Journal 41

They had nothing to say to each other.  Every conceivable word, action, had been done before.  Yelling, screaming, hitting, throwing; it had been done. 

Everything was done. 

Glass pieces from lamps and dinner plates lay strewn around the floor.  Clothes from the dresser and closet in unkempt piles as each tried to “pack” for the other. 

Everyone had seen it coming.  People at the wedding made bets, even during the vows, as to how long the marriage would last.  Rumors flew; he was sleeping with the maid of honor, she was sleeping with his brother.

He was possessive and controlling, she got off on confrontation – she loved it.  She loved to make people angry and he got very angry, very easily.  She hated to be controlled, and he did his best to try and rule every aspect of her life with an iron fist.

They made each other miserable.  This was a ticking time-bomb waiting, just waiting, in silence, to explode. 

Happiness had become obsolete.  Neither one of them could remember why or how they had some illusion of happiness – much less, marriage – in the beginning.  All memories of being content, smiling, laughing, they were all gone.

They simply stared at each other.  Both at a loss for words, both unable and unwilling to speak – voices hoarse from the screaming.

Police had been called to the house nearly every night that week.  They had been called by neighbors for “domestic disturbances.”  Neither one of them wanted a police visit for the ninth night in a row.

They stared at each other, there was nothing left to say.  They both grabbed their wallets and walked outside.  They departed in separate directions – never to return.

The house remained abandoned and crumbled in dilapidation.