George woke up from his hangover. His ears were ringing, his head was pounding. He felt a throbbing in his chest. He looked over at the alarm clock on his desk, it was no where to be found. He glanced around the room hazily to find it lying on the floor. It read 10 a.m. He was still in a daze. He couldn’t believe his wife let him sleep in, that wasn’t like her.
“George can you get your lazy ass out of bed right this minute?” his wife was yelling at him
He pulled the blanket back over his head. That was just like her he thought to himself. He was still in shock over the events of the last few days. As he rolled over he smelled the vomit in the trash bin next to the bed. He looked down, suddenly remembering the night before. How he left the funeral and went straight to a bar. He recalled how his friend Charlie kept pushing him to take one more shot. It didn’t matter right now.
“I don’t remember the last time I drank that much,” George said.
He couldn’t lay in bed for long. He picked himself up, smashing his hand on a broken piece of glass on his nightstand.
“Ouch! Son of a bitch!,” he said.
He looked down and saw blood on his hand. To his shock it was his glasses. Apparently they were smashed. He sat up, put his hands over his face as he rested his elbows on his knees. This was going to be a long day. He knew he was going to have to find an excuse not to go see his brother today. He was avoiding Drake since the accident. It wasn’t that he blamed Drake for Linda’s death, how could he? He was still bitter Linda was the one gone while Molly remained alive and well.
George made his way down the stairs feeling along the wall as he went. Once he got down stairs there was his wife, Molly shaking her head, arms folded crosswise.
“Have you seen my backup glasses?” he asked.
“Right here,” she said as she shoved them into his hand. He put them on finally able to see the scowl across her face.
“You should be ashamed of yourself,” she said. “Going out drinking like a damn fool when you should be spending time with your grieving brother. I swear sometimes your ignorance amazes me.”
Last night he was sad his wife had lived and this other woman had died. Today he was downright pissed. He hated that woman more than words could express. How dare the forces of nature, spiritual or otherwise be so fucking ironic like that.
He looked at the woman he hated who was now standing before him reminding him why she was the object of his hatred. Somewhere along the lines he had heard the phrase when you hate something it means you really fear it. He often questioned if that was the case here. Looking back on it, he really had no reason to hate her, not at first anyways.
George sat down to eat his breakfast his wife had mad. She slammed a plate of eggs and toast down in front of him on the table.
“Here ya go , eggs are getting cold,” she said. “You better sober your ass up. You’ve got to take your daughter to get her haircut today then she has a dentist appointment right after. Don’t take too long because you and I are going over to take your brother a casserole I made to lift his spirits.”
George angrily pocked at the eggs with his fork, unwilling to put a bite of her food in his mouth this morning
“He’s not going to find comfort in your food,” he mumbled under his breath.
Molly smacked him across the back of the head.
“I heard that,” she said. Melody giggled at the sight of her mother smacking her dad.
“Oh you like that don’t you girl,” he laughed. It was a fake smile as he rubbed his head.
“I’m sorry dear,” he muttered. He wasn’t but instinct told him it was best not to make it worse right now.
“Oh dad before we head to the salon can we swing by the mall? I want to see about picking up this pair of shoes I saw the other day,” Melody said.
“We’ll see darling,” he said as he kept jabbing at his eggs. At least he managed to get a bite of toast before nausea started to come back.
He was sitting there trying to decide why he was being so nice to these two women he hated so much. He still hadn’t figured out why he hated Molly when he really didn’t have much of a reason to. He determined it must have been because his mother controlled every aspect of her kid’s lives.
“George you might go ahead and take the girl shoe shopping while you’re out. No need to be stingy right now, she’s grieving and this’ll help her through that process,” Molly said.
At that moment George had enough. He would look back at on that day as the moment he decided he was done with his entrapment. He stood up, pushed past his wife and went straight to the bathroom to finish reaping the repercussions from last night’s debauchery.
“You make me sick,” she said as she scoffed in his direction.
As he lay on the bathroom floor puking he had a epiphany. For the first time in his life he realized it was not fear that bred his hate. He got up from the toilet, walked over to his wife then slapped her across the face as hard as he could.
She stood there in shock.
“I hate you,” he said, lowering his voice. Then he turned, walked out the front door and never came back.