June Still Sucks

June Still Sucks

I would like to thank wrjcock3 for giving me permission to write this sequel to his 2022 story, "June Sucks." I would also like to thank QuantumMechanic1957 and CindyTV for beta-reading this story, in addition to all those who have offered comments and constructive criticism on my previous stories.

The premise of the original story was simple - A man's wife leaves him for her college lover on the night they celebrated their 10 th wedding anniversary. That's when he learns that she has been cheating on him with her old boyfriend all along and that she had chosen that night to make the split official.

The only person named in the original story was Bruce, but he was not given a last name. I provided the names of those characters. There is no sex in this story, but there wasn't any in the original, either. My old friend, lasagna, does make an appearance...

I used Grammarly and Word to edit, so any errors can be blamed on Microsoft...

And now, the disclaimers:

For those who want to say this or that would never happen, remember this is my universe, a place where nearly anything can, and often does, happen. At least on paper... In addition:

1. Characters in this story may participate in one or more of the following: Smoking, consumption of adult (meaning, alcoholic) beverages, utterance of profanities.
2. All sexual activity is between consenting adults 18 years of age or older.
3. Statements or views uttered by the fictional characters in this story do not necessarily reflect the views or opinions of the author.

Please refer to my profile for more on my personal policy regarding comments, feedback, follows, etc. (Yes, I DO moderate comments) And please remember, this is a work of fiction, not a docu-drama...

...

End of "June Sucks, Pt. 02"

"You win. I lose. I win with the possessions and money, you win even better. You finally get the better man. He's in, I'm out. I'm leaving. The room at the hotel is yours for the night. I hope he enjoys what I set up for us and the gift I left you. Please don't try to return it to me. It would be a painful reminder of how conniving and deceitful of a woman you actually are. I'll take the car home and under no circumstances do I want to see you, him, or your friends ever again. Let me know when your entourage is coming to collect your belongings. I 'll have everything I don't want in the garage in black plastic bags, symbolic of the garbage you made our marriage to be. I'll use my father's line when he was told to either retire from the Air Force or go to Vietnam."

"Hooray for me and fuck you. I'm done. No more service to you."

"Enjoy your trip. You earned it for being such a good actress."

...

And now, "June Still Sucks"

Ten years later:

I woke up that Wednesday morning to the sound of pounding. Rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, I looked at the clock - 8:15 am. The pounding continued, and I slowly realized it was coming from my front door. Who the hell could be banging on my door at this time of the morning?

Slipping out of bed, I threw on my robe, stepped into my slippers, and went downstairs, where the pounding was even louder. Looking through the peephole, I saw a disheveled woman on my porch looking at the street.

I opened the door, ready to give her a verbal thrashing, and the woman turned to face me. She was ten years older than the last time I saw her, and it showed. She had lost weight, her somewhat wrinkled face was pale and sunken, and her once lovely hair was streaked with grey. She stunk, and her long dress was ratty and threadbare. I could easily have mistaken her for a homeless person if I saw her on the street... or crouched under an overpass.

"Daisy?" I asked incredulously to the woman who used to be my wife.

"Yes, Mike, it's me. Can I please come inside?" she asked in a desperate whine. That's me, by the way -- Mike Carpenter.

"No," I said, slamming the door in her face. The pounding on the door instantly started again, and I could hear her sobbing.

"Please, Mike. Please! I'm begging you! Open the door."

I yanked the door open to keep her from pounding on it but stood in the doorway to block her entry. My neighbors already thought me odd at best; I didn't need a spectacle on my front step to call more attention to myself.

"What the absolute FUCK do you want? I told you ten years ago that I never wanted to see your face again. EVER! What part of that did you not understand? And why the fuck are you here? I thought you and Dr. Fucking Wonderful lived in Milwaukee."

Recoiling from my outburst, Daisy wiped the tears from her face and gave me the most forlorn look I had ever seen on a human being.

"May I please come inside? I'm hungry and tired, and I need to use the bathroom. Please? I promise I'll explain afterward," she begged as she shifted her weight unsteadily between her feet.

Having been a teacher for years, I recognized it as the dance of someone about to piss in their pants. The last thing I wanted was her urinating on my front porch, so I threw the door open and stepped aside in reluctant... and silent... invitation.

"You know where the bathroom is," I told her curtly since I still lived in the house we used to share. "Hurry the fuck up."

"Thank you," Daisy said as she stepped inside. She dropped her suitcase on the floor and ran to the downstairs bathroom. I closed the door, went upstairs to piss, then came back down. She was still in the bathroom, so I went into the kitchen, fired up my Keurig, and made coffee. By then, Daisy had returned.

"May I please have a cup of coffee?" she begged.

I stared at her for a moment, not saying a word. A huge part of me wanted to kick her ass, then throw her back into the street. But I had never hit a woman before, and I wasn't about to start now, no matter how much I hated her. And it could get me arrested. That would be one way to get money out of me, and I wasn't about to tolerate that.

Yes, I hate the woman begging me for coffee like some street urchin. And with good reason. I may be many things - a bastard, an asshole, even. But I'm not an inconsiderate or rude host. And I did invite... well, let... Daisy into my home. So, I relented. If only to get an eyeful of her misery and satisfy some lingering curiosity about her circumstances.

"I don't have any of that foo-foo shit you used to put in your coffee," I told her. "I have milk and sugar if you want it."

"Black is fine," Daisy whimpered. "Thank you."

I put a cup of black coffee in front of her and watched as she picked the cup up with both hands. I saw her hands tremble as she sipped the hot liquid.

"Why are you here?" I demanded.

"I... I had nowhere else to go," she finally said. "I used the last of my money for the cab fare here."

"What happened to the love of your life?" I asked sarcastically. "Dr. Bruce McFuckFace?"

"It... didn't work out," she stammered, not meeting my eyes.

"Oh?" If my sarcasm were sharper, you could have used it to cut tile. I saw her wince.

"No. We got married after the divorce was final. Things were great for a while. After about five years, though, things changed. Bruce got hit with a massive medical malpractice suit that ruined him, and eventually, both of us," Daisy said as tears ran down her face.

"I don't understand. What do you mean, both of you?" I asked.

"Since I was his nurse then, I was named in the lawsuit. We both lost our jobs and eventually our licenses to work in the medical field in Wisconsin. We ended up losing everything. Our house, cars, savings... everything.

"We ended up in a small apartment and could only get minimum wage work for the longest time. It was hell for us. Then Bruce changed and became physically violent. He blamed me for our downfall, but he was at fault. I just obeyed his orders.

"He became verbally abusive and hit me more than once. He even kicked me, right between the legs. Then I came home from work early one night and caught him in bed with a young girl who lived in the apartment complex."

"So, the cheater got cheated on," I hissed sarcastically. I couldn't help myself. Chuckling at the irony of it all, I vividly recalled how she and her long-lost lover humiliated me on the night of our 10th-anniversary celebration. Karma is real. "Imagine that."

"It's not funny," Daisy whined.

"I imagine not. Nor was it funny when you and Dr. Shithead publicly destroyed me on the night we were celebrating our tenth anniversary. You didn't physically abuse me, but you might as well have. That would have been easier. Those kinds of wounds HEAL. But emotional, and psychological, trauma is forever. But you didn't give a shit back then, did you? No, you didn't," I added, not giving her a chance to respond.

"In fact," I continued, "did you realize that today is the tenth anniversary of that very day?"

"No, I didn't," Daisy said quietly.

"Did you ever report the asshole to the police?" I asked, letting a little humanity leak out.

"No. I was too scared. But I did divorce him. An old sorority sister, a family lawyer, took me on pro bono. Unfortunately, there wasn't much of anything left after the split. I had just enough to get a bus ticket here and cab fare. I haven't eaten anything for two days."

"So, what do you want from me?" I asked. "Sympathy? I'll tell you this. You can find it in the dictionary, somewhere between shit and syphilis."

"I know you probably hate me," Daisy began as tears fell down her face, but I cut her off.

"Yes, I hate you. I hate you as much as I used to love you," I snarled.

"You were everything to me. But I was nothing but a placeholder for you. A meal ticket until the 'Great Guy' came back, and nothing more. And now that your life has fallen apart, you dare to come crawling back to me. Where are your parents and all your friends?"

"They've all disowned me," Daisy cried.

"Gee, I wonder why," I snorted cruelly. "Did you and asshole have any kids?"

"No, we never did. It turns out Bruce is sterile. Somehow, he blamed me for that, too," she said bitterly.

"At least humanity won't have to worry about you two polluting the gene pool," I commented sarcastically. "So I guess something good came out of all this shit."

She crumpled before my eyes. "What happened to you, Mike? You used to be so nice, so compassionate."

Anger was turning into rage, and I clamped down hard on it. "You wanna know what fucking happened to me? Look in the mirror, bitch. YOU happened to me. Thanks to you, I lost the capacity to love, and I don't trust anyone. Period. The nice guy finished last," I growled.

"But... I thought you would find someone else and move on," Daisy sniveled, her eyes wide.

"Move on? Are you kidding me? After what you did? You never once gave me any clue that I was nothing more to you than a placeholder. I thought we had a solid relationship, but you sure fooled me. For THIRTEEN FUCKING YEARS! Ten of those as husband and wife. Do you honestly think I could trust anyone after what you did to me?" I took a deep breath before continuing.

"And how many women do you think would line up to have a chance with the 'damaged goods' after his wife left him like that?" Not that I wouldn't have shut down any attempt really quickly, I added to myself. Still, not one 'crusading, do-gooder' woman had tried over the last ten years.

At least I was numb enough that that didn't hurt. "SO are you surprised I'm a curmudgeon hermit licking my wounds a decade later?"

"I... I guess not," Daisy admitted as she glanced down in shame.

"And now here you are. What the fuck do you want from me now? Do you want me to house you and take care of you while you wait for your second great love to come back into your life? Get real, bitch."

"I... was hoping you could let me stay for a little while. Just until I could get back on my feet," she pleaded.

"There's a homeless shelter downtown," I pointed out. "You should go there. That's what it's for. At least that's what I pay taxes for; to keep people like you off the streets."

"I did go there, but they were full," Daisy admitted. "I went to the YWCA and even checked with that big church downtown, but no space was left. Please, Mike. I'm begging you. I'll do anything you want. I'll cook, clean, and wait on you hand and foot. You can even fuck me in the ass if that'll help."

I wanted to hurl at that last comment and clamped my jaws shut. She visibly flinched from my glare. "What makes you think I'd even WANT to touch you? As far as I'm concerned, you're contaminated. Walking hazardous waste. There's no way in fucking hell I'd ever fuck you," I spit through clenched teeth. Then it struck me. "Did you try to... prostitute yourself?"

She bowed in shame, and tears splashed on the table as she nodded. "The way I look? No takers."

I stared at her and then said, nastily, "Oh, how far and hard the mighty have fallen."

"Then maybe I should just leave. Maybe I should just curl up and die in the gutter somewhere," Daisy whined, sobbing. "I'm no good to anyone anyway."

I watched her wail and sob at the kitchen table like a dying balloon, the last of its helium leaking away. I considered kicking her ass out to die on the street momentarily. My hatred for her was that strong.

For ten long years, I had lived on that hate, fantasizing about all the various and cruel ways she could die. I had heard of 'functioning alcoholics. Where Daisy and Dr. Asshole were concerned, I was probably a 'functioning sociopath.' A deep, sound-proof basement, or a stone cellar under a barn in the middle of nowhere, where only I could hear them scream...

But seeing her here like this after all these years...

And then there was Bruce, the piece of shit who stole her from me only to abuse her. I also hated him, but that hatred grew stronger. I was raised to never abuse a woman; in my mind, anyone who did deserves whatever happens to them.

I heaved a profound and VERY reluctant sigh. "Listen, why don't we eat something first? Then we'll go from there. Okay?" I offered.

Still sobbing, Daisy looked at me, then nodded her head. "Thank you. I'm so hungry," she cried. "I'll cook if you want."

"No, that's quite all right. I've learned to take care of myself over the last ten years. Besides, it's my kitchen now. You just sit there. I'll make us some scrambled eggs and bacon. Is that okay?"

"That's perfect, Mike. Thank you so much."

I stood up, ignored her, and whipped up a batch of scrambled eggs and sprinkled cheese like Daisy used to do when we were married. Then I fried up a plate full of bacon and made some toast. Her dull eyes lit up when I brought her plate.

"You remembered to put cheese on the eggs," she exclaimed. "Just like I used to do. Thank you!"

"You're welcome," I responded gruffly. "Now, eat up."

I set my plate down and ate, watching Daisy tear into her meal as if she hadn't eaten in a long time. Her face never left the plate as she shoveled one fork full of food after another into her mouth, stopping only to grab a piece of bacon or a bit of toast. She didn't quite lick the plate when she was done.

"That's so good, Mike, thank you," she said when she finished. "You've turned into quite a good cook. I'm sorry, but I haven't eaten in quite a while."

"That's quite all right. Are you still hungry?" I asked.

"No, thank you. But could I please have another cup of coffee?"

"Sure," I said, taking her cup. When I returned, she took a sip and set the cup down. "Are you feeling better now?"

"A little. The food helped a lot."

"Good. A shower would probably help as well," I said. "No offense, but you reek."

"Oh," Daisy said quietly, slumping in her chair as she deflated again. "I'm sorry. I've been on the bus for a couple of days. May I use your shower, please?"

"Please do. You know where it is," I said. "Towels are where they've always been." I thought about it. "When you are clean, my bathrobe is on the back of the door. Whatever you do, don't put those clothes back on. You can use the washer and dryer for your things after your shower."

After this, I grumbled that I would have to scrub the bathroom and washroom with bleach. After she shuffled into the bathroom with her suitcase, I cleared and rinsed the dishes, then went upstairs to brush my teeth and get dressed.

I thought about what happened after Daisy announced that she was leaving with Bruce, the love of her life, and what it had done to me. We had been together for 13 years, ten of those as a married couple. I was utterly devastated at the time. And to heap it higher on me, she had casually confessed to repeatedly cheating on me with him over those thirteen years as he was off working to establish their cushy future.

And to make things even worse, she had deliberately planned to drop the BOMB on me in public at our anniversary party, and her friends KNEW about this! The situation filled me with more rage and hatred than I knew possible. I should have just burst my heart, dropped dead, and saved everyone, including me, a lot of trouble.

It got so bad that the principal of the school where I taught suggested, very strongly, that I see a counselor. I did as he suggested, and it helped to a degree. I could tamp my hatred down enough to handle the routine day-to-day interactions with students and other faculty members. Still, I could not get close to anyone, male or female.

My counselor suggested I write an essay to get my innermost feelings into the open. Her idea was that by doing so, I could exorcise the hatred and distrust from my mind. It worked to a degree, and I could eventually mix with others. But I could never establish a relationship with anyone, never being more than a grumpy colleague at work or a prickly neighbor at home.

The essay, however, turned into a 300-page manuscript by the time I finished. My counselor was so impressed that she suggested I publish it. She even put me in touch with someone she knew in the business.

The book was published a year later, and while it never hit the New York Times best-seller list, it sold enough copies to ensure my retirement. Of course, I changed the names, but it remained the story of how my wife screwed me over and the pain it caused.

What probably helped just as much to maintain my sanity was starting martial arts. Two sensei asked me to leave after I 'unwound' too much in sparring classes. Then, at the Community Center, I found a twice-divorced retired Marine who took me under his wing.

He didn't flinch in sparring when I imagined I was beating Dr. Asshole to a bloody pulp. However, he taught me that letting my emotions fight was a sure way to get my ass kicked. Letting my cold, rigid brain channel my rage into striking power was a skill that took a long time to develop. I could eventually break concrete blocks, but not after getting a legion of bruises.

But I never expected to see Daisy again. Never. Nor did I ever think she would be in such horrible shape. She didn't look good at all, and I began to wonder if maybe she was suffering from a medical condition. I also found that most anger was now directed toward Bruce McFuckFace.

My gut instinct said I should kick her ass back onto the street, but something inside me questioned that course of action. What if something happened and she died? Could I live with myself? Potentially, being even worse off emotionally than I already was didn't seem appealing.

And could I be legally liable? I decided to get a second opinion and called my mother.

"Good morning, Mike," Mom said when she answered. "This is a pleasant surprise. What's going on?"