A Scumbag

It was around 10:30 pm when Jeremy finally stumbled back into the house, the weight of the day – or perhaps the weight of his own actions – dragging him down. The children, thankfully, were already deep in slumber, their innocent dreams undisturbed by the tension that permeated the air.

However Hazel was awake, a silent sentinel in the dimly lit dining room, her presence a stark contrast to the boisterous energy he often brought home. No matter how deeply he had wounded her, how carelessly he had disregarded her feelings, Hazel had internalized the lessons of her upbringing: a wife's duty was to care for her husband, to tend to his needs, regardless of her own.

The aroma of a late-night meal wafted through the air, a testament to her unwavering dedication. She sat at the dining table, her posture composed, yet her eyes held a weariness that cut through Jeremy's hardened exterior.

Dressed in her simple, comfortable attire, she exuded a quiet strength that momentarily softened the rough edges of his heart.

He slowly approached her, a flicker of something akin to remorse sparking within him, but it was quickly overshadowed by a surge of primal desire. He grabbed her forcefully, the suddenness of his action startling her.

He lifted her, her slight frame no match for his strength, and carried her to the kitchen, the linoleum cold beneath her bare feet.

The air crackled with unspoken tension as he began to kiss her, his lips were hungry and demanding. Hazel was taken aback, her mind struggling to reconcile his sudden display of affection with the coldness he often displayed.

He devoured her face, her neck, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. His hands roamed, exploring the contours of her body, lingering on the curve of her stomach. After what felt like an eternity of emotional drought, a flicker of warmth stirred within Hazel, a long-forgotten echo of passion.

His palms cupped her breasts, his touch both possessive and insistent, and his tongue traced a path lower, and he keep getting lower and lower, igniting a fire she thought had long been extinguished.

"Hubby, please. I can't today," she whispered, her voice a mixture of plea and protest. She wasn't being hypothetical, she really meant what she said though it didn't sound that way to Jeremy.

"Fuck, Hazel, you will be the death of me," he groaned, his voice thick with desire. The sound of her voice, soft yet firm, sent a jolt of raw need through him, hardening his resolve. He pressed against her, the unyielding pressure of his body a silent demand. Hazel felt the rigid length of him against her leg, a stark reminder of the power he held over her, and she trembled.

On any other day, she might have succumbed to his will, her ingrained sense of duty overriding her own desires. But tonight, something within her had shifted. A quiet rebellion had begun to stir, a refusal to be silenced any longer.

The years of suppressing her own needs, of bending to his every whim, had reached a breaking point. She wasn't having it tonight.

"We can't," she repeated, her voice firmer this time.

Jeremy ignored her, dismissing her protests as mere formalities, a prelude to the inevitable surrender he had come to expect.

He squeezed her harder, his grip bruising, his intent to break her spirit, to force her submission. He was consumed by a tempest of emotions, a volatile mix of anger and frustration. He was angry at himself, at the inexplicable hold she had over him, at the way her image haunted his thoughts even in the arms of another woman.

He hated the vulnerability she exposed within him, the way she forced him to confront the darkness he kept hidden. Tonight, he was determined to reassert his dominance, to remind her of her place.

"Be good!" he insisted, his voice a low growl.

He then lunged forward, but Hazel, fueled by a surge of long-suppressed anger, pushed him away with all her might.

"Jeremy, stop! What do you take me for? A whore? A service girl? I'm your wife, for goodness sake! I endured it because I thought maybe you were having a bad day, or maybe I was lacking, not good enough. But even if that were the case, you married me because you wanted me. You said you loved me. So to hell with you! I'm so done. Fuck!"

The words spilled out, a torrent of pent-up frustration and pain. She had held back for so long, swallowing her pride, burying her hurt, but tonight, Tonight she could no longer contain the storm raging within her.

The release was cathartic, a raw, unfiltered expression of her inner turmoil. She turned and fled, leaving him standing in the kitchen, stunned by her outburst.

She retreated to the guest room, a sanctuary of solitude, and collapsed onto the bed, tears streaming down her face. The words she had spoken echoed in her ears, a testament to her newfound resolve. She had finally found her voice, and the sound of it, though laced with pain, was strangely liberating.

She gazed out the window, her eyes drawn to the vast expanse of the ocean. The view was breathtaking, a panorama of shimmering water and endless sky. The rhythmic crashing of the waves against the shore provided a soothing balm to her wounded spirit.

The ocean's vastness, its unwavering strength, mirrored the resilience she was beginning to discover within herself.

As she watched the ocean, she saw a familiar figure emerge from the house. It was Jeremy, striding purposefully into the night. Instead of seeking her out, instead of offering an apology, he was leaving. A wave of anger and disbelief washed over her.

Her heart, already battered and bruised, clenched with a fresh wave of pain. The audacity of his actions, his complete disregard for her feelings, was the final straw. Her mind reeled, her emotions threatening to consume her.

She didn't need his love, respect and mutual understanding was all she asked, however even that was too much for the man.

" No! I HAVE TO KNOW WHO IS CHANGING HIM, I have to get at the bottom of this ". She spoke fiercely as she grabbed her long coat and followed after him.

...However, will she be able to handle the truth? That. That I do not know.