Cold War Goes Nuclear

He was so drunk, too drunk, always so drunk. Still that was no excuse to want to punch her in the face and to break her teeth. He's not a violent man. He's never hit a woman. He never so much as yelled at Robyn.

He returned to the bedroom and sat on the bed. He was shaking he was so mad. He was crying, he was so sorry...for what? For everything. He heard the door open and she stood in the doorway holding a bloodied towel to her face.

Where'd she get that? He didn't hit her. What did she hit herself? Is that her story? She plans on telling the police that he hit her?

"What kind of man are you who punches a woman in the face and breaks her teeth? Huh? Tell me. What kind of man are you?"

Having asked himself the same question, unable to answer that himself, he didn't have the answer for her either.

"Oksana, I'm sorry," he said standing and taking a step towards her, "but I didn't hit you. Why are you doing this?"

Too angry to cry, she was Ukrainian. Russian women don't cry. They wait until you're asleep and then they kill you. She looked at him, as if she wanted to kill him. He reached out to touch her.

"Fuck you! Don't you touch me, you sick, old man."

There she goes pushing his buttons, again.

"I'm a happy man that I didn't hit you, even though I so wanted to beat that crap out of you. Yet, I can tell you that and if you continue pushing my buttons, I can have you taken care of you permanently. Do you understand? I know some people, who can do that," he said so angry that he was shaking. He hasn't been this angry, since he was playing William Wallace in Braveheart, playing a character angry at the Englishmen for taking Scotsmen's land.

"You're not a man. You're a bastard, a fucking bastard. My lawyer will fix you. He'll make you pay for what you did to me."

"For what I did to you? What did I do to you, Oksana, other than to rip the dress that I bought with my money. So fucking sue me."

"I will."

There she goes pushing his buttons again. Instead of shutting her stupid, fucking mouth, instead of going to another part of the house, and instead of leaving him the fuck alone, she was there, always there in his face defying him, while pushing his buttons.

Then, he realized, as if realizing it for the first time, he was always playing angry characters, Mad Max, Lethal Weapon, The Man Without a Face, Ransom, Payback, and Paparazzi, not much of a stretch in the way he felt now. Yet, what did it matter? He was really angry now. He wasn't playing angry, he was angry. Maybe that's why he was so good of an actor. Maybe he was just playing himself, the angry man, and not acting at all.

"Don't think I can't do that, take care of you permanently where no one will find your body because I can," he said raising his voice, as she disappeared in the bathroom again slamming shut the door. "Do you hear me? I'll kill you, you Commie bitch, you fucking Russian whore."

"I'm from Ukraine. I'm Ukrainian, you Neanderthal."

"Russian, Ukrainian, what does it matter? You're one in the same," he said thinking that it figures she'd take exception to being called Russian and not taking exception to being called a whore.

She was calling someone. He stood and walked to the bathroom door to listen. She was calling the police. That was her plan all along, to get him upset, so upset that he'd hit her, so upset that he'd threaten to kill her. He was happy that he didn't touch her. It wouldn't surprise him, if she had set him up and taped the whole thing and captured it all on video. He looked around the room for a camera.

It'd really cost him now, but it'd be worth it to finally have her out of his life and to be done with her. His friends told him not to get involved with her. His friends told him she was nothing but trouble, but he wouldn't listen. He was in love with the way she made him feel. He was in love with her and still is.

Timothy Daltry told him to stay away from her, but, oh no, he wouldn't listen. He should have heeded his advice and the advice of his friends. There are millions of women in the world, who would make him happy and who would treat him better, why did he chose her?

Never had he been kissed like that. Never had he had his cock sucked like that. Never had he been fucked like that. This woman had skills. He wouldn't be surprised if the KGB had trained her. Now, that he had given her a baby, now that he had so wanted to punch her in the face and break her teeth, if he had, she'd be rich and he'd probably go to jail, at least, until his Jew lawyer bailed him out.

He got dressed waiting for the police to arrive. He wished he never left Robyn for her. Only, fed up with his drinking and his foul mouth, she was tired of his temper, too. Angry, he was always so angry. He needed to chill.

The only thing he loved now, besides the love that he still obviously had for Robyn and his seven children, and still had for Oksana, was his one hundred and thirty thousand dollar 2008 Maserati Quattroporte. Maybe he'll go for a ride.