WEEK 34: An inch to the left

Prompted by: Matthew S. Williams

The crazy author says: I’m gonna use the original suggestion (“In inch to the left and I would’ve been a widow”) in its entirety but have shortened it to 7 words or less for the rest of you superstars. Who loves ya, eh? 😉

“Calm down!”

There was an oversized armchair in the corner. An expensive leather one. That I could easily sell and make enough money to feed a small village. Or three.

And I’d fallen asleep in it.

Actually, I’d passed out cold. Kneeling by the bed with my head resting on folded arms.

Fingers interlaced with his.

At some point during the night, my brother-in-law had entered the room and scooped me up off the floor. Because regardless of their excessive lifestyle, morally corrupt choices, and perversely despicable actions?

These bastards were my family. They always had been. From the very first day.

Even when I’d been nothing but a treacherous snake planted in their perfectly manicured grass. Even when I’d played them against each other like pawn pieces in a twisted game of chess. Even when I’d bitten every last hand that fed.

And even now, after I’d betrayed them all.

They were still my family.

So, it was no surprise that Slick had carefully untangled our hands before carrying me over to the aforementioned armchair with a ridiculous price tag. Covering me with a blanket, he’d gently tucked it under my chin as I was slipping back into oblivion. And when I awoke…

“Calm the fuck down!”

My monster of a husband was thrashing violently while his even larger beast of a brother attempted to restrain him.

Doc, “Hey, wait!”

Of course, the stubborn asshole didn’t listen. Closing a fist around the breathing tube, he crushed it to shit and ripped the wretched thing right out of his throat. Then started to gag. Obviously.

Not that the gagging prevented him from clocking Slick in the jaw.

“Jesus Christ,” came the pained grunt. “She’s here, damn it!”

He went deathly still. In an instant.

Quieter, “Not a scratch on her, okay?”

Dark eyes whipped across the room, meeting mine for a split second before returning to lock onto the other pair matching his own. And narrowing in accusation.

An aggravated sigh. “I didn’t fuck your wife.”

Narrower.

Another sigh. Louder. More aggravated. “I didn’t even touch her, you dumb shit.”

Shaking his head in dismay, Doc stepped forward.

I stopped him with a low, “You both need to leave.”

Neither man moved.

Standing to my feet, I clarified, “Now.”

Slick shifted uncomfortably but it was the old geezer who reasoned, calm as ever, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Men are such pansies.

“With all due respect, Doc,” I replied curtly, “nobody asked for your opinion.”

“Isabel…”

“I want to talk to my husband.”

Who was blatantly refusing to look at me, by the way. Instead, he’d resorted to staring down at his lap. Because he was a pathetic pansy too.

Then again, I wasn’t fairing much better in the pansy-free department.

“I’m going to talk to him.” My hands were trembling. Because it had been a close call. Too close. An inch to the left and I would’ve been a widow. A fucking widow. But my voice? That was rock solid, “Alone.”

Because as scared as I’d felt, I was twice as pissed.

This time around, my spineless brother-in-law gathered the balls to say, “Iz, he can’t.”

Thanks, Captain Obvious.

“He’s not fucking deaf, is he?”

“No, but…”

“Then he can just listen.”