Total Destruction

[:::: Authors Note ::::]

So far in my stories, my main characters have gone through hardship, but they have always been strong mentally. Recently, I was thinking a little about a couple of the stories I read over the past few days where the main character did not come off as mentally sound. I found myself thinking about what could lead someone from stability to destruction in a short amount of time. This story is an attempt to do that.

I have noticed from a few of the comments, particularly around 'On The Mend', that the love interest is sometimes a little obvious. So you know, at the moment I don't mind. My main characters always get a positive outcome. I'm not a big fan of our main characters losing, being happy as cucks, or having no end; it's not how I'm built.

With that said, just a warning upfront with this story, there are some disturbing themes and a slightly confronting scene or two, I have tried hard not to go too far into the darkness, and I mean no disrespect to those who have had to face what we are going to read below. I purposely walked a few elements back from my original draft as I felt it was too confronting.

As always in my stories, there is an element to bend from what would likely really happen from a legal sense in the real world, to something that I think works with my stories. I want to thank my editing team, in particular, Kite and TexDom, for taking the time to edit this one with me. I love the creative process, and I hope that reading my stories helps others to write as well.

I hope you all enjoy 'Total Destruction'.

[:::: Prologue ::::]

The world was going blurry as I sat down on my bedroom floor. Saying I was exhausted was an understatement. Before this past week, I wouldn't have thought I would be here, at this moment, doing what I was doing. Now sitting, I could feel the texture of the carpet on my wet hands. Kelly and I had spent a lot of money doing the bedroom up a few years ago. It had decent underlay, along with quality Australian wool carpet. It was a shame that the carpet was being ruined right now.

For a moment, I closed my eyes, shaking my head slightly to try and clear the fog descending on my mind. What the hell was I doing, I thought? I'm better than this, I mused for a moment. When I next opened my eyes, I looked at the large hardwood, timber-framed, king-size bed. The next time I blinked, I saw visions of Kelly's naked body arched in ecstasy, her breasts thrust outwards as we made love. I cringed then, knowing it would never happen again. Events had spiralled out of control now.

I brought my hands to my face, and in my insanity, I smirked when the warm wet blood on my hands smeared my face. I let my hands drop to my sides again, continuing to ruin the carpet with the wetness pouring out of me. The world was going blurry, but my eyes quickly caught the glint of the half-empty whiskey bottle lying on the bed beside an empty pill bottle. When I threw down the bottle and scoffed the pills, I had forgotten to put the lid back on the bottle. Now the smell of whiskey was filling the room. I laughed bitterly and shrugged my shoulders, but immediately, a panicked thought entered my mind, the letters. I quickly turned my head, seeing they were still there, my poorly formed handwriting on the cover of each envelope. They were set on the bedside table, not on the mattress where I thought they were moments ago where the open bottle could destroy them.

There was always a risk the wrong person would find my letters, but I dismissed it as the thought crossed my mind. The one remaining sane part of my brain knew that I wouldn't be around to worry about it, so what could I do.

I coughed briefly, feeling bile rise in my stomach. I didn't want to throw up, so I fought the feeling down. Why? As my eyes closed again, I asked myself why it had to happen this way? Why did I do this? Sure, there were people I would miss, even though I don't think they would miss me. Sure, my daughter would hate me for taking this way out, but I believed that she already loathed me, throwing me aside in disgust this past week, and I, for one, couldn't take it anymore. I didn't want the pain anymore. Even now, as the vital liquid that circulates in all our bodies continued to escape from me, ruining the carpet, the pain and anguish were still there. A week ago, the person I was would have knocked me into next week for doing this. The man from back then wouldn't have taken these measures, but I wasn't that person anymore. I was broken, unwanted, despised and saw no other way out than to give them all what they wanted.

I closed my eyes and winced again at the pain on my wrists, but thanks to the pills and the whiskey, it was a dull ache instead of acute debilitating pain. As I slipped further towards eternal slumber, I didn't see my life flash before my eyes, and there were no tunnels of light or stairs of foreboding red hiding in the darkness. I was kind of surprised; I guess I expected something. No, that's wrong, as I knew I had mere moments before the end; I felt terror.

The struggle of my synapses to pull coherent thoughts together was ending. My brain was trying to hang onto life even though I could no longer halt the inevitable march towards doom. I now felt stupid. I wanted to survive. In a last-ditch effort to endure my foolishness, I tried to move, but felt myself slumping to the floor with no energy left as the blackness, at last, claimed me.

[:::: One Week Earlier ::::]

I laughed happily as I twirled my daughter Grace around our suburban house in downtown Perth, Australia. She was nineteen and her boyfriend John had proposed to her last night. Of course, I knew it was coming. He sought me out and asked me privately if I would give my blessing. I had without reservation. Grace and John had been dating since year eight in high school, and I could count on one hand the number of times they had not been together at some point every weekend since they started dating.

Grace was telling my wife, Kelly, and me about the proposal. John had sent her on a treasure hunt, taking her around town then having her end up under a tree in Kings Park, where he proposed. I had hugged her, spinning her around like she was five years old when they told us in our kitchen the next day. I was so happy for them. While they were young, I knew their love was strong. My view was that if there was a young couple in this day and age that had the guts to make it, I believed these two would.

I again grabbed my daughter's hand and smiled as I looked at the engagement ring.

"It's beautiful Gracie," I looked over at John, "You did well in picking it out."

My wife Kelly snorted, sitting on the other side of the kitchen counter. At forty-two, Kelly was still a beautiful woman in my eyes. She was a deep brunette, with brown hair, brown eyes, and a tanned complexion many women begged for. Also, she had a mom's ass that I still worshipped, I loved to caress it when I could, while her chest was on the smaller side with tiny B-cup breasts. They had always been a good enough handful for me.

We all turned to look at her snort on the back of my compliment.

"You should throw some of that thanks my way," my wife said, picking up a glass of wine. "You might have given your blessing, but I was the one who helped John pick it out."

I was shocked, and I caught John turning a bright red.

"Mum, that was uncalled for," Grace said, then turned to her fiancé. "It's alright baby. I love it, and I know you made the final choice."

Nothing more was said, but I must admit I felt a little embarrassed at Kelly's comment. In all the years we had been together, I had never seen my wife say something so disrespectful and out of character to embarrass everyone in the room. But then again, with a bit of reflection, Kelly had been a little strange the past few months. Nothing I could put my finger on in the moment, but there were little things, comments and actions that were not the natural loving woman I knew seeping into the woman that just embarrassed us.

Dinner was festive as we continued to toast and celebrate the now engaged couple. Then, finally, Grace and John headed off after a dessert of apple crumble and vanilla custard I made earlier in the afternoon. They had a little one-bedroom apartment they were leasing with our help while studying and getting their careers going. That night as Kelly and I snuggled into bed, I didn't say anything, but I must admit that inappropriate comment did play on my mind.

Sunday morning, Kelly and I woke slowly, and I started playing with her body without thinking about the previous day terribly much. She began to moan as I kissed and sucked on her nipples, then later, as I ate her out, she came hard. Kelly then rolled me on my back, put her hands on my chest and rode me till she came again. After she came, I noticed the look of bliss on her face, then suddenly, there was suddenly another look as she got off me and walked into the bathroom, leaving me there unfinished. I was stunned.

"Um Kelly?" I said.

"What is it?" she replied, a slightly annoyed disembodied voice from the bathroom.

"Is there anything for me?" I asked.

It took a minute before I heard a reply, "I'm already cleaning myself up. Just finish yourself off."

I have never had an erection wilt in my entire life, but it did then. Moments later, Kelly walked out, looked at my shrinking manhood, smirked, and walked away.

It took me about half an hour to get myself together, I was so shocked. I showered and shaved, then when I came out to the kitchen, Kelly was gone; she had just left a note that she was going out.

Suddenly I was angry. In all the years I had known Kelly, she had never disrespected me like she did this morning. I had no idea what was going on with my wife. I made myself a coffee and kept returning to the same thought, 'Is she cheating on me?'

I was finishing my coffee, stewing on the matter, when Roger, one of my closest friends, called me.

"Yo Bart, what's up?" he chirped.

I didn't say anything other than a generic greeting.

"Bart buddy, what's wrong, somethings not fitting here?" Roger said.

I spent the next ten minutes explaining to Roger my thoughts; Roger laughed at me.

"Buddy, if she's cheating on you, there is not much you can do, divorce is fifty-fifty, and she doesn't work, so she would take you to the cleaners," he said.

"Not helpful," I replied, a little pissed off at his attitude.

"Wasn't trying to be, I was trying to be realistic," said a very un-empathetic Roger. "Look, why don't we sit down and talk about it at work tomorrow? We have the report on the Pembrook project due. After that, we can talk it through."

"Sounds good," I replied without much passion.

Roger was not only a good friend, but we also worked in the same company. I was a senior engineer, and he was a program manager. We had made a good team over the years, I would get the solutions built, and he would manage the funds and schedule.

Somehow I made it through Sunday. Kelly did come home, but it was almost midnight when she slid into bed. She didn't say anything even though she knew I was awake.

The following day, Kelly tried to be amorous, just stroking my cock as I woke up. She was working on getting me hard before trying to mount me. I threw her off at the last minute, coming fully awake just as she started slipping down my shaft.

"Not going to happen, Kelly," I said, getting out of bed.

"You're saying no to sex?" she replied, looking at me incredulously.

I stared at her, then started throwing on my suit for the day.

"I'm not touching you after your disrespect to me this past weekend. I swear if you're cheating on me..." I trailed off, having no idea how to finish the thought.

Kelly was up and in my face instantly, her naked body pushed against me.

"You'll do what Bartholomew Other. You can't do shit." There was a slight sneer on her face as she used my full name. It softened slightly but didn't entirely disappear altogether. "Look, come back to bed. I need some release, and I'm sure you could too." She tried to coo me.

I shook my head; who the hell was this woman. "Nope, not going to happen, Kelly. I don't think you get what absolute contempt you are showing me."

"Well fuck you then," she said and turned back to the bed, pulling a massive dildo out of the nightstand and proceeding to stuff it into her pussy as she laid down. She kept staring at me as I finished getting ready, teasing me and mocking me at the same time.

"You could be in here, baby." She moaned in a seductive tone. "This could be your cock instead of this toy. You know how much I love having your thick meat inside me..."

I shook my head and walked out of the room. For the first time in twenty-one years of marriage, I was disgusted with my wife. As I walked out of the house, I heard her moaning and mocking me as a wimp and coward.

In the office that morning, I was all over the place; my assistant Myra looked at me worriedly,

"Bart, are you alright? You seem off," she said, concern written on her brow.

Myra Brown had been my assistant at work for ten years. She likes to say she was a mercy hire when she tells the story. When Myra came to work with the company, her boyfriend had been abusive towards her. After the breakup where Myra had to leave the house with nothing but her clothes and one-year-old daughter, Tilly, she had turned up for the interview with a blackeye, desperately applying for the open receptionist job.

Aside from the black eye during the interview, which faded quickly, Myra was well suited for the job. Overall, she dressed conservatively, but it was hard to hide that she was a knock-out in the looks department. She had almost natural platinum blonde hair to her waist, a pair of breasts approaching the top end of Double D that looked like they virtually defied gravity. Myra also had a round ass that made any man around the office drool. I must admit, over the years, she had caught me glancing at her a time or two but never said anything. Myra was very intelligent, following along with most of what we did with ease, and aside from getting knocked up by her former, abusive boyfriend at a drunk party one night, she was as witty as anyone around her. The firm owner hired her but assigned her to me, feeling Myra would be wasted on reception having the brains to keep up with me as I worked in the delivery of projects.

I also respected Myra because she had a genuine concern for everyone around her and an absolute moral code. She treated you friendly until you crossed her, then you were dead to her. People had been removed from the company because they had crossed her or assumed she was just a ditzy beauty to find out her ire was nothing to be trifled with.

I looked at Myra, deciding what to say about my situation with Kelly. In the end, I sighed and told her the truth. Within moments of starting the tale, Myra was scowling, but there was an angry blush running up her neck by the end. I hung my head after telling my story, somewhat defeated that it was likely my wife was cheating on me.

"I don't know what to do, Myra. I mean, if she's cheating on me, I never saw it coming." I said sadly.

I suddenly felt Myra's hand on my shoulder. In all our years working together, I could count the amount of physical contact we had on both hands. I looked up into a pair of compassionate eyes.

"Well," Myra said, "first, you need to get through the Pembrook meeting. I got the schedule a few minutes ago, and some questions are being raised about the pipe and concrete used within the structure."

I felt myself return to the moment.

"What, why is this the first I have heard of it? Roger hasn't said anything to me," I replied. A few wheels started to turn in my head around structures, layouts of architecture and quantities I had planned for.

Myra looked troubled, "I'm not sure why nothing has been said, Bart. I saw the agenda just now, and it is... concerning."

Moments later, before we could contemplate it anymore, Roger popped his head into my office.

"You ready bud?" he asked, looking at me with a smile plastered on his face.

"Roger, what's this about issues with pipe and concrete on the Pembrook project?" I asked quietly, trying to get myself ready for the upcoming meeting.

He dismissed it with a wave, "Don't worry about it. We'll get it all sorted out right now."

"Roger, you know I like to know these things before meeting with a client," I said.

"It's okay, buddy. We will get it all sorted." Roger said in a very dismissive tone.

The meeting was an ambush. We walked in; the owners of Pembrook were already there, I had met them several times, and they were always friendly. However, as I explained how we were progressing, they scowled, the look getting darker and darker as I spoke.

"But what about the overruns of concrete and pipe around the northeast?" asked Peter, the majority owner and CEO.

I looked at Roger. He shrugged, saying nothing; everyone was looking at me. "I'll need to look into it because I have not heard anything about overruns. However, the reports as of last week were that everything was within normal parameters."

The scowl on Peter's face deepened. "That can't be so. Can you tell me why I have signed requisition reports from the past three months totalling over two hundred thousand dollars for additional concrete and pipe?" Peter said, looking at me. I stared back with no idea how to respond.

I looked back at Roger, his face unreadable, but he produced a folder then stood.

"Gentlemen, if you could let us take a look into this, I am sure we can figure it out." He looked at me. "Bart, let's step out for a moment and sort it out."

I followed Roger across the hall into another room with our boss Clarence waiting.

"So, what did they say?" Clarence asked as we sat down.

Roger jumped in before I could say anything. He passed the folder across to Clarence. "They asked about the missing materials like we thought they would," Roger replied.

Clarence looked at me, and I saw anger in his eyes directed at me for the first time in all the years working for him.

"What do you have to say, Bartholomew?" the older man almost spat at me. I was shocked at the intensity of the tone and the hostile look he gave me.

"I don't know what to say, sir. The reports I got last week was that everything was on track, no additional materials were required, and I have no idea about these signed requisitions. I certainly didn't approve them," I responded to the obviously angry boss, feeling that this was all out of control.

He looked at me critically for a moment and opened the folder that Roger gave him.

"So that's the story you are going with?" Clarence said flatly.

"Sir?" I asked. Then I started at Roger. He was looking grave.

"Bartholomew, I have here the requisition forms for two hundred and six thousand dollars. I have an issue that the payments were made to a bank account that turns out to be in your name. So seriously, Bartholomew, this is how you treat me after all these years?" Clarence almost shouted at me.

The meeting broke down after that. Both Clarence and Roger took turns blasting me for what they told me I did. Neither wanted to hear about my innocence. They then brought in a human resources representative, and I was summarily dismissed for fraud. Clarence told me that he was referring this to the police and topping everything off, Myra was also being fired for cause because she would have been in on it working so close to me.

As I was escorted off the premises with a few of my meagre belongings, I saw Roger smirking at me when he thought I wasn't looking.

I caught Myra in the parking lot out the front, security watching us if we tried to come back in. She looked dazed but was crying, standing by her car.