Through the Wooden Door

by K Carr

  “Get off.” Connor shoved one of them back and promptly fell over himself. He was halfway in the street.

  “Fuck you, man.” one shouted.

  “Fuck you.” Connor yelled and tried to get to his feet. Maybe to launch himself at the man again.

  “Get off! Get off! Get off!” I started screaming loudly. They all froze for a moment to stare open-mouthed at me. Even Connor was looking up at me from the ground. I pointed the taser in the direction of the closest man. He was kind of beefy, not much neck, bulging arms. Yeah, he would do. “I’m gonna tase your ass before the cops get here if you don’t get the hell on.”

  “Come on, man.” one of the others started backing away. He grabbed the arm of his friend. “Fuck this broad. Let’s go.”

  The heavyset guy glared at me, then spat a nasty glob of saliva at Connor. I took a half leap sort of step, face tightening in disgust and fingers ready to squeeze the button on my taser. I think the man suddenly realized there was an actual chance I would follow through and he would get tased. He flipped me the bird and yelled, “Stupid cunt.” before taking off in a run with his cohorts.

  “What the fuck did you say?” Connor screamed as he tried to stand up. He kept falling back down as if his limbs wouldn’t follow his commands.

  I ran over to him and unsuccessfully tried to help him up. I ended up tripping over his long legs and banging my knee hard over the asphalt road. “Damn it, Connor.” I grunted from the pain. “Stand up!”

  I managed to get him on his feet and we hobbled to the running SUV. Thank goodness there was next to next to no traffic on the road at this time of morning. After tossing the taser into the back, I faced the next obstacle of getting us out of there.

  “We showed them.” Connor slurred as I attempted to get him into the vehicle. “Jen. Jenny, Jen Jen.” He tried to kiss me but ended up knocking his forehead against my cheek. “My Jennifer.”

  “Do you have your wallet?” I started patting him down. What if those men were trying to rob him. “Your keys?”

  Connor started patting himself down, which wasn’t helping me. We both got to his left pants pocket the same time and heard the jingle of keys. His wallet and phone were in the right pocket of his coat. Good. At least he hadn’t been robbed.

  “Connor,” I was trying to ease him into the passenger seat but he wasn’t co-operating. What if those bastards came back? “Connor, get in.” My tone was shrill.

  “S’alrigh,” he mumbled. “It’s alright.”

  Finally, he got into the car and slumped against the seat. I buckled him in and almost cried when I fully saw his face. He had a busted mouth, his left eye was almost swollen shut. There was blood trickling from his nose…I dreaded to think of the rest of his injuries hidden underneath his clothes. Did he have broken ribs? Or a serious head injury?

  “Connor,” I called. “Look at me.”

  He tilted his head, chuckling at who knew what, and peered at me from his good eye. “You’re so beautiful. So pretty. I was thinkin’ of you and now you’re here. Beautiful.”

  I checked his pupil, it seemed ok but, “I’m taking you to the hospital.” I ran over to my side of the car and got in before locking the doors. “Connor, can you hear me?”

  “No hosp-” He swung his head around to my side then promptly groaned in pain. “My face hurts.”

  “Yeah,” I growled under my breath. “That tends to happen when you get punched in the face.”

  “No hospital.” he muttered. “Drink. I wanna drink.”

  “You’ve drunk enough.” I spat as we drove off. “Of all the stupid things! What the hell were you thinking? What the fuck were you doing fighting those guys? Why weren’t you waiting at the bar? Connor! Do you remember being at the bar?”

  “Showed them.” He slapped his hand against the dashboard. “Fuckers.”

  I watched him out the corner of my eyes while trying to focus on the road ahead of me. “Do you know what time it is? You could’ve been killed? What if they had a gun? Huh? Idiot!”

  “Jen,” His hand landed on my leg. “Baby, don’t shout.”

  “Stop that.” I jerked away when he started rubbing his hand up and down my leg.

  “We showed them.” he sang before laughing to himself. His laughter morphed into a groan of pain as he moved in his seat.

  “Did you drive tonight?” I asked him, belatedly wondering if his car was parked up somewhere in the city.

  “No,” he drawled. “You’re driving.” Connor chuckled. “I’m here, you’re there.”

  “Did you – oh fuck it.” I abandoned my attempt to get any sense from him. He was well and truly wasted. I couldn’t take him back to my mom’s place so I decided to take him home. The journey was an uneventful one, if I overlooked Connor’s drunken conversation.

  “Connor,” I called for the fifth time. We had been parked on the driveway of our house for the past eight minutes. Thankfully his car was on the driveway so he didn’t have the future problem of wondering where he had left it. “You have to help me.”

  “No,” he grumbled, head down on his arms which were folded on the dashboard. “Just leave me here. I’m good.”

  I got my arm around his shoulder and tried to get him out the SUV. Eventually he let me help him out the vehicle and up the drive to the house. When I managed to open and get us both through the front door, Connor immediately slid down to the floor and hugged the wall.

  “Hey.” he slurred out while trying to grab my legs. “Come here, sexy.”

  “Get up.” I ordered as I locked the door behind me.

  “Ok.”

  I watched him try to stand up, then I watched him lie down fully in the hallway. “Come on.” I stood over him and tried to wrest his coat off his body. Once I had done that, I took off his shoes and socks.

  “Stop.” he grumbled and wriggled his feet. “Stop tickling me.”

  “I’m not tickling you.” I kicked off my own shoes and shrugged my coat off before taking a deep breath and assessing the current situation. I could leave him there, but there was a cold draft in the hallway. Maybe I could get him into the living room and on the sofa, but he hated sleeping on that sofa. The best bet was getting him into bed so he could sleep off the effects of his heavy drinking. But he was filthy, bloodied and filthy. “Come on, let’s get you in the shower.”

  “I want another beer.” he said. “Nooo, I want – I need s’more whiskey.” he clarified. I ignored it.

  With a lot of straining and manoeuvring, I managed to get Connor upstairs and into the master bedroom. He had grumbled the whole time.

  “No, no, no,” I grabbed him around the waist and tried to drag him away from our bed…his bed, it was his bed now.

  “Damn it, Jen,” he growled. “Lemme sleep.”

  “Shower first.” I carolled him towards the en-suite. Drunk as he was, he still made it difficult. He stunk of alcohol, sweat and blood. His shirt had lost a few buttons and his dress slacks had a few rips around the knees.

  “Don’t want a fucking shower.” Connor tried to turn around and ended up banging into the wall.

  How was this going to work? I couldn’t hold him up in the shower. I wasn’t strong enough. And having him sit on the floor wasn’t feasible.

  “Wait right here.” I warned.

  Connor mumbled something and slumped down to his knees. “Stop spinning me around. Just stop.”

  “Don’t move.” I reminded him before running out the en-suite. I went downstairs to get one of the oscillating stools from the breakfast bar. This should make things easy, or easier. As fast as my already aching arms would allow, I lugged the stool upstairs and into the master bedroom. “What are you - Jesus, Connor.”

  He was on the carpeted floor of the bedroom, obviously having crawled from the en-suite.

  “Don’t take the Lord’s,” he hiccupped and rolled onto his side. “In vain. Heathen.”

  I hefted the stool up and made my way to the bathroom, carefully stepping over my ineb
riated husband. His poor face. I hoped his nose wasn’t broken.

  “Get up.” I said sharply once I was back in the bedroom. “Connor, get off the floor. You’re bleeding on the carpet.”

  “Lemme sleep.” he begged and held a hand up in the air. It swung around crazily. I think he was trying to get a hold of me. “Come ’ere, come lie down with me.”

  I walked over to him and grabbed his arm. “Up.”

  Groaning, he let me help him back to his feet and we stumbled our way into the en-suite. I propped him against the wall by the cabinets and started to undress him while he tried to kiss my neck and ear, well anywhere he could get to really.

  “Oh,” I hissed in alarm at the already darkening bruises over his chest and arms. “Oh, Connor. You’re really hurt.”

  “S’alrigh, Jen.” he said tried to hug me. “I’m alrigh…t.”

  I got him completely undressed then yanked my own jeans off before getting us both into the shower. “Sit.” I guided him to the stool then turned the shower on. Connor hissed from the blast of water over his body. “I know,” I muttered with a hand gently smoothing over the bruise on his shoulder. “Let me clean you up. We won’t be long.”

  With care, I washed the dirt and blood away from his face and out his hair. It was difficult when he kept slouching and moving drunkenly side-to-side.

  “I love your tits.” Connor blurted out. He was facing me now while I tried to get a little shampoo in his hair. The water had soaked through my t-shirt and the outline of my breasts were very apparent. He gave me a goofy grin. “You have the best tits.”

  “Shut up.” I snorted in disgusted humour.

  “Can I lick ’em?” he asked.

  “Connor.” I was a bit rough with his hair as I worked up a lather.

  “Please.” he cajoled before his head flopped down onto my chest. He tried to wrap his arms around my waist but one of his hands kept sliding down. He was so drunk. “I wanna fuck, Jen. Let’s fuck.”

  “No.” I said firmly then tipped his head back so the water from the shower could wash the shampoo away.

  “Ow,” he complained. “My face hurts.”

  “Everywhere should hurt,” I murmured in agreement before I leaned over and pressed a soft kiss on his temple. “You idiot.”

  “I love you.” he said suddenly. “Do you – I love you.”

  “I know.” I reached over to grab his shower gel and squeezed a sizeable amount out. I rubbed it between my hands then started to soap Connor’s upper body. “I know you do, Connor.”

  “You love me too?” he asked. Connor raised his head from where it rested on my breasts. He sent me a confused look as if finding a moment of lucidity in his drunken stupor. “Why am I wet? Wha- Where’s this water coming from? It’s raining inside?”

  I laughed then. I couldn’t help it. It was probably the stress from everything that had happened before, but his question had me laughing until my tummy protested.

  “I miss you.” Connor let his head fall back onto my breasts. He was able to finally wrap his arms around me. The stool spun around to the side and I almost went over, except he tightened his arms around me and somehow managed to keep me upright. “I love you, Jen.”

  “I know.”

  “I miss Cory.” he said softly. Then he started to cry. Big, heaving sobs which in turn made me want to cry. Connor shuddered against me. “I killed him. Me. It’s my fault. Oh, God. I want him back, Jen. Make him come back.”

  “I can’t.” I could feel my throat clogging up from emotions.

  “I killed him,” Connor gulped. He had buried his face in my cleavage. I could feel each movement of his mouth as he tried to breathe through his tears and the water beating down on us. “My fault.”

  “Shh,” I kept rubbing my soapy hands over his back. “It’s ok, darling. You didn’t kill him.” A while passed with me just making noises of comfort and rubbing his back while he released his pent up emotions.

  “Come home.” he begged. “I’m so alone. I miss Meggie. I miss you.”

  “I know,” I whispered. I couldn’t tell if I was crying or if the water from the shower was making me think I was.

  “I wanna fuck.” Connor said, this time quite loudly. “I wanna fuck you, Jen. Right now.”

  “You can’t.” I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “You’re probably too drunk to get it up.”

  “Gimme a blow job.” he slurred and raised his head up to look at me from his good eye, “I’ll get hard.”

  I lowered my head until our foreheads touched. “Maybe tomorrow. I have to clean you up now.”

  Connor nodded then groaned in pain. He laid his head back on my chest. “I love you.”

  “I know.”

  “Shh,” he warned. “You’ll wake the kids.”

  “They’re not here.” I reminded him. I kept my tone soft. He was too drunk to understand what he was saying, too drunk to separate logic from the drunken haze surrounding his mind.

  It took another twenty minutes before I was satisfied he’d been cleaned enough. Connor could barely stay awake now and I was truly worried that he was somehow more seriously injured than I thought he was. Once I got us both dried, I propped him against me and we slowly made it back to the bed.

  “Ow.” he groaned when his head fell onto the pillow. I didn’t have the strength to ease him down onto the mattress. Unfortunately for him I had to let the weight of his body just flop backwards. “Fuck, Jen. That hurts.”

  I yanked the covers from under his naked body and tried to arrange them over him. Connor opened the eye that he could and reached for my hand.

  “You’re naked.” He finally noticed.

  I had to ditch my wet t-shirt and panties after the shower. “Yup.”

  “Stay.”

  I nodded once. Yes, I would stay. His head lolled to the side and seconds later I heard his breathing deepen. He was out of it already. I realized, standing over the bed, that as terrible as my life had been this past year and a half, it would be even worse if anything happened to him. I loved him. I fucking loved him, but I didn’t know if I could ever truly forgive him. I had yet to forgive myself.

  * * *

  “Oh god.” Connor groaned out loud. Everywhere hurt! What the fuck? There was a jack-hammer going off inside his head and his body felt as if it was on fire - Jesus Christ! Was he dead? No, no, this much pain meant he was alive…or maybe he was in hell? Unable to move without excruciating pain shooting through his limbs and up his back, Connor just laid still for a moment and tried to piece together what had happened. The last thing he remembered was chatting to that busty redhead at the bar – what the hell happened last night? Had his drink been spiked? His memory was patchy to say the least and he had a weird dream about Jen. “Fuuuck!” he hissed as he tried to open his eyes. His left eye just wouldn’t – the noise in the hallway would’ve halted his movements if he could’ve actually moved. He managed to open his right eye fully, the left one only cracked open to a painful slit. What was that noise? There was someone in his house. An intruder…maybe he had been attacked while he slept. Connor hoped to god whoever it was finished him off. Even his knuckles hurt! What the hell?

  The sound of the door being pushed open reached his ears. In order to see who it was Connor needed to turn his head but his neck hurt too much. Hopefully it would be quick. The pain in his body had him hoping his upcoming murder would be quick! The barely heard sound of feet over the carpeted floor, the rustle of some piece of clothing, the clink of a glass – Connor risked the pain and tilted his head towards the door.

  “Hey,”

  Connor couldn’t believe it. His wife was here. What was she doing here? Was he still dreaming? He watched her walk over to the bed with a glass and bottle of water in one hand, and the first-aid kit in the other. She was wearing one of his favourite sweatshirts. It was one of his favourites because she looked so damned good in it.

  “Jen?” he croaked. “What are you-” he had to pause, his throat was so
dry and his mouth felt cottony. Damn. His head hurt like hell.

  Jen sat down on the side of the bed right next to him and carefully put the glass and bottle of water on the bedside table before placing the first-aid kit down. She pulled out a sachet of tablets from the pocket of the sweatshirt.

  “Here,” She popped two tablets out. “Take these, they should help with your pain and headache. How do you feel?”

  “Like I’ve fallen off the edge of a cliff.” he said, still unsure if she was really here or a figment of his demented imagination. Connor watched every movement of hers as she calmly cracked open the bottle of water and poured some into the glass. Then she held one of the tablets up to his mouth.

  “Ow,” he muttered as he opened his mouth wide enough for her to put the tablet in. The other one followed before she offered him the glass of water. Jen held it to his lips and he swallowed a few gulps. His throat hurt as the water and tablets made their way down his oesophagus. “Everywhere hurts.”

  Jen snorted with a nod. “That’s what you get for fighting.”

  “What?” Connor jerked, it was instinctive and a stupid thing to do considering the state he was in. “Owwww. Oh Jesus. What are you talking about? What’s wrong with my eye? It won’t open properly.”

  Jen stood up and wandered over to the large dresser. She picked up one of her handheld mirrors and returned to the bed. “Look.”

  “Shit.” Connor hissed when he saw his reflection. He raised his hand to grab the mirror and gasped at the broken skin and bruises on his right knuckles. “I was in a fight?”

  Jen nodded. Connor changed his mind about holding the mirror, the little that he had seen of his face was enough and there was a small gash on the top corner of his mouth. He avoided her eyes, ashamed and wondering how to explain it all to her when he had no idea exactly what had happened last night.

  “How did you,” He started to shake his head then stopped as his vision spun wildly. “How did I end up here?”

  “Home?” she asked as she opened up the first-aid kit.

  “Yeah,”

  Jen rifled through the kit for a few seconds before she answered him. “I got a call from the bar you were at. You must’ve given them my number,” She raised her gaze to his. “Which is amazing considering how much you probably had to drink.”