Second Thoughts by Yawatta Hosby
Copyright Feb 2019
Apollo slammed his palm against the steering wheel. âHappy Valentineâs Day, sweetheart.â
His wife avoided eye contact by looking at the dusty dashboard, refusing to speak to him. She wrapped her arms around herself in their stuffy mini-van, the one she rode practically every day to take their two sons to indoor soccer practice.
A dim-lit street light illuminated the middle of the alley. The mini-van was parked in the shadows, lurking behind the hardware store.
Apollo asked, âAre you ignoring me?â
âIâm sorry for what Iâve done.â
Apollo glared at her. âI told you what you could do to make it up to me.â
It was frustrating to him that she still couldnât bring her deceitful eyes to look at him, to see the pain she had caused him. His wife began crying. She wiped tears with her shirt.
Apollo grabbed her shoulders and shook her, shook some sense into her. âDonât you dare cry over him!â
She took deep breaths, like she was afraid to move any other way. It wasnât the first time she had seen her husbandâs temper. He dared her to try and escape the mini-van.
He leaned in close to her frigid body, then he put his lips on her neck. He bit down hard. When a drop of blood slid down, he smiled. âI want you so bad,â he whispered into her ear.
âThen have me.â Her voice trembled.
Apollo backed away from her, disgust written all over his face. âAll I can think is that bastard inside you…I canât have you until we do what we gotta do.â
She winced. âPlease, Apollo.â
âYou donât get to beg for forgiveness. I told you what you gotta do.â
âIf I donât?â She grabbed his arm and pleaded, âWill you give me a divorce? Split up our family?â
He glanced out the window into semi-darkness, into the empty alley, into the path of the dirty dumpster. âYou wish youâd get off that easy.â He gripped the steering wheel. âItâs either him or you.â
Silence.
Apollo waited awhile for her to respond. He wanted to know what she had to say. He needed to know what she had to say. When no words never came out of her mouth, he got impatient, tapping his fingers along the dashboard. He sat up in his seat but still couldnât bring himself to look over at his wife.
How dare she grieve over that bastard.
âAre you sure he worked tonight? You wouldnât lie to me, would you?â he asked.
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Keep smiling,
Yawatta Hosby