Fucking Hell! Pt. 01

Thanks to WAA01, Killerarmyguy, and Taco for the edits.

*******

"Hello?" Marcum answered his cell phone as he pulled off the interstate after returning from a sales trip. With this, he had hoped it would put him up for the promotion he had been eyeing so he wouldn't have to be on the road as much or at all if he could help it. He knew his wife Barba was growing tired of his constant sales trips, yet if she had cut down on her wasteful spending, he wouldn't have to bust his ass taking so many sales trips. You can imagine how well Barba took his response when he retorted to her latest harping. They had been married for three years. Marcum was twenty-five when they tied the knot, and Barba was twenty-three. However, a few months after they had returned home from their honeymoon, his wife began to change into a very materialistic woman. A woman that wasn't like that during the year and a half of dating.

Yet, Marcum kept his mouth closed because he brought in enough to cover her little expenditures; nonetheless, that didn't mean he was happy with her spending so much on what he thought were idiotic things. However, he put a limit on her card so she couldn't drain their accounts dry. She wasn't too happy about that one bit. Then he hit her with how much she was spending on trivial things when there were bills to be paid first and foremost. That took a bit of the wind out of her sails. Barba still spent his money, yet she never brought it up again. At least to his mind, she wasn't spending three grand a month anymore. No one's income could keep up with that kind of spending for long.

"Hey, honey," his mother's voice came over the line, "I was wondering if you would come by the house in say two hours... we need to have a talk as a family." You know that sickening feeling you get in the pit of your stomach when you know something is up yet can't say what it is. Marcum had that same feeling at that moment when his mother spoke those words. His dark brown eyes peered back at him in his rear-view mirror. His short ebony curls sat close to his scalp; the afternoon light played along his, a shade lighter than milk chocolate skin as he heard the silence over the line as his mother waited for his answer. "Marcum? You still there honey?" His mind was racing as he sat at the red light, waiting to turn left to head to his house, a house he had inherited from his grandfather. A place where he spent many summers, along with his siblings, under the ever-watchful gaze of his loving grandmother. He remembered those days very fondly and was so very touched that his grandfather had left him what was the remainder of the farm that he once had before selling off acreage when times were tough. Now all that was left was a little over thirty acres from its original five hundred.

It was a lot of work to keep that old house in good condition since it was built before the depression hit. Nevertheless, Marcum would never let that house slip into ruin; he knew his grandfather would haunt him from the grave if he did that. Plus, he loved the house; he could see the family he and Barba would soon raise within its walls. Pondering how his grandparents would take to the news that a fourth generation of Roberts were living within that house. That did put a smile on his face thinking and hoping that they would be joyous at the news.

"Yeah, Mom, I'm still here," Marcum replied, knowing she knew he was on a sales trip since he told her about it a week before. It wasn't lost on him when she didn't once ask how it went or how he was. "Exactly why do we need to talk?" he asked in an accusing tone.

"I'd... rather not talk about it over the phone..."

"Horse shit!" Marcum cursed in his mind. She fucking knew something and didn't have the decency to tell him, her own son! "Fine, I'll be there in twenty," he stated, hearing his mother stutter, being thrown off-kilter. If something was going on, he wasn't going to give them time to get their shit together. Arching an eyebrow when he heard his mother whispering to someone. Her damn cohorts!

"Marcum... we..."

"It's either twenty minutes or not at all," Marcum spoke in a stern voice. He was tired, and he wasn't putting up with their bullshit!

"Okay, honey, twenty minutes it is." Marcum didn't wait for her to say goodbye before he hung up the phone on his mother. She knew something; what that was, he couldn't say, yet it was something, and her evasiveness was pissing him off. Tossing his phone into his passenger seat as he accelerated once the light turned green.

******

The moment he walked into his parents' home, his hackles were raised, given the smells coming from the kitchen. Knowing his mother was making what smelled like his favorite dish she liked to cook was normally followed by something he didn't like to hear. That was the moment he knew something was majorly wrong. Marcum worried something had happened to one of his siblings, Barba, or his father...

"Marcum, come to the living room." His father called out, which only worsened that feeling in his stomach. That feeling only turned sour when he noted how his parents and sister were sitting on one side while his fucking brother was holding his wife's hand. Marcum kept his face placid, yet his flaring nostrils were the only indication of the rage he felt in his mind at the display.

"Fucking coward!" Marcum growled in his mind when his brother couldn't even look him in the eye.

"Marcum, please have a seat, and then we'll have a nice dinner together," his mother spoke, gesturing to the loveseat across from them. Marcum saw moisture in her eyes when he narrowed his own at her. Telling her there would be no dinner, not if what he suspected was about to take place. If it was, then he knew there was never going to be another dinner.

"Honey..."

"You don't get to call me that sitting all cozy... with that," Marcum sneered, jutting his chin towards his brother, soon-to-be his ex-brother, if what he suspected to be true. "It's Marcum to you... bitch." He noted how Barba recoiled at that as if he had struck her, which he never did. His grandfather taught him long ago that a man, a real man, never hits a woman no matter how pissed off he was. That only the cowardly did such a thing since their little male egos couldn't stand a real woman.

"Marcum..."

"Get to the fucking point of this meeting," Marcum interrupted once again.

"William and I... we've fallen in love; you're gone so much..."

"I'm gone so much because you fucking can't stop spending my fucking money! How the fuck am I supposed to put food on the table when you're dropping three grand on worthless ass shit! So now, all of a sudden, me working my ass off to cover your damn spending sprees, I'm the fucking bad guy, fuck you bitch!"

"Marcum!" His father barked. "I know this hurts, son; I get that. Yet, can't you see how good they are together?"

"Fuck you, old man!" Marcum shouted, his eyes cutting deeply into his father. "So every fucking one of you was in on this?" Their dropped gazes was his answer. "So this is what fucking loyalty gets a man, huh? All the shit I've done for each, and every one of you didn't earn me some damn respect to know that this traitorous bastard and his slut of a whore were scheming behind my back? Allie, who was it you leaned on and helped you get better after your miscarriage? I know it wasn't that fucking loser," Marcum said, pointing at his former brother. "Didn't I earn a heads up about the slut that's been cheating on me? No, apparently I didn't. Who was it that pulled your asses out of the fire when the economy tanked?" he asked, looking at his parents. "Who was it that helped you get solvent again? I know it wasn't that fuck nut. Since he didn't have two dollars to his name when he wasn't injecting that shit into a vein..."

"Now hold on, just a minute young man!" His mother's voice rose in that tone he knew all too well, yet it wasn't working on him this time. "Your brother has been clean for years now; he has a steady job, and his life is back on track!"

"You sure about that? The asswipe lied for how many years, stole how much from people? How many houses of white people did he vandalize? Once a snake, always a fucking snake," Marcum spat, glaring hatefully at the two traitors.

"I've changed, man." His brother's voice was soft when he finally spoke. "I'm clean; I'll strip for you and let you check for needle marks if you want. I'll take a drug test. I know I've fucked up when I was on that shit. But it's different now; Barba makes me want to be a better..."

"If you say a better man, I'm going to beat the shit out of you," Marcum growled venomously, noting how his brother's face paled when he saw the fury in his eyes. "You're not a better man; you're just a yellow belly snake that can't keep his hands off a married woman. And you bitch, if you wanted out, you should have said something; all you are is a liar, a cheat, and a whore."

"Marcum... I know you're hurting..."

"You don't know shit!"

"And I'm sorry that you're taking this so hard," Barba said, continuing on ignoring Marcum's barb. "Okay, I'll admit I did go wild with the spending. I didn't know you were working so much just to keep us afloat because of it. Yet, Bill was there when I needed him..."

"Have you heard of a fucking phone? Email? Text? All these modern-day ways of communicating? Nah, you said fuck my husband; I'm gonna just shag the brother," Marcum sneered in contempt as he rolled his eyes. Seeing how red her dark complexion was getting. Knowing he had hit the nail on the head. "I think we're done here. Don't call me, don't email me, don't text. As of now, you have only one son and daughter, the utter, blatant disrespect you've shown me is obvious that you don't give a shit about me," he said, getting to his feet and buttoning the top button of his suit jacket. Noting the shocked expressions on his former family's faces. "You all knowingly withheld the knowledge that this cunt and sleaze were doing when I was working my ass to the bone. Seeing how you would rather side with two snakes than the son that's been wronged. You all can rot in Hell for all I care. You're dead to me. And you slut, I'll see your ass in court, believe it," Marcum said darkly.

"Marcum! Wait!" His sister's voice cried out as he marched out the door.

"Son! We can work this out as a family!" Came his mother's plea as they raced after him, only to watch a trail of dust as Marcum sped off.

The moment he got home, he noted most of the furniture was still there, namely what his grandparents had left behind. Marcum would kill the bitch if she took one piece. After he had left his former family's home, he stopped off at the bank and canceled all of Barba's cards. She wasn't getting one damn cent from him unless it was court-ordered. "Let her new man pay for her ass," Marcum grumbled as he walked around, making sure the bitch that used to be his wife took nothing that didn't belong to her.

"Bitch!" Marcum cursed into the phone when it went to voice mail. "You bring back my grandmother's armoire now! It doesn't belong to you! Whore!" He screamed into the phone. Turning his head when the old land line rang after he had called a locksmith, he kept reminding himself of his grandparents and all the times he's saw them standing at that stationary phone after he had checked his bedroom to find all her clothes were gone. He knew there were only a few people that had that old number, his family or ex-family, to be precise. "Hello?" Marcum answered politely in case it was one of his extended family members calling. Wondering if they, too, knew of his family's deception.

"Honey, can't you just let her have it?"

"Fuck her! No! You tell that cum-crusted whore if she doesn't want her little boy toy sent back to jail for possession of stolen property, then it needs to be here in an hour if not. I wonder how the two love birds will fair," Marcum said in a sarcastic retort.

"Please, Marcum, be reasonable?!"

"Fuck you, fuck them, fuck all of y'all! I work seventy hours a week busting my ass, done every fucking thing for you backstabbers, and what do I fucking get in return? Betrayal! Now I want it here in an hour. If it's not, say goodbye to your only son for a few years," Marcum shouted, slamming the phone onto its base. Sometimes he really did enjoy using that phone. Hanging up violently never seemed the same with a smartphone. Not that the armoire was valuable as an antique, yet it was the principle of the matter that they simply couldn't just walk over him, and he had no qualms about having his former brother tossed back into county lockup just to prove a point. Was he being unreasonable? An asshole? Maybe, yet Marcum didn't give a flying fuck about it at that moment.

Marcum was leaning against the porch railing, watching the locksmith changing the locks on the front door so no one could get into his home. Knowing his father and mother still had keys to the place along with his brother and sister, they received them in their youth. His ears perked as he heard a vehicle pulling down the drive of his home. He didn't turn to look as he only heard one door closing when whomever it was cut off the engine.

"Son... Marcum." He felt his muscles tense at the sound of his father's voice.

"Did you bring my property or not?" Marcum stated without looking back at his father.

"You know Bill has every right to it as much as you do," his father spoke, trying to reason with his son.

"Did grandpa will me everything in the house or not?" Marcum asked, feeling his anger rising. He's always had anger issues, especially in his youth, yet his grandfather beat that out of him when his eighty-year-old grandfather pummeled him into submission when he heard him debasing the teenage white boy that had moved in beside them at the time. Telling him sternly that he saw what real racism was in his youth and all through his adulthood. That he would not now or ever put up with it from his own grandson. Teaching him the teachings of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. that all men should be judged on their character and not the color of their skin. His attitude changed when that same boy he had demeaned jumped into a fight that he had no business in when he was outnumbered four-to-one. He had to admit the boy knew how to fight. From that day forward, the two of them have been thick as thieves.

"Yes, but..."

"Then they are in possession of stolen property," Marcum said, pushing off the railing and seeing how the locksmith was uncomfortable in the middle. Nodding his head when the man said he was going to do the locks at the rear of the house and scurried quickly out of sight. "So, where is my property?" he asked, finally turning to look at his ex-father and crossing his arms.

"You know where it is," his father said dismissively.

"Then say goodbye to your son. I wonder how long he will get with his third strike?"

"You would willingly send your own brother..."

"I have no brother," Marcum cut him off. "As far as I'm concerned, I'm an orphan that my grandparents raised by themselves. I wonder if they're rolling in their graves at the sight of you," he sneered in disgust.

"Fine," his father sighed, "how much?"

"You think you can just buy me off?"

"If it keeps you from doing something stupid, I have no choice," his father said in defeat.

"Twenty-five hundred, that is what it's appraised for," Marcum said, which was true, or at least that was what it was worth when he had everything in the house appraised for insurance purposes. Seeing his father's jaw drop at the price, knowing that was a felony in the state given the value of the armoire and his precious little William would be doing hard time for it. "Since you obviously don't have it, I'll be merciful this time. Tell that douche and that whore I'll take her half of the joint accounts as restitution for their crime. Clocks ticking."

"You're..."

"You got ten minutes and counting," Marcum stated, looking down at his high-dollar wristwatch. Smiling evilly as his father grumbled something incoherent when he pulled out his phone and walked towards the driveway.

"No, I don't think he's bluffing, honey." Marcum heard his ex-father say into his phone with his back to him. Looking down when his own phone rang in his pocket. Glaring hatefully at his soon-to-be ex-wife's number as it appeared on the screen. Turning the volume down and ending the call before it even connected. He had nothing to say to the traitorous bitch.

"Five minutes," Marcum called out when he looked at the time.

"Alright, I'll tell him." Seeing his ex-father's shoulders slump when he got off the phone. "You got your wish," he said, turning to look at his son.

"Then get the fuck off my property, and don't ever return, or I'll have you and anyone that does arrested for trespassing, we clear?"

"That's just your pain talking, but we'll give you space if that's what you want. I'm truly..."

"Fucking don't give a shit what you have to say," Marcum said, cutting him off. "You sided with scum; you chose poorly." Shooing his former father off with a flick of his hand. It might have mattered to him that he saw tears in his ex-father's eyes when he walked back to his truck, but then again, they were dead to him at that point in time.

Thanking the man for coming out so quickly and apologizing to him for having to bear witness to that as he paid his bill. Nodding his head when the man offered his condolences at the failure of his marriage. For the rest of the night after, he had transferred the rest of the money in their joint account into his own. He had Barba's phone cut off, given how it was on his plan. He wasn't paying for her shit any longer. Was it petty? Probably. He just didn't care what anyone thought at that moment. Pulling out his phone when he was looking up divorce lawyers in the city. Noting the number of text messages that greeted him. He didn't read any of them; he simply deleted them and blocked every one of their numbers. Barba was last. He sent a text simply saying: 'Get a new phone because I ain't paying for your skanky ass.' Then blocking her number as well. He did, however, listen to her voicemail. Pleading with him not to throw Bill in jail, that he could have anything he wanted, just don't call the police. Which rightly pissed him off; where was that kind of loyalty for him when she was whoring herself out?

A week had passed, and he had his lawyer serve her at her work. Making sure everyone there knew exactly the reason he was filing. In his state, adultery could be used as a legal excuse to divorce a spouse. It would seem Barba had indeed gotten a new number seeing how he didn't recognize the number when his phone rang like mad when he sat at his desk.

"You fucking asshole!"

"Well, hello, to you too, slut. I take it you've been served?" The question was rhetorical, given how he already knew she was. "Did you think I'd go easy on a two-faced bitch? How did your co-workers take the news that you're nothing but a liar and a cheat?" With that, the line went dead, getting a chuckle out of him; that number was blocked once he was off the line.

Seeing how they couldn't touch the house or his bank account seeing how she was so willing to keep her new man out of prison. The divorce pretty much went smoothly until they fought to get the reason for the divorce changed to irreconcilable differences. When they tried that, he unleashed his lawyer, who he was paying good money. Telling the judge that he had witnesses to her adultery and could have them there the next day. That shut her and her lawyer up pretty quickly. In the end, he might have been able to keep his house and money. In reality, no one wins in a divorce. So in sixty days, he would be a free man without the woman he had loved at one point in time. The good thing was he didn't have to pay his slut of an ex-wife alimony, given at she and Bill were planning on marrying the moment the divorce was finalized.