Just My Type(76)

I wait for her to contradict him. For her to tell him that she is happy in this big city, you motherfucking piece of dog shit. Except I know that’s not true. Not completely. I know I make her happy, but I don’t make her home-happy. I can’t compete with the idyllic, peaceful, small town she lived in her whole life, filled with every good memory she’s ever had, overflowing with everyone she loves, when it kills her that she isn’t raising her son there.

“What do you mean they won’t cover your rent anymore unless you move?” Ember finally asks, my eyes closing and my head dropping forward when she never tells him she’s happy here. “When you asked for a divorce, you said since they were only paying for the first three months, and that time limit was up, it would be easier to separate then, since we needed to move anyway.”

Jesus, what a cocksucker.

“Three months. That was the time limit on them paying rent,” Ember says.

Although, she doesn’t just say it. She seethes it. I can tell she’s clenching her teeth, and if she was a witch, there would be shit flying all around the house right now. Papers, and glasses, and furniture, and Ron Jeremy, they would all be cycloning around the room from the force of Ember’s rage.

“Okay, don’t be mad,” Brandon quickly says.

I do laugh this time, even though it feels like my insides are caving in. Men are taught in the womb that you never tell a woman not to be mad. It will never, ever end well for you. Brandon must have been asleep that day.

“I feel like things between us have been on really rocky ground since the divorce, which is understandable,” Brandon rushes, obviously knowing nothing about his ex-wife.

I can’t even see her and I know he’s a dead man. I can only imagine the look she’s aiming at his face right now. But he’s an idiot, and ignores it, figuring she’s completely silent right now because she’s just politely waiting for him to explain why he lied to her, and he’s been living in a high rise condo in Chicago for free all this time.

Dude, she’s silent, because it takes a lot of concentration to make an alphabetical list of all the ways she can kill you and make it look like an accident. Wake the fuck up!

“But now with the good news about Montana, I figured we’d finally be in a good place, and what I have to tell you is going to put us right back in the rocky place,” Brandon whines.

He pauses, probably waiting for Ember to reassure him. She still doesn’t say a word, and with my eyes still closed and my head down, I shake my head at what a clueless schmuck this guy is. Her continued silence makes Brandon impatient, so he rips that shit off quick, like a Band-Aid. And like a completely clueless schmuck.

“I knew when I moved you here it wasn’t going to work out between us. I waited three months because that’s how long we had to live here before I could file for divorce, and we’d have to follow this state’s divorce laws. And I needed that to happen, because…” Brandon trails off.

Because he wanted to live the high life in Chicago, and he wanted to see his son. He took them away from everything they loved, faked the motions of being her husband, and then dropped her right when he knew she wouldn’t be able to leave, and he’d get what he wanted.

Oh, good Christ, this motherfucker better run.

Ember finally breaks her silence. With a sound coming out of her that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and my dick hard. A noise similar to the ones she made the night I taught her how to hit the heavy bag, and she unloaded a whole bunch of shit. That sound, that low, rumbly growl coming from deep in her chest, that sound tells me she is about to unload a whole bunch of shit, probably with her fists, all over Brandon’s face.

That sound finally makes me stop feeling sorry for myself, and I open my eyes and whip my head up. I’m back around the door and in the doorway in the blink of an eye, wrapping both my arms around Ember’s waist from behind, right when she started to launch herself at Brandon.

“You don’t want to hit him, Tink,” I tell her quietly, holding her wriggly body tighter against the front of me as she tries to pry my arms off her with her hands.

“You’re right. I don’t want to hit him,” she pants through clenched teeth as she continues to claw at my hands and struggle in my arms. “I want to stab this deceitful motherfucker right in the throat. Let go of me and give me something rusty and dull.”

Brandon finally has the good sense to look properly worried, his eyes widening at Ember’s words.

“You might want to take a few steps back, man,” I warn him. “I don’t know how long I’ll be able to hold her off. Have you seen her guns? She’s been working out.”

“Stop trying to make me laugh. I’m pissed,” Ember tells me, still struggling in my arms as Brandon not only takes a few steps back, but he keeps going until he’s at the bottom of the porch steps.

“I know you’re pissed, baby, but you can’t kill him,” I tell her softly, like I’m talking to a spooked Ron Jeremy. “Jail food is shitty. Everything has mayo on it, and you hate mayo.”

She finally goes limp in my arms, and I slowly drop her back to her feet, my arms still around her, just in case.

“I do hate mayo.” She sniffs, lifting her chin and calmly brushing a few stray hairs off her face.

I smile at the back of her head as I slowly drop my arms from around her.