Jamie Garcia

The Call Goodbye

Her long slim body stands in the shower where perspiration drips down slowly, following each curve.  She’s in a place of warmth, steam, and wetness.  The shower door opens silently where her husband, Brad, caresses her shoulders with his masculine hands, working them down her sensual body.  To his dismay, she gives him a look he had never seen before and ponders as to what the problem may be. 

He tries to talk to her but she only shuns him away.  What else could he do?  He can’t force her to talk, so he steps out of the shower and gives her some space.  Before his wife can step out of the shower, Brad was already out the door for work.  She never once calls him to try to give Brad any comfort; she leaves him worried, scared, and miserable. 

Nobody knowing, she has a private meeting, but not for business, it’s personal.  While feeling estranged from her husband, she meets a man named Enrique at a motel out of town.  This will be their second day of affair.  She knew she hurt her husband that morning, but once she focused her eyes on Enrique’s long muscular torso and arms of steal, Brad was forgotten.  Enrique threw her on the bed and ripped her shirt off, you could hear the buttons pop off one by one, and began kissing her aggressively.  He worked his way down and used his teeth to take off her red laced panties.  Her moans got louder and a feeling went through her body that was almost unbearable.  Was it the excitement of someone new or was it that Enrique knew how to please her?  She herself didn’t know the answer, only that it was exhilarating.

After hours of hot meaningless sex, Enrique throws her out of the motel and tells her he’s done with her.  In shock, she heads to the front desk to use the phone to call for a cab.  The receptionist immediately gets up out of her chair and tells her,

“Can’t you read the sign?  It clearly states ‘No Whores Allowed!’”

            “But…” the woman began to say in a hurt and explanatory voice.

“I don’t care to hear anything that comes out of a million man dick hole.  Just get on with your filthy self and never come back!” the receptionist angrily yelled.

Scared, not knowing what to do, she decided to walk down the road until she found a payphone.  She walks wearing her torn shirt, just barely held up by her boney shoulder.  With no panties on, every time the wind blows her skirt is flown open and you can see nothing but bare skin.  Since she was wearing sexy stilettos, she walks barefoot holding her shoes.  After thirty minutes of having car horns honk at her and guys asking her how much for a blowjob, she finally reaches a gas station, True Love.  She had never paid attention to the strange name up until now.  As she waited for the cab to arrive she started thinking about the name of the gas station and realized what she had back home with Brad was all she ever needed.  She began to feel devastated and sick at her stomach for the mistake she made.

The cab arrives and she gets in.  As she sits in the back on her way home, she started to think to herself, ‘Do I tell Brad what has been happening or do I try to cover it up and live with the guilt?’

She knew the answer to her question when she walked through her front wooden double-doors, and saw her two children running up to her with smiles from ear-to-ear and such joy out of their mouths that she was home.  She had to lie; she couldn’t hurt her children’s lives because of her idiotic mistake.  Brad walked around the corner and saw his wife. 

            He gasped, “What happened?  Are you okay?”

She told him a story about walking down the alley on her lunch break at work and three guys snuck up on her, telling Brad they threw her on the hard-concrete ground, ripped her clothes off, and each raped her.  Brad wasn’t too convinced because she didn’t have any marks as if she was forced or any damage from the fall to the ground, but he decided to take her word; he was a loving husband.  She never wanted to talk about that day again, and she never would.

As the days went by they turned into weeks and the pain of the guilt only grew on her.  Each day she looks at her husband and can only think about the last time with Enrique and how she was perceived as a whore.  She had no one to talk to and didn’t know how to ease her mind.  One Saturday, when Brad and the kids were out fishing, she went and bought herself a gift.  She left it in a gift-wrapped box in the closet, waiting for the right time to open it. 

Three years passed by and the box still laid in the closet, until her husband came to her and asked,

“Some man called here looking for you, said his name was Enrique, do you know   him?”

“No,” she hesitantly replied, “Maybe it was someone I did some work for once,” since she’s an interior decorator, it was the perfect lie.

Brad left the room and went about his business, while she walked into the bedroom closet to finally open her gift.  A loud noise went off and her husband came running into the room.  She lay there on the floor soaked in her own blood.  Brad never knew what drove her to suicide, nor could he explain it to their two kids.  He did remember though, as he always did, that day three years ago when his wife came home a mess, and now, a strange phone call from a man looking for his wife.