The game continued, but where on any other day it would've consumed every ounce of my attention, today it felt like a quiet hum barely noticeable over the constant, dull ache within my chest. It drew my attention, begging me to do something to make it cease. Around me, it felt as though everyone was in a separate world. I could barely even bring myself to muster a clap when a roughing the kicker penalty got us a new set of downs.
Something inside me snapped. I gave into it and let it control my movements.It felt odd to be so separated from something that would've been so important to me a few days ago, but it seemed like such an utterly ridiculous waste of time – watching a bunch of fat, sweaty guys throw a ball around. Funny, that's what Lucy had always said.
My thoughts were interrupted by my own name.
"Paul!" Lucy yelled from the other side of the house.
I got up and walked into the kitchen.
"Hey, sweetie." She kissed me on the cheek. God, I couldn't stand that whore. "Can you check on the Bagel Bites in four minutes? I've got to run next door. We're out of butter."
"Sure." She reached into my pocket and grabbed my iPhone, pressed a few keys, then returned it. "A little alarm so you don't forget."
"Thanks." She grabbed her keys off the counter and walked to the back door, but turned around before she got there.
"You're awfully quiet. You okay?"
"Oh, yeah, I'm fine."
"Let me guess, you're losing your precious game."
"Uhh, actually I'm not sure."
"Not sure about the score? Remind me to check and see if you have a fever when I get home," she laughed. Filthy, filthy whore.
We watched the game in silence – it seemed like only seconds went by before it went to a commercial. When it came back on, the Titans ran one play before Mike Nolan called a time out and it went to another set of commercials.
After a minute, when a Bud Light commercial came on, Jack turned his head towards me, but he seemed startled that I was there. He shook his head gently for a minute then blinked and asked, "What'd she want?"
"Just gotta check on the food in a few."
"Boy, she's got you doing the cooking now, huh? Sounds like somebody's gotten whipped," he said, following it with a whip cracking noise and gesture. He grinned, and as soon as I saw his lips start to move, something inside of me snapped. It wasn't like before – it wasn't some impotent rage that would drain from me. I gave into it, happily so, and let it control my movements. I calmly walked out of the room, but as soon as I was out of view I sprinted up the stairs, three steps at a time. Hatred took my legs over the landing, and I threw open the door of my bedroom. I dropped to the floor and pushed things around under my bed until I got to the plain cardboard box I needed.
I opened it, threw the old newspaper aside, and pulled out the gun. It wasn't gleaming and silver, like in the movies, but dull and scratched. Still, I knew it worked, and I picked it up and examined it as I had so many times before. It felt lighter than I'd remembered, but I'd always known that when my anger boiled over, this would be easy. I turned to face the door, and suddenly a song started playing from my pocket. I hated myself for immediately recognizing it as "Fantasy" by Mariah Carey. Lucy's favorite. I took out my phone and saw the alarm she had set.
In that moment, my anger wilted. It felt like she was standing near me, watching critically, ashamed of me. That guilt filled me – not guilt over my desire for revenge, but guilt over my inability to do anything about it. I looked at the gun in my hand, and it felt foreign and odd, not like something I could ever use. I let my arm drop limply to my side, then replaced the gun in its box and returned it under the bed, arranging everything else neatly around it so as to appear undisturbed.
A second time I descended the stairs, this time bearing an even heavier burden of my own inadequacy. As soon as I got back to the living room, I fell into my seat.
Jack clapped his hand on my shoulder. "We scored! Twice! We're winning! I can't believe you missed it!" He smelled of beer. And my wife. The latter may just have been in my head.