being reasonable."

"I'm way more reasonable than you are." I said. "I don't want to eat your contaminated pussy today. I said to give it a rest. You've come out of your neck and tried to brow-beat me, and then threatened to actually beat me. The problem is yours, not mine. If I want time off from being your emotional support tongue, I'm going to take it."

She looked at me, surprise and indignation writ large on her face.

"Joe, you've got no reason to behave this way. How I run things in our relation... marriage... works." She justified, her volume rising. Lecture and cajoling time apparently over. "I could have been a great deal harsher than I have been, but..."

"No, you couldn't have." I cut in with. I was smirking a little larger now. Verging on smiling. After smiling came beaming. I don't beam much, it hurts my cheeks.

"Joe, I don't know why you are acting this way, but..."

"'Cause I got fired." I stated simply.

"You what?"

"Funny how this is the first time in a while you've sorta asked me 'what's wrong, Joe?' and it's over my not following orders." I observed. "Well, you sort of asked. Normally you don't give a shit about how I am."

"You got fired?" she asked, uncertainty reigning in her tone and manner.

"Sacked." I confirmed.

"What happened?"

"An account got messed up." I said. "I ran the department. When blame had to land, it landed on me."

"Was it a big account?..."

"It was enough." I stated.

"I didn't know," she said.

"You don't ever ask me how my day was, how I'm doing, what's bothering me, or any of that personal relationship caring stuff. You haven't for at least a year and a half. Of course you didn't know. You don't care." I told her. Now I only had half a smirk going. The right half. When that happens, it's not really a smirk any more, it's a semi-snarl. "And I stopped giving you information a while ago. You never noticed."

"Joe, I do care." She said. "We need the income. I wanted to get a new car."

"I call runny bullshit on you." I reached for my drink again. "I don't think you care about me at all. Just how I'm a tool for your little twisted emotional game, and my paycheck. It's a tossup which you value more."

"Joe, that's not..."

"The hell it ain't." I shot back.

"Damn it Joe!" She was getting loud now. She doesn't like being called out. "You don't dare tell me I don't care! I fought to repair this marriage, when all you were doing was destroying it!"

"I dare! I dare!" I mocked back at her.

She went wide-eyed and her mouth opened slightly in shock.

"Oh, come on..." I rolled my eyes. "This isn't new. I've known for years. You've HAD to know for longer! Remember back when you set me up? Big example, right there."

She looked like a fish out of water, the way her mouth was opening and closing. Her being in her underwear made it funnier.

"Look, back when we used to talk? We talked about three fundamentals of marriage... Love, trust and respect. Sound familiar?"

More mouth gulping, now with new and improved confusion look!

"Well, you don't respect me, and I can't even start to call what you have for me 'love." I said. "And I for sure do not trust you, and haven't since you set me up. Respect? Pfft...."

"But..." she started.

"My love for you started dying the day of the set-up, once I figured it out." I finished. I didn't want to bring up the statute of limitations. That would be my knockout punch.

"You can't..."

"I've been with you out of momentum. I had a knee-jerk reaction, I didn't want to divorce. Maybe two years ago, I started feeling more like you were this psycho-bitch roommate who I got to fuck now and then. Over the past year, I really more consider you as a pretentious bitch I had to share space with, when she wasn't out fucking over the minds of guys who have sexual-authority issues."

"Joe..." she told me, arching her eyebrows and aiming her chin at me. Her tone was one of exasperated authority.

I just put my drink back down. There was a good chance that soon...

As I turned back toward Helen, she took a step toward me, and her right hand arced out to find my jaw. The sound of the smack was sharp as it rang through the kitchen.

When I pulled my head back around to look at her fully, she was standing there, breathing heavily, and glaring at me.

"Didn't hurt." I informed her. Well, it stung a little, but I've been hit by big guys who were mean and motivated.

Wow, I didn't know her eyes could flare open that wide. She stepped to me, reached past me and grabbed the paddle off the table. Then she stepped back a pace and raised the paddle up high in her right hand. She was looking me in the face.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." I said, my tone level.

She do'od it. WHACK.

I'd leaned out a bit, so it caught me on the shoulder and glanced up, caroming off the side of my head above my ear.

She was pulling back, her hand holding the paddle above her left shoulder.

"Don't." I told her. "You won't like the response."

This time, she caught me with the hard edge of the paddle just below the ear. Okay, that one hurt. I stepped sideways, away from her, half a step, and I blinked. I had to swallow, and there was a pulsing starting in my neck.

She was pulling back to swing again.

"You will DO!" she swung. It caught me in the shoulder as I put up my hands to protect myself.

"AS I!" this swing caught me in the forearm. It was the flat of the paddle, so it was more loud than painful.

"TELL YOU!" That one, she brought the edge down, from an overhead swing, onto my cheek. I'd seen it coming and leaned back, but not enough. It caught me. The swing kept going down past my cheek to hit me in the chest.

That's when I grabbed her hand with both of mine.

"Stop it!" I told her. "You have no right to abuse me! Cut it the fuck out!"

That's when I got kneed in the 'nards.

The great claw reached up through my groin, into my lower stomach, grabbed my guts and twisted. Or at least, that's what it felt like. It always feels like that, getting a shot to the huevos. Something like that.

I went down to one knee, and made that noise all us guys do when we catch a shot there.

Now the edge of the paddle caught me atop my shoulder, since I was now shorter compared to the furious Helen.

Next was a shot with the flat of the paddle to the side of my head, on the ear.

I think that was enough. More than enough.

I sort of lunged, more fell forward, just catching myself with my foot before I face-planted, and I two-hand pushed Helen away.

She stutter-stepped backward from the shove in her stomach, and bounced off the stove. She recovered, even in those heels, and started to step toward me again.

"You come near me..." I gasped through the acid-feeling of the groin shot as I stood back up, "... and I hit back."

She raised the paddle.

I cocked my right fist beside my jaw and gave her the look.

She believed me. She stopped.

We stood there, looking at each other, wondering if one of us would make a move.

I made the move. I reached back with my left hand, found my drink, and brought it around to my front. Then I walked out of the kitchen, keeping the table between me and Helen.

"Crazy bitch..." I muttered on my way out. I kept going, until I got to my car, got in, and sat there in my driveway.

I made the 911 call.

"Hello, 911, what's your emergency?" said the voice after the second ring.

"I've been assaulted by my wife." I said. "I'm at 2378 Racine Drive,..."

Thank goodness it was Friday late afternoon.

++++++

When the cops showed up, they assumed I was the one who attacked Helen. How does that shit work? I had defensive wounds, a cut on my cheek, I was the one who called 911, and I was hiding in my car.

The two cops and I went into the house, to discover Helen had gotten dressed. It's a shame, I'd been entertained by the idea of her going to jail in her lingerie.

Helen spun a story. She'd come on to me, wanting to make love and start off the weekend right. I'd just gone crazy and called her names. She'd started crying, and calling me names back. That's when I hit her.

"I think we need to go downtown," said the older male cop.

I got bundled into the police cruiser. Helen was allowed to drive herself.

I sat there in a locked room, with an almost warm cup of coffee, while Helen gave her side of the story somewhere else. It was two hours. I'm sure she gave them a hell of a report.

I kept breaking out into giggles. I'm sure whoever was watching me on the camera thought I was on something.

"Joe, we need to talk to you, if you're good with that?" said the woman in the nice sportscoat and pants, followed by the guy with the way-receded hairline and dozen-donuts-a-day habit.

"I want my lawyer." I told her, smiling, knowing the show was about to start.

"Joe, you aren't under arrest at the moment." The lady interviewer said. The guy took up a leaning position against the wall behind her as she sat down.

"But I'm detained, so I'm not free to leave, right?" I asked.

"That's correct," the lady confirmed.

"I want my phone." I said. "Now."

"Joe, why don't we just have a conversation about what happened." She said, opening a manilla folder and spreading a paper in front of her. "According to your wife..."

"Phone. Now. I want to call my lawyer." I said.

"If we keep the lawyers out of this, it looks much better for you Joe," said the guy as he propped up the wall.

"Phone. Lawyer." I said, smiling. "He's waiting for my call."

With a sigh, the guy left to go get my phone, which the uniformed cops had taken. The lady interviewer kept trying to start a conversation with me, but I just stuck to small talk.

Twenty-seven minutes later, my lawyer showed up, with his laptop, a web address for hosting security videos, and a request for certain police officers to watch a video with him.

++++++

Things moved fast for a minute after that.

On my lawyers recommendation, I'd made contact with a home security company that he had recommended. It was the work of a short morning to install the tiny cameras. They were pretty neat. Motion and sound activated, high definition, light-amplification, and sent everything they witnessed to a private company server. The files were visible by logging into a website, with pretty strict security protocols.

I was impressed. When I went back to work, I was going to recommend these guys.

To make the telling less-long, the whole of Friday afternoon in our house was recorded.

On top of assault charges, and yes sir, I would like to press those charges, Helen was charged with filing false reports.

The list of charges was very long. It had anything I'd ever done beat.

I got an apology from the police, with an explanation that it was generally the guy who did the abuse, and that sorry, but I did have a file full of 'skirmishes.'

My lawyer was ecstatic. He smelled a lawsuit. Since I'd been the one to call 911, and that was recorded, from the moment the police had shown up, they'd operated under assumptions and treated me as such. He was going to call in one of his associates who handled cases like this.