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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
Jules does not like the way his marriage turned out. He keeps himself occupied with work and other distraction and shows little interest even in his children. Wednesdays are his worst days. He doesn't know the half yet.

Submitted: November 19, 2007

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Submitted: November 19, 2007



I am trying my best to please her, not because I want to, on the contrary, because she is a nazi.  “What is wrong now?”  I ask rolling my eyes.


“Don’t roll your eyes at me.  Its Wednesday, you forgot to take the kids swimming.”  Her eyes melt everything around her.  Those cold reptilian eyes.


“It was raining.”


“What? Are they going to get wet?”


The question catches me off-guard.  Perfect logic; a dangerous thing for a pretty girl like her to have.  Especially a nazi like her. 


“Well, they sure as hell not going to get dry.”  I am pissed off…


“Fuck you Jules.”


…Even more so.


“Fuck you Sarah.”


Blond hair, blue eyes, 5ft8…  Fuckin’ nazi bitch.


I slump down on the couch and switch on my PS3.  The next hour is pure heaven.


“Come eat!”  Her voice is like a fucking pterodactyl.  Suddenly it strikes me why mothers make such high-pitched squeals.  It carries, it pierces, it moves a primal nerve, it irritates, and it brings the kids to the table.


“Daddy!”  Melissa hugs me and hang on to me as I try to pull away.


“Mommy locked us in the room all day.  Why didn’t you take us swimming? Pushing my knees outwards, moving in, she asks looking up.


“It was raining.  I’ll take you next Wednesday.  Why did mommy lock you in the room?”  Melissa is looking down; she moves her face to the left, then to the right, rubbing her chin on her pink pyjama top.


“Why did mommy lock you in the room?”  Melissa does not answer so I ask Victor.


“We were naughty.”  He is looking down too, avoiding eye contact.  They look guilty.


“Dinner is getting cold!”  A primal scream vibrates the lounge very rapidly.  The walls buzz.  I get up and go to the dining room.  The kids follow me, still looking down, still looking guilty.


Macaroni and cheese again, but I say nothing.  I get through my dinner as quickly as possible, shoving it down.


I take my last bite and I wait for everybody to finish.  No conversation.


The kids and their mother clear the table.  I get up and grab my car keys.  “I’m going to the pub.”


No answer.  “Good night kids.”


“Good night daddy!”  Only Melissa responds.  Will this sweat angel be like her mother?


I shiver.




It takes him three beers to build enough courage:  “How’s things with Sarah?”


His voice has an insinuating tone.


“Paul… man… she is a fucking fascist.”


“She doesn’t seem so bad to me.” 


I take a long, slow sip and look up, I lean forward.  I am sure I look like someone who is in deep thought but my mind is actually blank.  “I don’t think its working.  Everything is my fault while everything is her way.”


“It’s normal.  When I was with Diane it was the same.”


“You and Diane are divorced.”  We laugh.


“Okay bad example, but trust me there is something wrong with all relationships and people work them out.  Give it time.”


Paul has been my friend for ten years now.  I trust him.


“Two Amstels please.”  My answer to everything.


To my left is a cute brunette.  She is a little chubby, but I imagine her to have bright pink nipples and her breasts look firm.  Probably just the beer.


She has been looking at me all night.  Every time I look at her, she quickly looks away as if there is something constantly interesting to her left.  Always fiddling with her lips.  She is sitting alone.


“Hey, that guy is checking you out.”  She looks where I am pointing and while she looks away, I quickly sit down.  We chuckle.


“Could I buy you a drink?”  I offer, seeing that she has no problem with me sitting at the table.


“No, I’m bored, let’s go to my place.”




Work is hectic.  It is Wednesday again; tonight I can look forward to a few drinks at the bar with Paul.  It is 12:30; I am a half an hour late to take the kids to swimming lessons.  I finish the advert.  On my way out, I give it to client relations to get it approved. 


It was a hard advert, took me three days to design, I doubt the client will be happy, a big food chain.  They are never happy.


It is 13:00 when I make it to my car.  The nazi is going to be pissed.  I never understood why she’s so obsessed with swimming.


Rather late than never.  Usually if I’m this late I would just leave it.  After last week though… she was really pissed.




I pull up in the driveway.  I am in a rush.


“Melissa! Victor!”


No answer. 


Locked doors. 


What do they do that is so naughty?


Sarah’s door’s closed too.  I here movement inside.


Her phone is lying on the bookrack in the hall.


I scroll through her sent messages.


The latest one is to Paul, it was sent at 12:36.


“Jules is not coming.  Come over.  I’ll lock the kids in their rooms.”



© Copyright 2018 Francois Roux. All rights reserved.

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