Written in Scars(16)

Finally, Sam looked him in the eyes, seeing fear and uncertainly in their bleary depths. “I’m leaving you,” he said calmly. “No drama, no pleas, no more asking you to be faithful. I’m going. That’s it. You can sleep with as many whores as you like because I won’t be here to care.”

Johan’s eyes flicked quickly over him, panicked. “You’re joking. Right? If you’re trying to scare me, it worked okay. I’m sorry about last night.”

“No, you’re not,” Sam said quietly. “You’re only sorry that your selfish little life is about to change. You shit in your own bed, Johan. Now you have to sleep in it. Alone.”

Sam pushed past him again, pulling on his jacket, heading for the door.

“Hold on. Hold on.” Johan stumbled after him. “This is stupid. You don’t want to leave. I don’t want you to go. Please don’t.” His voice cracked.

Sam was hardened to any tears. Johan could turn them on and use them to his advantage. He’d done it plenty of times before. He’d beg forgiveness and insist he would change. And he would, but not for long. Sam wouldn’t fall for it again.

“It’s over,” he insisted. “You know that more than I do. You’ve done your best to drive me away all these years.”

“And where the hell are you going to go?” he demanded, anger returning. When he’d been using drugs, his emotions were always erratic and unpredictable. “Run back to your mother. You won’t last long there. You won’t be able to stand it, then you’ll be begging me to let you back here. And I won’t. I’m telling you that. If you go now, you’re not coming back.”

Anger rose inside Sam, filling his stomach, threatening to choke him. And suddenly he lashed out in the only way he could, a verbal blow more devastating and painful than any physical attack.

“I’ve met someone else,” he said, watching the impact of his words play across Johan’s face. “I spent the night with him. Last night. He’s gorgeous. Intelligent. Rich. Maybe it will lead to something. Maybe nothing. I don’t know if he’s Mr. Right.” Though Sam had a strong feeling Logan was, he wouldn’t tell Johan that. “But he made me realize that you’re Mr. Wrong, Johan. And I deserve a lot better than you. Our marriage is a sham. You made it that way, not me. But I’m the one who’ll end it.”

Sam opened the front door, picked up his suitcase and walked away. He didn’t say goodbye.

****

Mr. Wrong. Mr. Fucking Wrong.

Johan stared at the closed front door, barely believing what he’d just heard. If he didn’t know better, he’d put it down to the drugs he’d taken – last night had turned into some big session – but he wasn’t high. Not anymore. Sam, meek little Sam who crossed the street to avoid confrontation, had actually said all that shit.

I was Mr. Right when he married me. Mr. Right when I looked after him. Put up with all that PTSD crap he went through. And now this. What a cunt.

Worst of all, Johan had taken it. Had stood there with his dick hanging limp and let him say all that shit. Cock-sucking bastard.

Suddenly conscious of his nakedness, he stomped upstairs to retrieve his robe from the bedroom.

What did Sam mean? He’d met someone else. Who? He’d shown no interest in other men before. Never shown much interest in sex at all. If he had, they’d be getting on a lot better than they were. If Sam would only loosen up a little they’d have a ball. There were loads of hot guys looking to have threesomes with other couples. Last night could have turned into quite a party if he hadn’t been such a prissy bitch. Those guys were well up for it.

He’ll be back. There is no other man. He spent last night on a sofa. Probably one of the fag-hags he hangs about with at work. He won’t know what to do if a guy came onto him, other than run away. He wouldn’t know where to start with a big hard dick.

Chuckling to himself, Johan headed downstairs.

The living room looked like a bomb had hit it. No wonder Sam had a shit-fit when he walked into this. Johan laughed again. Big deal, there was nothing broken. He’d tidy this mess up in no time.

But first, he’d take a little bump.

He wasn’t lying when he told Sam the drugs last night belonged to the other guys. They did. Which meant the stash he’d bought himself was untouched. Pulling the wrap out of his wallet, he shook a third of the fine white powder onto a plate on the coffee table and cut it into two fat lines. He found the straw they’d been using and inhaled the cocaine. The effect was almost instant. Johan sat back on the sofa with a huge grin on his face.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

If Sam indulged a little he wouldn’t be so uptight the whole time.

So what if the mortgage payments were a little late? Jesus, they were nearly thirty. Ancient. They had to live a little. Enjoy life before it got too late.

Johan flicked on the television, and then remembering Sam’s interview, he turned on the recorder and found the programme. North East Tonight. What a load of shit. He hit fast-forward searching for Sam’s segment and suddenly stopped as a dishy dude appeared on screen. Nice. He watched a bit of the interview. No idea who this guy was, but he was hot. Smoking. Then fast-forward again until he found Sam’s section. Johan watched without paying much attention. Sam looked good enough on screen, but he’d heard it all before. He’d been banging on about this bloody knife amnesty for weeks. It wouldn’t make any difference. No knife-wielding criminal was going to hand their blades in just cause the cops said it was okay to do so. Get real.