Marital Bitch

by Jc Emery

  “Really, Bradley,” Colleen hisses. “If you’re going to keep your little sluts then we’re going to need ground rules. I will not be made to be embarrassed in public.” I cock an eyebrow at her and lean forward.

  “You mean like you just did to me?” I ask. Her face turns an off shade of purple and she lets out a muffled scream before stomping out of the station. I chuckle quietly, and Vicky—God love her—has the decency to turn away and make herself look busy.

  As the doors slam, Vicky turns to me all wide-eyed and a little nervous looking. “Oh, that was awful. Did you hear her? She called me a slut.” She doesn’t seem offended, just baffled.

  “I told you, she doesn’t like to share; and don’t worry about it—this is going to be fun.” I say, patting her head and walking off back to the squad room, ready to crack some skulls if anyone tries to be funny.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  (Colleen)

  That idiot is in love with you.

  THIS IS WHY I’ve never tried anything with Brad in the past. Aside from the fact that he is a smelly, loud, hairy, jackass; he is also an aloof womanizer who hops from bed to bed, sometimes before the condom even comes off. And to think I was about to have sex with that pig.

  I hold the tears at bay as I rush to my car. I need a drink, or maybe… no, no. I haven’t done that since college when my stupid brother and stupid Brad walked in on me and Lindsay and nearly arrested the both of us. I’ll give Dumb & Dumber one thing—they sure are a couple of goody goodies.

  I hastily climb into my car and the tears fall. Before I know it, my hands are covered in snot, my eyes hurt, and I’m hiccupping. I choose not to analyze why I’m this upset. Is it over my gift gone awry or over that other thing—that amazon-looking Barbie in Blue? The station isn’t far from Brad’s house, but I don’t want to go there just yet. My condo is empty, and the very last place I’d want to go right now is my mom’s house. I can’t very well explain the whole fake marriage fiasco and Brad practically dry-humping Vicky the Bimbo at the station to my mother. Okay, rationally I know that it was nowhere near dry-humping, but that’s how it’ll forever be burned into the caverns of my brain.

  So, I drive to Darla and James’s house. Not that any of us live very far from one another… I mean, Southie isn’t very big. I park my car in front of Brad’s house, happy to find a spot so close, and I walk the few houses down to see Darla. I just know she’ll see my side of things and we can sit and cry over how much boys suck.

  The house is silent, so I use my key to get in; knowing better than to ring the bell if the kids are sleeping. I creep toward the living room. Darla is on the sofa reading a book. She looks up and smiles at me, probably happy to have a conversation that doesn’t include boogers and Disney Princesses. I smile back through my red, puffy eyes and her expression changes. She sets down the book and looks at me solemnly.

  “What happened?” she asks, moving her feet and patting the sofa beside her. I curl into her side and sniffle as I begin to tell her the whole story—sans Brad crying at the theater. Okay, that part might be important to Brad’s reaction, but it feels like a major violation of trust—even if half of the station now knows about it now. That was a total accident.

  “Oh, honey,” Darla says, stroking my hair. Her tone is motherly and consolatory. I knew I came to the right place. She rubs my back and strokes my hair one more time and then she hits me upside the head. I shriek and lean away, horrified that she just hit me. Why did she just hit me!

  “What the hell, Darla?” I ask, huddling into the other end of the couch.

  “Are you dumb or just plain stupid?” she asks, her eyes boring into my skull.

  “There’s a difference?” I say, honestly perplexed. Aren’t dumb and stupid the same thing?

  “Why in the world would you do something so stupid?” Darla yells. Fitz starts making noise through the baby monitor. She quiets down immediately and scowls at the contraption. “I hate that thing,” she says, “makes me want to run away, but I’m sure the moment I turned it off flying monkeys will come and snatch him.” I stare at her like she’s got three heads; because did she really just admit to worrying about flying monkeys? I mean, really? Mothers are so weird.

  I try to defend myself, but it’s no use—she is not going to let up. Not one bit.

  “Colleen,” Darla whines, “we’ve talked about this. Men and women are different. It doesn’t matter that you would have liked a gift like that at work… Brad is a guy. He is a man. Food is good. Personal notes about embarrassing events that you’ve kept secret are not okay, not ever! Not at work. Not in private. Not at work! Do you hear me, not at work!”

  I hang my head in shame. Sure, now she tells me. Where was she when I had this bright idea?

  “You want to know why you’ve had such trouble finding and keeping a man, it’s because you don’t listen. You just go about doing what you want with no regard for how it’s going to affect anyone else; which, by the way, is how you wound up in a fake marriage to begin with! God, Brad gets enough crap at the station because of you!”

  Ouch. And she’s back to yelling, but as least it’s not as loud… then again, if she does wake up the baby then I can probably play with him.

  “Is nap time over yet?” I ask, changing the subject and doing my best to ignore what she’s just said; because my fragile ego can’t handle that kind of honesty right now.

  Darla leans over and hits my leg—hard. I yelp and swat at her. Getting hit is getting really old. I’m not into that freaky crap and definitely not with my sister-in-law.

  “Listen up, stupid,” she glares at me. “You are not going to wake up my kids. I finally got some time to myself. So if you wake them up, you take them with you for the night… all of them.” I cringe. My little monkey, Alex, is bad enough on his own. Lilly is pretty well-behaved. All I’d have to do is hand her over to Brad. She prefers him anyway. It’s Fitz that makes it difficult. Don’t get me wrong—I’d lay down my life for that kid, he’s just so needy. I’m okay with just him, but with the other kids? Nope, I’m a goner.

  “Now,” Darla says, “did you hear me?” I nod my head unhappily. “I don’t think you did. I said Brad gets enough crap at the station because of you.” My ears perk up. My heart speeds up.

  “Why?” I ask. Darla laughs, a honest-to-goodness laugh. I smile at her sadly. I don’t know why, but I think she’s been waiting for me to ask this.

  “It’s about time,” she says. “That idiot is in love with you, but you’ve got your head too far up your own butt to see it.” I scoff, but she’s not laughing anymore. Not even a tiny little smile. She’s not joking. She really believes this. Darla wouldn’t lie to me about this. If she’s saying it, it’s because she believes it; but do I?

  “You know what’s worse?” she asks. I shake my head, looking away. This conversation has not gone how I expected it to. We’re getting into some very serious territory here that I hadn’t planned on. “You’re in love with him, too. But once again, your head is up your own butt and you don’t even realize it.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  (Colleen)

  He’s serious about my safety. He always is.

  “DARLA—,” I SAY, I say. My eyes are filled with tears. She smiles at little—just enough to look sincere. This is the same smile she gave me when she told me that she was in love with my brother and that she was going to marry him. There wasn’t a hint of humor at that moment. Back then, she didn’t know how much James loved her. She didn’t know that he would bother me with constant questions about her. She didn’t know that James’s world begins and ends with her—even then it did—and he was a goner from the first moment that he spoke to her. I used to wonder how she could be so blind…

  “Colleen,” she says gently, “I wouldn’t lie about this. You’re my sister and I want the best for you—and if you can get your hoity-toity head out of your Ivy League butt, then maybe you could see that Brad is what’s best for you.” I gulp loudly. I don’t kno
w what to say. What can I say?

  “How…” I trail off. I want to ask her how she knows; or what makes her think all of this.

  “No man puts up with as much shit as he does from you unless he’s in love. Besides, we’ve all known it for a long time. You’re just a little slow,” she shakes her head in disbelief.

  “What about all those other women?” I ask, thinking about the parade of women that have come and gone from Brad’s bed. Darla scoffs as though my question is the stupidest thing she’s ever heard.

  “Again—you’re thinking like a woman. You need to grow a pair and think like you’ve got a penis. As a woman, if you’re in love with a man, you’d rather remain celibate than to go out sleeping around; so of course it doesn’t make any sense to you. But as a man? Honey, if your cookie jar is off limits… what do you expect? The man’s got an appetite. So either you show him that you’re ready to bake or leave him alone when he fills up elsewhere.”

  “I have left him alone,” I muse, realizing that if, perhaps, I had put forth some effort back when we were teenagers that things might have turned out different. But do I really want for things to have turned out different? Darla ‘hmphs’ and rolls her eyes.

  “No, you have not!” she says. I’m confused. Again. “Every single time that man gets a new girlfriend you buddy up to her and push your way in-between them. Next thing he knows he’s the third-wheel in his own relationship.” I’ve always made friends with Brad’s girlfriends, but I never had any ulterior motives; at least I didn’t think that I did.

  “Have I really?” I ask her, pleading for the truth. She nods her head at me like I’m her child. I’d be insulted if I didn’t feel so stupid right now. “Maybe that’s what I need to do with Vicky,” I mumble. Darla’s eyebrows shoot up.

  “Vicky?” she asks. I sigh. Apparently James didn’t talk to her yet.

  “Yeah. You know, I told Brad he could date, so it’s not like he’s really cheating, but he was pawing all over her down at the station. You know her, beautiful, strawberry blonde, with knockers that could poke your eyes out?” Darla nods.

  “Uh, Colleen,” she draws her words out like I’m short bus special. “How much do you know about Vicky?” I tell her the very little bit that I know, which is, essentially, just what I saw.

  “So, you don’t really know anything about her, then?” Darla questions, a little too curiously. I shake my head. I wish I knew a little bit about her, that way I could size her up and tell Brad if she’s a good fit for him or not. Maybe she wants to do lunch…

  Oh, God.

  Oh, God.

  Darla is right. I always find a way to wedge myself into Brad’s relationships. “How long have I been interfering in his relationships, Darla?” I ask, defeated.

  “According to your mother—since you two were in diapers. You even got jealous when he would play with his sisters. She says you’d push the twins away from him; and if Charlotte tried to play, you’d bite her.” Darla laughs, telling me all of this. I put my head in my hands and feel like my head is about to explode.

  The baby starts to fuss and Darla stands up. Our visiting time is over and I’m no longer in the mood to play with the baby. I stand up, too, and ignore her protests, asking me to stay. I don’t want to talk much anymore—afraid of what else I’ll find out about myself that I didn’t even know.

  “Colleen,” Darla says, turning around from her position at the stairs. I look to her and wait to hear her parting words. She takes a deep breath. “I know you better than you know yourself sometimes. You are so in love with that man, but so afraid of getting hurt that you can’t even move. It’s time you go get your husband and tell him how you feel.” I smile; all watery eyes and shallow breaths. There’s really nothing I can say, so I don’t even try.

  I’m going to go get my husband.

  I walk out of the house toward Brad’s. His truck is in the drive. I’m a mix of confidence and nervousness. I don’t know how much I care about Brad just yet—calling it love seems a bit presumptuous at this point—but I know that I do indeed care. A lifetime of caring for someone doesn’t equate to love. No, there’s more to love than that. There has to be.

  The front door is unlocked and I walk straight in. Brad is hunched over in his leather Lazy Boy recliner in the living room, a glass of liquor in his hand. He looks at me, expressionless and just stares. He hasn’t given me this look since that fateful night so many years ago when he walked in on me and Heather.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper. He shakes his head and stares at the glass in his hand, swishes the liquor around and downs it. I need to make this right, and fast. He’s shutting down. But before I can say or do anything else, he turns his head, looking at me from the corner of his eyes. For a brief moment, they soften. He smirks, but it’s not the playful smirk he always wears. He looks mean. Not angry, just… mean. I try to smile, but it’s forced.

  In a moment so brief I barely register what happens, he throws the glass across the room. It shatters on the wall. I step back; my body flush against the front door.

  “What? You’re scared of me now?!?” he’s screaming; and yeah, I am sort of scared of him right now. I’ve never seen Brad so angry before in my life.

  “How much have you had to drink?” I ask quietly. I want to know, because this is a side of him that I’m not sure I can deal with.

  “Answer my question. You’re scared of me now?” He stands from his seat in the chair and takes three tentative steps towards me. His face now wavering between apologetic and angry is trained on mine. Something happened, and it’s hurting him. I can’t imagine that I could have done this much damage.

  “I’m not scared of you, Bradley,” I say, keeping my voice low. He takes two more steps forward. I relax a little, my nails no longer digging into the wall. Brad would never hurt me, I know this. I give him a sad smile. He closes the distance between us. I lean against his chest and his arms wrap around me.

  “Are you okay?” I ask him. He says nothing for several minutes. We just stand there and I breathe him in. This being in his arms feels really nice, homey even. Part of me thinks that I’m letting everything Darla said get to me. The other part of me thinks that maybe I’m finally opening my eyes to what’s been before me my entire life.

  “I don’t want you going out at night, okay?” His voice is gruff, like he’s fighting his vocal chords just to speak. I want to ask him why, but I know better. My dad’s a cop and so is my brother; this isn’t the first time they’ve asked me to do something for my safety. The three of them—they’re always looking out for me. I wonder if that’s something I’ve taken for granted.

  “Colleen?” Brad says, taking my face between his hands and forcing me to look him in the eyes. “Don’t go out at night, okay? Not without me. Please.” I nod, looking into his eyes. He’s serious about my safety—he always is. Why haven’t I noticed this before?

  He looks different up close. He doesn’t look slobbish or crude. He’s handsome. Well, he’s always been handsome in that Irish brute sort of way; but now, he looks different. He looks… sexy?

  Without another thought, I act on instinct, grabbing his neck and pulling him down toward me. I don’t seem to have any control over my actions. I kiss him. At first I’m gentle, but when he doesn’t respond immediately, I attack him.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  (Brad)

  “Brad,” she says all serious, “We’re having sex.”

  THE DAY HAD gone to complete shit. First of all, I hate waking up to a murder. Second, Colleen’s little stunt at the station had been haunting me all day. By the time I left work it seemed everyone in South Boston knew about it. They’re all nosey as is, and this whole thing was really starting to piss me off.

  The pro down on East Broadway turned out to be a college girl—from Harvard. I don’t know what she was doing down there, but if I was to guess, she was trying to score some Adderall. Once college kids figured out ADHD medication would make pulling an all-nighter easy as p
ie, we started picking them up after trying to score in some pretty rough parts of town. Stupid children. Whatever happened to doing things right, even if they aren’t easy?

  I remember Colleen trying that once when she was at Harvard. She was a year from graduating and her grades were in the toilet. I don’t think she would have graduated that next spring without the little extra help she was getting from Adderall. As it is, she skated through her final year with high C’s. Once I found out she was doing that, I put an end to it, and we haven’t talked about it since. She’s reckless—always has been—and she doesn’t think things through.

  By the time Colleen stormed out of the station, the stench of indignation hot on her backside; I had gone from angry to amused. My pretty girl can’t stand anybody coming before her in my life. This plan with Vicky was perfect. Although, I knew by the time this was over and done with, I’d owe Vic big time. Maybe this was a bad idea? Colleen can be pretty cruel and I’m purposefully putting one of my closest friends in the line of fire… eh. Whatever. Vic’s tough and she’s got her glock if Colleen gets crazy. I just hope it doesn’t come to that.

  So anyway, I come home and it’s dark out already. Colleen isn’t home, but her car is. After what I dealt with today, irrational fear welled up inside of me and I began to pace. She wasn’t with James or my mom or sisters. She wasn’t with the Chief or my dad. Lindsay and Adam hadn’t seen her. And I started to drink. And I continued to drink; and then my stupid ass thought to call Darla—after I was already pretty damn drunk. Like I said, I’m stupid. So I call Darla and she tells me that Colleen was with her—and she’s on her way home. And get this—that I should be nice to her. What the hell?

  Okay, I know my head is pretty foggy right now, but Darla had to be joking when she told me to be nice to her. Did Colleen not tell her how she royally embarrassed me at the station? She probably did tell her and they’re just man haters.