Marital Bitch by JC Emery Read Free Book Online Page B

to assess the situation at hand.
    I start at the root of the problem : I’m an idiot. Aside from that, mine and Brad’s relationship is pretty volatile and has been for a long time. Brad has mastered the art of the push and pull. He will push me just far enough away and then when he’s in danger of doing irreconcilable harm to our relationship, he’ll pull me back. It works every time. Unfortunately, this last round of push and pull has resulted in the biggest mistake we’ve ever made. I don’t think I’ve told him “no” with any seriousness even once. The more I examine the situation that we’re in, I realize something truly unappealing about myself.
    While Brad may be a master of the push and pull, I play along. I don’t know what it is about him that makes me lose my ability to think clearly. As I mentally categorize my issues that have led me to being fake married to my childhood best friend, I decide that this level of psychoanalysis can really only be dealt with by a professional. First thing back in Boston I’m going to make an appointment.
    Childhood best friend.
    I mull over that term for a few minutes as I shower and brush my teeth. Does that mean he’s not my best friend now? We don’t really have anything in common anymore. We don’t really hang out, especially not alone. We don’t like most of the same movies or music and we certainly don’t frequent the same establishments. So then, what links us? For the life of me, everything I come up with has to do with our shared history. Another realization hits me.
    If Brad isn’t my best friend, then who is? Darla could be, but then, she’s my sister-in-law. Maybe that doesn’t count? Lindsay could be, but then, she has her own life and I don’t really know how deep our friendship goes—especially in comparison to mine and Brad’s. James isn’t my best friend, I know that. The more I think it over, the more I realize that while Brad and I barely talk, I’m still closer to him than I am to anyone else in my life—and I barely speak to him. My head hurts, and now not only am I alone and childless, now I’m almost best friendless.
    Brad knocks on the door and doesn’t wait for me to respond before he barges in. I check myself for any gaps in the small towel. “I gotta piss,” he says, yawning and giving me a sideways glance. I watch incredulously as he scratches his belly and walks over to the toilet, legs spread.
    “Hey,” he says in a seductive tone. My eyes shoot up and his green ones are sparkling. I get a little lost in them. “If you wanna see Mac, you’re welcome to stay,” he smirks. I watch, horrified as he whips Mac out and star ts peeing. I run from the room.
    “ Brad!” I shout, clutching my towel to me. I hear him laughing and peeing. God. I really didn’t think he could get worse, but then he does.
    “Married people piss in front of each other, pretty girl. Get used to it!” he shouts. I hear hi s gravely morning voice fade into a coughing fit. A few steps toward the bathroom to check on his wellbeing and I hear him hawking a loogie onto who-knows-what surface, and I decide that he can just decompose in there. Besides, I’m a cop’s wife now. I’d get a pretty sweet pension if the pig were to choke to death on his own saliva.
    “I won’t have time to get used to it, dear; we’re getting this thing annulled!” I shout back, annoyed. Honestly, you’d think there would be some sort of grace period for disgusting behavior in newlyweds.
    I hear the water running and decide to take advantage of this time alone. I search through my luggage for something appropriate to wear. The best I can do is a white sundress and matching wedge sandals. I don’t look very lawyery, as Brad calls it, but oh well.
    The shower turns on and soon enough I hear Brad moaning. Curiosity gets the best of me and I tip-toe toward the door. A few grunts, few more moans, and the sound of Brad panting have me speechless. He’s actually… my mind