One Rough Man - Brad Taylor [33]
She poured herself a cup of coffee and was reading the flyer again when her cell phone rang.
“Hey, you’re up. Let me guess. You’re in your pajamas studying for a test that might come after spring break. Did’ja get my flyer?”
Jennifer smiled. “Hello, Skeeter. No, I’m not studying. I had a man over here last night. He’s an exchange student from Nigeria. He’s still asleep because we were up pretty late watching C-Span. I’m not sure what you mean by flyer.”
“Bullshit. I left a flyer on your doorstep. Go get it. I’ll wait.”
“I got the stupid thing. It’s in my hand right now.”
“Well, what do you say? Come on out. The condo’s already paid for, so it won’t cost you a thing.”
“Skeeter, you know how I feel about that scene.”
“Jesus, Jennifer! When are you going to let go? I get you had a rough time, but come on. This is your last year of college! Your final spring break. You’ll be able to sit in a cubicle and slave away to your heart’s content in a little bit. Think about it. I’ll call back and bug you later.”
Jennifer was going to reply when she realized that Skeeter had hung up. The truth of the matter was not a day went by when she didn’t think about her ex-husband and what he had done. Not a day without feeling sweat break out over the memory, wondering what her life would have been like if she had stayed in school the first time.
She had dropped out of the University of Texas after her junior year to marry the iconic frat boy son of a Texas oil tycoon, who had just graduated. Things had been fine for all of ten minutes before she realized he was sleeping around on her. It was as if her husband was trying desperately to hold on to his frat boy lifestyle while walking up the corporate ladder. Nobody held him accountable, least of all his trophy wife. Thinking about it now, she had been very shallow. She had been raised poor, but proud. The Cahill name had been drilled into her from an early age as something that mattered beyond wealth. She had believed it, then had thrown it away.
They held on for four long years, mainly because divorce wasn’t accepted by the in-laws. She made do with the finer things in life, all the while knowing that everyone was laughing at her behind her back. On the surface she had everything a girl could want, or at least anything that could be acquired with cash—cars, trips to St. Lucia, jewelry, you name it. She was only missing the things that money couldn’t buy, like respect. For a Cahill, this was worth more than wealth. She tried hard to get her husband to stop, then tried to adjust her pride to accept her lot, but neither worked.
It finally came to a head when she arrived home to find him in bed with his secretary. Cheating at a sleazy motel was one thing, but doing it in her bed was another. The scene was branded into her soul, still as raw as the day it had happened. The secretary covering up her obviously fake breasts, a small smile on her face, no fucking shame whatsoever. Her husband taking control, not even acting as if he had done anything wrong.
She had begun to pack her bags, telling him that it was finally over. He told her to stop. She told him to screw himself. He slammed her against her dresser and punched her viciously in the stomach, causing her to fall onto the floor. He calmly told her to unpack her things and left the room. She remembered lying on the floor in her own spit and vomit, gasping for air, the fake-tit whore stepping over her with a sheet around her body.
She fled the marriage with the clothes on her back, returning to her mother’s house in McKinney, Texas. The next few weeks were a nightmare. The punch seemed to have done something internally. She had cramps so bad she was left doubled over in pain. Her period came early, and very heavy. She went to the doctor and in the same breath he told her that she had been pregnant—and had had a miscarriage.
Jennifer shook herself. The memories always caused her to sweat, making her heart palpitate. That fucker