Until #$&%@ Do Us Part Literally Ch. 02

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A Boston undercover cop threatens his wife for leaving him.
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A Boston undercover cop threatens his wife for leaving him.

With him dressed and masquerading as a Boston police officer, I thought he was one of the good guys. It took me a while to figure out that it was me who put my expectations on him. In the way he played me, a professional player, he was just playing another role. With him having played so many roles, I don't think even he knew who he was. Most times, even when he was there physically, he wasn't there emotionally. Most times with him lost in his thoughts, there was no one home.

With him just playing another role while assuming yet another identity, this time the identity was as my husband, my friend, and my lover. Not much of a husband or a friend, he was a good lover. Two out of three isn't bad but I wanted more. I wanted everything. I wanted love. In the words of the late, great Freddie Mercury, "I wanted it all."

Callous and calculating, he was a cold blooded killer. With him leading a double life, and for him not to be exposed for the lunatic he was, he had to keep his emotions in check. When he was an Army Ranger, the best of the best and better than all the rest, he saw some stuff in combat and did some stuff when on reconnaissance patrol. Had he not been seriously wounded and nearly brought home in a body bag, his dream was to stay in country.

His dream wasn't to be a war hero. His dream was to be a Delta Force soldier. Earning ten times what a top non-com soldier earns, in the way he loved his guns, assembling them and reassembling them, his dream was always to be combat ready as a mercenary soldier. He could shoot the eye out of a squirrel at a hundred yards with his service revolver and he never missed his target with his rifle or scoped, long gun.

Had he realized his Delta Force dream, he never would have met and married me. Had he stayed in the Middle East, he never would have become a Boston Cop. Had he stayed in the Middle East, with him speaking half a dozen languages fluently, he never would have come home. No doubt, eventually making a careless mistake or taking a tragic misstep, he'd be buried in some unmarked grave in the desert of Iraq, Pakistan, or Afghanistan. Sticking to their motto of leaving no one behind, maybe his buddies would have brought what was left of him home for his parents to bury.

Seemingly, with him having a long list of victims in his wake and in the way of a gunfighter in the Wild West of old, as if he was living life large in Deadwood, he enjoyed killing people. He didn't talk about killing someone and never bragged about taking a life, he just did it without remorse and without feeling. Had he not told me some of what he's done when he was drunk one night, I never would have known how much of a bad man he was. A real eye opener, I could only imagine the things he didn't tell me. Yet, in a moment of insight, when he confessed his crimes to me and with him telling me too much, the type of man who leaves no witnesses behind and no loose ends, it was then that I feared for my life.

Whether killing enemies of our government as an Army Ranger, playing a role as a CIA operative, doing dirty things undercover for the Boston Police, or doing a favor for the mob, it was an easy transition for him to change his hat and go from one character to another. With him always having money, I always wondered where he got his money but, after growing up with my four criminal brothers, I knew enough not to ask questions. Only, with him being a cop and with him being such a bad man, turning himself in, he should have started by arresting himself.

With him doing bad stuff now as a police officer when he was paid to arrest the bad guys, the crimes he committed could have sent him to jail for life. With him so black and white, I always wondered how he justified what he did and reconciled with all that he's done. Perhaps, if he had a conscience, he'd feel guilt and remorse but he didn't feel anything that didn't have directly do with him. Difficult for me to admit it at the time but he was a psychopath.

He was very hard to read. In addition to him being my husband, my ex-husband now, he was a very dangerous man. An ex mixed martial arts combatant, an MMA, fighter, a third degree black belt in Judo, an expert at getting information by torture, he knew a thousand ways to hurt someone and a hundred ways to kill someone. With him earning his gold shield as a Boston Police Detective and with him privy to everything illegal, especially the evidence holding cell, he knew how to get away with murder. Knowing how to frame someone else for the crimes he committed, with no one even suspecting him, he always had an alibi.

He was on the job. He was working. At the time of the crime, armed with a dozen witnesses, he was with his fellow, brother, police officers. The perfect alibi, he was in a police bar having a beer. He was with men and women who would swear to anything in a court of law for the protection of one of their own.

* * * * *

It was during the Red Sox parade that snaked its way from Fenway Park and through the Back Bay of Boston. The duck boats made their way downtown and ended up across from City Hall, at the Government Center Plaza. Within walking distance of Faneuil Hall, the duck boats continued to the Charles River to take their customary, cold water plunge by the Long Fellow Bridge that overlooked the esplanade, the Hatch Memorial Shell and the Arthur Fielder Bridge. The Red Sox had finally won the World Series in 2004, seemingly such a very long time ago.

With me finally riding high to only slide down so very low, I can't believe it's been ten years since my downslide of a life started after meeting him. As if my life hadn't been bad enough, meeting him was my forsaken curse. Done with men for a while, I had no intention of meeting a man. I had no intention of starting another go nowhere, one sided relationship. Not wanting to be just another fuck buddy, I had no intention of falling in love. Just as shit happens, falling in love just happened to me on that auspicious, fateful day.

Self-sufficient in my career as an accountant, I didn't need another self-indulgent, self-centered, and controlling man to support me. Able to take care of myself, I didn't need a man to take care of me, especially after all of the emotional and sexual abuse I suffered at the hands of men who supposedly loved me. I was happy living my life alone while occasionally dating. Yet, cursed to meet Robert and fated to marry him, I wish he had realized his dream in becoming a mercenary soldier.

In hindsight, knowing what I know now about him, I wish I had never met him. I wish I had never married him. If only I could go back in time and change that fateful day, I would have called in sick and stayed home. I should have watched the Red Sox parade on TV instead of being there in person.

I wish I hadn't worn shoes with heels that fateful day. I wish I had worn flats. I wish I had stayed inside my office on Newbury Street to watch the parade go by from my office window instead of going out to celebrate with the crowd of well-wishers. Only, this was my beloved Boston Red Sox, starring Kurt Schilling, Pedro Martinez, David Lowe, Tim Wakefield, David Ortiz, Jason Varitex, Nomar Garciaparra, Johnny Damon, Kevin Miller, and Manny Ramirez. Terry Francona, the coach of the Red Sox, defeated Tony La Russa, the coach of the St. Louis Cardinals to win the World Series.

"They won! I can't believe they won!"

Every bar and tavern was crowded shoulder to shoulder with people who wanted to celebrate their victory. Spilling out into the streets, a happy mob, it wasn't a violent mob. A very special day for Bostonians, New Englanders, Rem Dog members, the Red Sox Nation, and Boston Red Sox fans, this wasn't just any World Series, this was the 100th World Series of major league baseball. Unbeknownst to me that this would happen again in 2007 and again in 2013, with me thinking that this was a once in a lifetime occasion, I needed to be outside on Newbury Street to cheer my team with the rest of Boston. After eighty-six years in the making, I needed to wave and cheer my joyful happiness that was filled with pride for the Boston Red Sox.

"Hooray! Hooray!"

Now in hindsight, with me going from high to low, what have I done with my life in ten years? Actually, maybe not all what I wanted to do but I've done a lot with my life in ten years. The highlight of many couples is getting married, having children, and staying married, until death do they part. Yet, as quickly as I got married, realizing that I made a bad mistake, I got divorced.

With my life quickly becoming a soap opera melodrama and a television mini-series, when I filed for divorce, I moved out and took my own apartment. Only, it was at a time when the economy hit rock bottom in 2007. No longer having a safety net, it wasn't as easy to be on my own as it was before the economy soured. Back then, I could find another job, a better job, within a week or two.

After losing my job due to budget constraints and being unable to afford my rent, I stayed with a girlfriend while working as a waitress at an upscale restaurant. Then, when she got married, with me having nowhere else to go, I moved from my beloved Boston to Pennsylvania to live with my mother. I dreaded living with my mother after all that she's done to me but with me promising not to kill her in her sleep, we reconciled somewhat. With my four, much older brothers living out in Ohio and Michigan with their families, I had no other place to go. Besides, I wasn't even talking to them never mind wanting to live with him.

After being born and raised in Boston and living there all of my life, when I moved to Pennsylvania, I may as well as moved to a foreign country. With nothing familiar and recognizable, I didn't know where the Hell I was. Surrounded by funny looking men dressed in black with long beards and big brimmed hats, I didn't understand why so many women, who didn't wear makeup, dressed the same as all the other women. Wearing with long, plain dresses and strange little hats, they spoke a peculiar language that sounded a little like German. A place where the Amish and Mennonites converged, strangely enough, living in Pennsylvania and within a Mennonite community was the first time I not only felt save but also was happy.

My happiness was short-lived however. On September 11, 2011, ten years to the day of the bombing attack of the Twin Towers, with me living across from the picturesque Susquehanna River with my mother, we were flooded out of our basement apartment. With the river cresting 30' over flood stage level, there was water higher than the second floor. Because we weren't allowed to return to our apartment until the water receded and until the buildings were inspected and deemed safe, by the time we returned three weeks later, everything was ruined. Submerged in a soup of home heating oil, raw sewage, and mold, we lost everything. Nothing was salvageable. The Red Cross gave us food, clothes, and temporary shelter.

True to her nature, my mother a tall, busty, good looking woman who looks ten years younger than her age, immediately hooked up with a man and moved in with him within a couple of weeks. Instead of staying homeless and staying with me, she abandoned me for him. What else is new with her? That's just the way she was. With her always preferring the company of a man over her daughter, she likes men, especially a man who could take care of her.

From having a good job as an accountant in Boston to falling in love and getting married, I became unemployed and homeless. Wandering the streets of Harrisburg, I lived in a shelter and ate my meals at a mission until a kind, elderly, Mennonite woman offered me her spare bedroom. Three years later, having morphed to be more of her companion, chauffeur, and caretaker, I'm still living in the spare bedroom of a kind, elderly, albeit crazy Mennonite woman.

If only she knew that I wrote erotica, she'd throw me out of her house. None of what happened to me is what I wanted to happen. Sadly depressed but grateful for the roof over my head, this is not how I imagined my life to be. I'd rather eat nails than to go through another day of poverty.

"More nails?"

"No thanks. I've had quite enough, thank you very much."

Yet, surprisingly so, for the first time in my life, I'm happy. Other than writing my stories, albeit erotic stories, and making some wonderful online friends, I haven't done anything worthwhile in my last ten years of living. For someone wanting a career working from home, what sounds like a great life to someone on paper is a Shakespearean tragedy in reality for me.

With my good looks and hot body, I should have been sitting in a nice house in the suburbs and having lunch with my girlfriends while my husband is at work and my kids are in school. Only, in the case of my life, shit happens. Apparently, I was never meant to be a soccer mom. Seemingly, with my ex sabotaging that for me, I was never meant to have children. Unlike the shit of a mother that I had growing up, learning from all of her mistakes, I would have made a good mother.

* * * * *

Disguised as the beginning of a beautiful romance, Robert could have fooled me and he did fool me to tears and for years. More than fooling me, he confounded me. He sexually frustrated me. He angered me. He beat me. He abused me and he tortured me. Knowing where and how to hit me to not show a bruise, he could have killed me. Truly, just as I'm lucky to have survived my sexually abusive childhood, I'm lucky to have survived my physical abusive ex-husband. I'm lucky to be alive.

In hindsight, wishing I knew then what I knew now, I was such a sucker. Only, unable to see the physical and emotional abuse before, becoming desensitized to it, I see it now. Normally, I would have immediately spotted him as an abuser but confusing things, I fell in love with him and my love for him blinded me from seeing the real Robert. With me having been so emotionally, sexually, and physically abused all of my life, I thought I had a normal marriage but now that I'm away from him, I see that I was the victim of another raging man yet again.

Literally nearly throwing myself under the bus, my life took a turn for the worse when I stepped off the curb to return to work as the Boston Red Sox parade was still passing by me. Blindsided by love, I thought my life had taken a turn for the better. My heel, my modern day glass slipper, something I had in common with Cinderella, caught the sewer grate in front of the Brooks Brothers store on Newbury Street. I had just been looking at the diamonds at Cartier's while dreaming of getting married one day and living happily ever after. With me standing out in the street and my heel caught in the sewer grate, I suddenly had a real fear of being run over by a duck boat.

"Quack! Quack!" That's the sound the tourist all made with their duck calls in hand while making their way around Boston on their sightseeing, duck boat tour.

With throngs of people on both sides of the street trying to see the Red Sox players, several military, amphibious vehicles were filled with Red Sox players, personnel, and their families. I would have fallen, twisted my ankle, or maybe even broken my leg had my Prince Charming not been there to put a strong arm around my waist and lift me right out of my shoe. Actually, in the way that I felt about the Red Sox winning the World Series, being crushed by the Red Sox motorcade wouldn't be such a bad way to go.

"An unidentified woman was killed today, crushed to death, on Newbury Street in Boston when she fell beneath a duck boat filled with Red Sox players," I could just imagine Natalie Jacobson, the WCVB news commentator reporting the news of my demise. "The good news though is that no Red Sox players were injured in the accident. The good news is the Red Sox finally won the World Series after eighty-six years and the parade through Boston's Back Bay was in their honor. How about that?"

As if I was an ice skater or a dancer, lifting me off the ground with one hand, when I leaned against him off balance, I fell against his shoulder. I may have fell against a brick wall, he was so muscled hard. I looked up at him surprised to see that he was a uniformed Boston police officer. His white horse was an unmarked, white Ford, Crown Victoria. I wouldn't want to be a criminal being chased by him.

When I looked up in his hazel eyes, weak kneed and dizzy, I was gelatin. After having kissed so very many frogs, right there and right then, I knew he was the one. Love at first sight, I was in love. In the way he looked down at me, he may as well, brushed back my blonde hair, looked into my blue eyes, and kissed right then and right there because I was forever his until death do we part.

"I'd say you've fallen for me but I can't imagine a woman who looks like you falling for a man who looks like me," he said.

He was being modest. He was very handsome. He looked down at me and smiled. Did he already see my interest in him in my eyes? Normally, I play things cool when I like a guy. Normally, I always fall for the wrong guy. After my last relationship, I promised that I'd be more careful the next time.

"Sorry. I'm usually not this uncoordinated. It's these heels. I'm more comfortable with running shoes or bare feet than I am wearing high heels," I said. "I wear them for work. I work at the modeling agency," I said pointing to the building across the street that was lined with tall, beautiful woman who streamed out of the office to watch the parade.

"Are you a model?"

He looked at me with more interest.

"No, I'm the business manager," I said.

"You could be a model," he said. "You're tall and beautiful enough."

Even with my high heels, with me hitting 6', he was taller than me. Accustomed to my behemoth brothers, with all of my brothers well over 6' tall, I figured he was 6'3". I leaned all my weight against him to pretend we were a couple and he was hugging me. God, I was so pathetic and needy back then. After emotionally hurting for so very long, I just wanted someone to love me in the way that I needed to love someone.

As soon as he looked down at me with those green eyes, I already knew I'd be dreaming about him tonight. Instantly, I wondered his name, James, Michael, Charles, or Alexandro. I wondered if he was married, separated, or divorced. Surely, someone who looked like him couldn't possibly be single. Yet, why not? I was still single. I wondered if he had kids. I wondered how many kids he'd want to have when I asked him to marry me.

Thank you from saving me from certain death beneath the wheels of the Red Sox duck boat I wanted to say but I didn't. Unable to formulate any words, not able to utter a complete, cohesive sentence, I just stared up at him. I imagined looking up at him in the same way I'd be looking up at him when standing at the altar. I imagined looking at him now in the same way as I'd be looking at him when in bed naked with him later.

"It's okay. I have you," he said reaching down to free my heel from the sewer.

Oh my God, when he squatted down like that while running a slow hand down my leg, I was already wet. With his face eye level with my crotch, I imagined him lifting my short skirt and licking me through my blue, bikini panties. With his hand on my ankle, he steadied me while pulling out my heel. Normally not a fan of the men in blue, this Boston policeman came to my rescue. He was my hero. I needed to give him more than my sincere thanks for his help. I needed to give him hot sex.

"Thank you," I said trying not to stare in his eyes that mesmerized me.

We stood there for what seemed like minutes when it was only seconds. With the duck boats filled with Red Sox baseball players rolling by me, after waiting there in the wall-to-wall crowd for thirty minutes, I missed the best part of the parade. I never saw them go by. I never heard the cheering. As if we were standing on the corner of Newbury and Berkeley Street alone, I just saw him.

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