Divorce Wars: Opposites Attract

by G. S. Carr

  I scan his tanned face before meeting his hazel-blue gaze. I don’t detect any insincerity from him.

  “Fine. What do you want to talk about?”

  “I don’t know. How did you learn to draw?” He is grasping at straws in the conversation department and we both knew it.

  “I taught myself. I grew up with my cousin Anthony and anything he could do I wanted to do better. When we were little he used to draw so I decided I would do it to. He’s better than me even still today, but the competition gave me a new talent that I love. So what about you? What do you like to do when you’re not harassing poor defenseless women with your body oder?”

  A small smirk pulls at the edge of his lips at my quip. “What I do and what I would like to do with my time at two different things. I have a cruiser motorcycle that I like to ride when I have some free time. But I don’t have much of that these days.”

  “Why not? Too busy hiding bodies?”

  “Something like that.” He doesn’t deny my statement like I hoped he would. “I work for some pretty nasty people doing some pretty nasty things. It takes up most of my time.”

  “They didn’t do a background check on you when you came on this show?” I ask genuinely curious.

  “They did. Can’t find what doesn’t exist. I’m good at what I do sweetheart. Don’t worry though. I have no intention of using those skills while I’m here.”

  The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as a cold chill runs up my spine. He is serious. I pull my sketchpad closer to my body. Like any normal person, a knot of fear forms in the pit of my stomach. Like a crazy person, right next to the knot of fear is the blossom of desire coming back to life. I believe that he won’t harm me and the edge of danger makes him that much sexier.

  “Anyway,” he says cutting through my thoughts. “Hopefully when I win this money I can take my… I’ll have more time to do what I actually want to do.”

  “And what makes you so sure that you’re going to win this competition” I ask, eyebrow raised.

  “Because you’re not good at this game. Apart from icing me out and a few well-placed glares you haven’t done much to annoy me. Of course we both know I’ve done a great job being the bane of your existence.”

  Heat spreads up my neck, consuming my face. Who does he think he is telling me I don’t know how to play this game? I can be plenty annoying. I’ll show him.

  “I can see your thoughts broadcasted across your face right now, so I’ll stop you before you have an aneurysm from thinking to hard. Yes you suck at this game. Despite you not liking that fact, it is still a fact. Please forget any attempts to prove me wrong, because they will probably backfire on you. You live by the rules of civility and respect, hence why you could never win this.”

  “This conversation is over,” I ground out between gritted teeth. How dare he insult me when he is the one who wanted to talk to me in the first place. “You came…”

  “No this conversation is not over. I am enjoying it and want it to continue. So what’s your favorite book?”

  What in the name of sugar and spice is this man’s problem? My mouth opens and closes repeatedly as my mind trips over itself trying to process his command. His command. He commanded me. As if I were a puppy here for his amusement. The thought settles like a brick in my stomach. And to think I actually had butterflies over this douchebag.

  Wyatt crosses his arms and ankles as he leans against the railing with that ever present I always get what I want grin. His eyes are trained on me. I meet his stare with an incredulous glare of my own. He raises an eyebrow. What is his deal? After a beat of the silent eye war it dawns on me. He is actually waiting for my answer to his question.

  “You don’t deserve to know anything about me.”

  I am out of my chair and heading back into the house before he has a chance to respond. I make a beeline for the living room to put my sketchpad away and change into my hiking boots. I need a walk to cool off. He thinks I can’t play this game. Well the name of the game is Divorce Wars and if it is war he wants, war he shall have. I head back out the door repeating in my mind what would Amanda do?

  * * *

  Some might call what I am doing a little bit crazy, but I call it artfully inconvenient torture. Placing the scissors back in my pocket I stare at my handiwork. A sinister smile comparative to the Grinch’s when he stole Christmas, slinks across my face. Oh this is going to be good.

  I scamper from the room and go to the kitchen. A quick glance at the clock on the microwave tells me I have about ten minutes before Wyatt gets back from his afternoon jog. I pull an apple from the fruit bowl and stab the scissors into it before placing it in front of the chopping block like an obnoxious flaunting of my deeds. More likely than not, he is going to be pissed when he sees what I’ve done, but I could care less.

  I pick up the knife I laid down earlier and continue chopping the vegetables for the soup I am making for dinner. Mischievous glee and adrenaline coursing through my veins cause My hand to shake as I chop.

  A few minutes later the door opens as Wyatt enters the house. He passes by the open kitchen doorway with no more than a glance in my direction. Despite the little attention he gave me I make sure to train my face to be in neutral. Although I admit it is hard to keep the sly smile from my face.

  “What the hell?”

  The words reverberate through the house. Unable to hold back any longer a full on belly laugh brakes past my lips. I can’t stop laughing even as Wyatt’s heavy footsteps march down the hall. He bursts into the kitchen like an angry bull, nostrils flared, breathing heavily, sweat from his workout dripping down his face. The sight of his shirt in his hand makes me laugh harder.

  “What the hell is wrong with you Kara?” he demands as he tosses the shirt to me. I hold it up on full display looking at it as if I see nothing wrong. I look between him in the shirt several times before shrugging .

  “What do you mean?” I say, innocence lacing my tone. I bat my eyelashes like an exaggerated cartoon character.

  “You cut the buttons off of all of my clothes and cut the nipples out of all of my shirts. Do you know how much its gonna cost to replace all this stuff?”

  The way he spits the words at me suggest that if he could get away with it without jail time I would probably be dead right now. But the twisted sense of joy I get from seeing him so upset dulls my ability to be afraid. I poke out my bottom lip and pull my face into a frown as I say with fake sincerity, ” Oh no. It looks like you have a very big problem on your hand. I wish you the best of luck fixing it. Let me know what I can do to help. Well, as long as it doesn’t involve me actually doing anything.”

  “You’re gonna pay for this. I promise you that.” he grounds out between clenched teeth.

  “I’m shaking in my boots.” I reply eyebrow raised in defiance.

  Wyatt’s heated gaze bores into mine as we stare each other down silently. When he finally brakes eye contact and storms from the kitchen I calmly pick back up my knife and continue chopping vegetables. This is only a small victory and I know he is going to retaliate, but in this moment it feels good. I told him I could play.

  Chapter 5

  Wyatt

  I have to hand it to her. Kara caught me by surprise last night with her prank. After confronting her in the kitchen about my buttons I went back to my room to grab my clothes before my shower. Her chopping spree made its way to my sock drawer. She cut the big toe out of each of my socks. I wanted to strangle her and give her a round of applause at the same time. Apparently she did come to play, but that only means I have to play harder.

  Opening the front door I find Kara in her usual spot in the rocker facing the woods, sketchpad in hand. The woman really did have a talent for drawing. The scene on her paper is a near exact replica of the landscape before her.

  “Good morning,” I say stepping before her to lean against the rail.

  She finishes her last few strokes on her drawing before closing the pad and looki
ng up at me.

  “Goo…” The words die on her lips as soon as her eyes land on me. Her breath hitches in her throat and her eyes widen as they roam over me. Her brown eyes darken to the point of nearly being black. That’s right little bird. The big bad cat has come to eat the canary.

  “What are you doing?” she asks breathlessly.

  “I’m here for our morning truce conversation. Or have you forgotten already,” I reply, handing her a cup of the jasmine green tea, no sugar, the way she likes it. She takes the cup, but her eyes never leave my body.

  “Yeah, but why are your clothes all open?”

  I look down at my open shirt and pants as if noticing their condition for the first time. My six pack abs are on full display. Thanks to a little manscaping this morning my chest is bare and the only hair to be seen is my happy trail that starts below my navel and disappears below the waistband of my boxers.

  “Someone removed all the buttons from them yesterday. Or have you forgotten that too?”

  “I… um… I…”

  Kara’s mouth opens and closes like a fish on dry land. I can see the desire blazing in her eyes as she sits up straight, all her attention on me. I’m not conceited, but I don’t believe in denying the truth for false humility. I’m sexy. There have been plenty of women over the years who have recognized that. I lift my water bottle to my lips, my eyes never leaving Kara’s. As I sip I let a little of the water spill down my chest. Slowly I run my free hand down my chest along the path of the spilled water.

  The haze of desire vanishes from Kara’s eyes like a person waking from hypnosis,. Her face scrunches as if she’s smelled something bad, before she doubles over laughing hysterically.

  “What was that? Was that supposed to be sexy? Do you have a hole in your mouth or something? You look like you are drooling on yourself.”

  I blink several times, at a loss for words. My plan backfired.

  “That dumbfound look on your face tells me it was supposed to be sexy. Newsflash, arrogance mixed with water does nothing for me. How shallow do you think I am?”

  Touche. I underestimated Kara.

  “You’re right. It was supposed to be sexy and clearly I was wrong in my approach. So what’s your favorite book?”

  Now it is Kara’s turn to be caught off guard. Her triumphant smile slips from her lips at my abrupt change of topic.

  “I… um…” she clears her throat. “The Grand Design by Stephen Hawking.”

  Didn’t women like sappy romance books and such? Of all the books she could have said that is the one I least expected. I don’t have to feign interest as I ask, “Really? Why?”

  “The majesty and mystery of the universe is a curiosity I can never fully satisfy. Think about it. Every star has a place and a purpose. There is a pattern and a design to the universe that we can just barely begin to understand. It’s the most fascinating thing in the world to me.” A content smile spreads across her face.

  “I’m impressed. I admit the design of the universe is something I’ve never given much thought to.”

  “Most people don’t. I’m one of those weirdos that actually likes science and math.”

  Kara looks away and shrugs. Is she self-conscious about being smart?

  “Were you bullied for being smart?” I ask in a gentle tone.

  She tires to hide it but I notice the sudden stiffens in her body. She rubs a hand over her braids. Eyes focused on the landscape she shrugs again.

  “Yes and no. My dad is rich. Like super rich. He divorced my mom when I was twelve because of a cliche affair with some hot CFO. She was better connected socially and could help him grow his business. Mom was a nurse so no real business world connections. Before the divorce I went to a nice private school where my intelligence was celebrated. After the divorce I was at a public school in the hood. Let’s just say the smart black girl who sounded white and couldn’t name a single rapper was not a very popular person.”

  I shift on my feet. Her story hits a little too close to home. Mine isn’t exactly the same, but I understand being an lonely in a crowd of people. I place my water bottle beside me on the porch rail to keep from crushing it in my clinching fists.

  “Your dad is a prick. Real men take care of their families. Especially their children.”

  “Can’t argue with you there. So what do you like to read?” she asks finally meeting my gaze again. Dad is a sore subject for her. I file that piece of information away.

  “If I am being honest I don’t read much. I think the last actual book I read was Huckleberry Fin or something like that back in high school.” It’s my turn to shrug.

  “Do you not like to read?”

  “Only with one special person,” I answer. Emma’s beautiful face materializes in my mind.

  “And who’s that?” She leans forward, her intense eyes focused on me.

  My mouth clamps shut. I know she doesn’t mean anything by the question, but I can’t help the wave of defensiveness that washes over me. I can’t give her any amo against me. Especially not Emma. Lashing out at her for such a simple question would prove me to be crazier than she already thinks I am. I roll my shoulders to try and defuse the tightness, coiling my muscles but it doesn’t work.

  “I can’t tell you.”

  “Why not?” she asks folding her arms across her chest.

  “I have my reasons.” I can’t meet her gaze as I reply. The words sound weak even to my own ears.

  “Like you have your reasons for being on the show that you don’t want to tell me about.”

  “Exactly like that,” I bite out.

  Kara’s head jerks back as if my words are a physical slap. I force myself to take a deep breath to calm down.

  “I’m sorry for snapping, but this conversation is over.”

  I push off of the railing and walk inside, leaving a confused Kara gaping at my back. That ending couldn’t have been more of a disaster if I tried to mess it up. I let her see my weakness. Something I can’t afford to do again.

  * * *

  Kara

  My eyes scan the kitchen for any signs of Wyatt before I tentatively take a step in. The small space has three entry points. The one I am walking through, another open archway at the other end of the wall and a door from the backyard directly across from the other entryway. White cabinets with ivory brown granite counter tops line the walls. The lone island with a built in chopping block stands erect in the middle of the room.

  I inch into the room, ears straining to hear the tiniest sounds, nose sniffing for unusual odors. Apart from his failed attempt at being sexy Wyatt has yet to try and get me back for cutting up his clothes. Add to that the way he left our conversation this morning and I know he is going to try to do something else to retaliate. I can feel it in my bones.

  Satisfied he’s not lurking behind the island or around the corner of the other entrance I relax and take a confident step toward the refrigerator. I regret the action instantly. My foot connects with something slick on the tile floor. Hands outstretched, I windmill to regain my waning balance as my feet slide uncontrollably over the sabotaged floor.

  My scream ricochets off the walls right before I lose the fight with gravity and tumble to the ground. I don’t what hurts more. My back or my head which smacked into the ground then bounced before hitting the ground a second time.

  Tears well in my eyes as pain radiates through my body. Every movement and intake of breath is excruciating. I try to focus my brain on something other than the pain. To dull my sense of touch and increase any of my other senses. Coconuts. I smell coconuts. The bastard used coconut oil to make the floor slick.

  I’m going to kill Wyatt. Being disgusting was one thing, but physically harming me is another.

  Heavy footfalls come bounding from the back of the house toward the kitchen. They stop just before the entry way, then become more tentative as they continue toward me. “Crap! I’m sorry. I didn’t think it would work like that. I didn’t think… I didn’t mean for you
to get hurt.”

  I keep my eyes clenched shut as Wyatt inches closer. I can’t let him see my pain. I can’t let him think he’s won. I want to yell and scream at him, but to do so would reveal the watery waver in my voice caused by the pain.

  “Kara are you alright? Speak to me please.”

  “No I’m not!” I growl between clenched teeth. “I’m laid out on the ground in excruciating pain because some douchebag thought it would be a good idea to put coconut oil all over the floor. What are you ten!! How stupid could you be?”

  “I’m sorry. I thought it would be a good joke. Here. Let me help you up.”

  “Don’t touch me.” I hiss.

  “Look I messed up, but let me help you.” He pleads still refusing to leave me be.

  “No! I’ll help myself. Just because you give me some sorry apology doesn’t mean I am going to assuage your guilt by forgiving you. You deserve to wallow in your guilt you jer… Oh! What the?”

  My high handed put down dies on my lips as strong arms wrap around my body and scoop me off the floor. Wyatt lifts me with little effort. His arms tighten, cradling me closer to his chest as he wobbles a bit over the slick floor. The desire to fight him until he puts me down is so strong refraining from doing so turns into a literal physical struggle. But to do so could possibly leave me landing right back on the floor, this time with an additional two-hundred and something weight crushing me. No point risking it.

  “I hate you.” I pout like a petulant child.

  “I know doll.”

  Silence falls over us as he carries me from the kitchen down the hall to the bedroom. So loads of guilt is what it takes for him to finally let me in. The room doesn’t contain much. A metal framed queen bed, one nightstand with a reading lamp, and a three draw dresser for the little bit of clothing the network allowed us to bring. I guess they were hoping we would have called it quits by now one way or the other. Most of Wyatt’s clothes are strewn around the room instead of in the dresser.