fiction #8- "presents aren't promises/kisses aren't contracts" part 1.

so since i don't celebrate my b'day except for dinner and doing it with grims, i decided to start the next short story today, both because the title alludes to gifts, and because b'day fetes supposedly commemorate bringing new life into the world, and my fiction is the closest i'm getting to childbirth right now.
so again, nothing like the previous fiction. hope you enjoy:

"When you find yourself bludgeoning the woman you promised to love and cherish forever, you need to stop, step back, and think about what has happened. When did this become what your life is?
She tells you that she never thought she was meeting the man who would abuse her the rest of her life. And then one day she finally says no. Stops accepting. And she walks. And she says she never wants to see you again because she suspects that time does not heal all wounds. And you secretly suspect that her suspicion is correct.
You persuaded her to convince you that you were the one.
That was back before the first fight, when things were nice and you thought settling down would be the thing to do. And it was nice for awhile. Then she left. She made a big fuss about it like it was so bad, but really, she was just making the most of the drama. She liked it when she had something to be upset about.
But back in the day before that first fight there were other first things, like the first meeting, the first date, the first kiss. And she made sure to resist too, like she should. It was almost like it had been written, it was so perfect.
The first fight was about nothing. Bills and life were getting to be a bit much and you picked a fight to blow off steam. But when you saw her reaction, you loved it. It made you want to push it further than you originally intended just to see what she’d do. Or what you’d do. This was uncharted territory for you both and it was exciting, the way nothing else had been quite as exciting since the wedding. Pre-marital sex all over again.
So you kept pushing until she stamped off into the bathroom, where you followed, not knowing yet what you would do, but knowing you wanted to do something radical. You walked into the bathroom, saw her wiping tears away and somehow that made you furious enough to lash out. After the slap sent her stumbling backwards, as much from the surprise as the force, you stepped closer and grabbed her arm, pulling her to you. And suddenly it was sex. It was good. With your head back or eyes squeezed closed, it could have been somebody else. And that somebody was a giving submissive.
After she walked out for good you heard she swore off men. You heard that after you, there could not be another.
You had already exhausted every means to keep finding her interesting. You believe what they say about men being naturally predisposed to polygamy. Once, she was thrilling and willing, but now you’re singing like B.B.King.
You’re glad to move on; so many women, so little time. And it’s even better every time you think of her celibacy. Sometimes you think of her when you’re fucking other women, and in that context, she excites you again. This seems like a win-win-situation. You’re free of the ball-and-chain, and now she’s so much better for you in her absence that you can think of her fondly again, without needing to hurt her to enjoy her. And you know she’s not having nearly as good a time as you are.
You can’t figure out though why people insist on telling you everything they hear about her, as if you need to know. They don’t realize that it doesn’t matter to you what she does, because you already used the best of her. But you hear all about it anyway and just tune it out, until the day you hear that she’s seeing somebody. The first other man in her life since you met. And now it’s not all good anymore.
You find yourself angry. How dare she have another man? She is, after all, your wife. Forget all your women, she said she couldn’t handle it and walked – she doesn’t get to be happy again. You’re infuriated, but even as you pace the room in your rage, you notice a feeling you haven’t felt in a long time. It’s that particular thrill that comes from being angry with her and knowing how you’re going to make yourself feel better. That feeling you got your first taste of in the bathroom, that you recreated so many times, past the point of her enjoyment. And you allow that feeling to develop and grow, thinking that somebody else will suffice when the time comes to satisfy it.You make the phone call and wait for the understudy to arrive."

walk good.