This story deals with adult situations and subject matter. If you are not of age, do not continue reading. All characters are fictional and do not represent anyone living or dead.

This is my second attempt at writing (and much 'darker') so I hope readers can forgive any errors I may have made. Authors are always advised to "write what you know"—so although this is fiction though… much of it all of it is based on personal experience and/or fantasies…. Hope you enjoy… would appreciate feedback.

Copyright © 2004 - Karen Virginia - Please ask permission before distributing.

 

You Just Don't Understand

Karen Virginia

Part 1

 

You see, I thought I had the weekend to myself. Ya know, the dress-up in private and chat on the internet kind of weekend. I hadn't yet come out to my girlfriend, so I can understand the shock when she found me dressed and looking like I was.

I thought she gone to work that Friday morning with plans to be out of town for the extended weekend. Apparently, after work, her late-night flight had gotten cancelled due to bad weather at the destination and she was re-booked on the first flight in the morning. So she came home… about 9pm on that same Friday night.

I wasn't tarty. I thought I looked nice. As I have a 'thing' for pink, it was a simple pink dress with black trim, nails done pink, and my hair pulled up into a high ponytail. OK, the shoes were a bit slutty – pink leather-look platforms… I had done my makeup nicely, maybe just a little heavy, but all in all, it wasn't slutty, nor was the outfit… or at least, I didn't think so.

She only briefly seemed shocked. The shock abated so quickly and turned into rage. As they say, "hell hath no fury like a woman scorned". Apparently my 'little hobby' had been scornful. As the shock went and the rage started, she started screaming at me – what'd I'd call "kitchen-sink" screaming – I mean, everything came out… all at once, in a fitful rage... all triggered by my 'little' hobby.

All around, she was either stomping, slamming, kicking, or occasionally throwing something. She'd pause only briefly during her rant, and god forbid I would try to answer… she'd cut me off... It was clear that this was not a two-way conversation….

 

What in the hell do you think you are doing? I uh, let me expla…

 

What kind of man are you? I'm still your ma… SHUT UP.

 

Am I not good enough for you? Yes dear…. Don't 'yes-dear' me buddy…

 

Are you waiting for your BOYFRIEND to come over? NO, I uh… Well it sure looks like it.

 

Is this why we haven't been having sex like we used to? What? I though… YOU THOUGHT WRONG…

 

Is that my nail polish you have on? Uh, no… WHAT? You mean you have your OWN nail polish?

 

And so the rant continued… and continued…

Bewildered and overwhelmed, I just sat down and started sobbing… That wasn't the right idea either. She came over to me and in her rage --- SAY SOMETHING….

I mumbled back, "You just don't understand".

BIG MISTAKE.

*I* don't understand… *I* DON'T UNDERSTAND. LET ME TELL YOU THIS, It's YOU buster that doesn't understand. You don't understand how mad I am. You don't understand how furious this makes me. You don't understand how embarrassing this is. You don't understand how hurtful this is. AARRGG…

And with that she stormed upstairs and slammed the bedroom door.

A few minutes later, I heard the stereo upstairs come on… much louder than normal.

The music was instantly recognizable to me. Her old Suzanne Vega – 99.9 Fahrenheit Degrees album. She always played it when she was pissed. Usually it was something at work that made her mad. This time, I knew it was me.

And soon I heard her singing to the lyrics of one of the songs:

But blood makes noise

It's a ringing in my ear

Blood makes noise

And I can't really hear you

In the thickening of fear

 

Oh, OK..... Now, I knew she was unusually pissed. And, since I valued my life, I didn't try to go upstairs.

I settled down for what I knew would be a long night. In the dog-house, on the couch.

I took off the shoes… washed off the makeup… and lowered the ponytail… My clothes and closet were upstairs. So I raided the dirty-clothes hamper in the downstairs laundry room. A pair of dirty shorts and a shirt were produced… I buried the pink dress at the bottom of the laundry pile.

I sat on the couch, watching TV and dreading the night. The music continued for hours… Ace of Base followed on the stereo upstairs – another "when I'm angry" classic of hers…

I'm not sure which happened first, whether I fell asleep on the couch, or the music stopped blaring…. But at 4 am, when I restlessly woke up, the music had stopped.

I pondered the events. Everything rang through my head over and over. Especially the "You just don't understand" fiasco. It all seemed surreal, yet very painful.

I dosed back off again.

As the sun came up, it shined in through the blinds in the den, across the couch where I laid, and onto my face. As I blinked my eyes and sat up, I glanced at the clock – 6:45am.

The TV was still on quietly. As my head cleared of the sleepy cobwebs, the program on TV went silent between commercials, and I could make out the sound of my girlfriend upstairs talking. Not clearly enough to make out the words, just that "Charlie Brown" kind of noise of someone talking several rooms away.

I thought to myself, it's not even 7am on a Saturday morning… who in the heck is she talking to. And, given our 'event' the night before, WHAT is she talking to them about.

The stairs going up to the bedroom squeak so loudly… I don't dare try and sneak up and listen in. Picking up the phone was also out. The last thing I wanted to do was start the day off with another round of one-sided ranting.

It was torturous sitting downstairs. I thought about just leaving the house for awhile, but decided that would only delay whatever inevitable follow-up was going to happen… whether it was more ranting, or a heart-to-heart, or whatever…. It was going to have to happen sooner or later.

Well, sooner turned into later. It was nearly 9am before I heard the bedroom door and the loud squeaks coming from the staircase.

I braced myself.

I looked towards the hall, and said, meekly… Good Morning.

She replied, Good Morning. Bland in tone, not angry, not happy, just bland.

She turned towards the laundry room and opened the door. My stomach jumped. I hoped she wasn't going to do laundry this early. Finding my dress would start the fight all over again.

Instead, I heard her pass through the laundry into the garage. I sat and waited. A few minutes later she came back, shut the laundry-to-garage door, and then shut the laundry-to-hall door.

She walked into the den.

As my grandmother would say, I was as "nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs."

She said just four words. Stand in the corner. And the tone was one of strictly business.

Deciding that asking the "why", or refusing, or anything else would have not been the best response… I did. Silently.

Feeling foolish, as I faced the wall. She came up behind me.

She leaned forward and whispered in my ear, "You just don't understand."

Chills went down my spine as those words rang into my ears, and as the chills went through the rest of my body, she gently grabbed both of my hands and brought them behind my back.

ZZZIIIPPP... ZZZIIIPPP….

THERE! She exclaimed.

I went to move my arms, but quickly realized they were bound.

I slid them to one side and saw the tails of long white wire ties poking out from my wrists. In a flash, I realized that when she had gone to the garage – it was to fetch from my electronics and gadget supplies a pair of long wire ties and had used them, in seconds, as make-shift handcuffs. Ah-la Cops on TV, I thought.

SIT DOWN. And she pointed to the couch.

I did. And she began to explain. Calmly at first.

Let's see. Last night you said, "You just don't understand". Well, in-between me being upset with you, and the insanity of the situation, after I calmed down a little bit. I decided that "YOU just don't understand". It's not ME that doesn't. It's you buster.

Gulp. Her voice was beginning to edge upwards in that angry tone. And I wanted anything but to make her further upset.

Do you hear me? It's "YOU just don't understand".

I could utter only a meek, yes.

You have a choice. Right here, right now.

Another meek, yes.

You can get up, I'll cut off those things on your wrists, and you can leave and check into a hotel until we can sort out how we're going to finish breaking up, who's moving out and how, etc. OR. And she paused.

I said, in the same meek voice, Or?

OR, you can TRY to understand.

You've got just 30 seconds to decide. What will it be? Leave and go to a hotel, or TRY to understand. "MR. YOU just don't understand."

I actually considered my options carefully. But in the end, the first choice seemed so immediately final, given her attitude and tone of her voice. And the second choice, well with little information I had, other than her being angry, didn't seem so final.

I said, I'd like try to understand.

An abrupt "GOOD" was the response. She then walked to the kitchen and picked up the phone. A few beeps from the keypad later, she said "Hi! … Yes, it's on… Bye." And she hung up.

And with that, she walked back up the squeaky stairs, and closed the bedroom door.

I sat there on the couch, dumbfounded. Wondering what that phone call was, and not exactly sure what was next.

I didn't have to wait long. I watched TV for a few minutes. I did manage to pick up the remote behind my back and change the channels by feel.

But shortly the doorbell rang. And I heard her come back down the stairs and open the door.

I didn't recognize the voice. All I heard was "Hi. Oops, I forgot something, be right back..." I heard the door close, and back up the stairs she went.

She came into the den where I was sitting, turned off the remote, and produced a long pink scarf.

My eyes grew big….

Well, you LIKE pink don't you? She said sarcastically.

She folded the scarf four or five times, and then tied it on my head like a blindfold.

You can come in now—she called down the hall.

The unmistakable click, click, click of heels came down the hall.

Well, it looks like you have him well packaged.

Yes, I think he's ready for a little JOY ride… They giggled mischievously together.

The strangers voice said… we need a few other things… do you have a pen and paper? She said yes, and I heard her rummaging in the next room.

Here ya go.

Ok, here are a few household items we need. If you don't have any of them, we'll pick them up on the way.

Less than a minute later, I heard the sound of paper being torn from a legal pad.

Ok, I have most of these. But these three – here, here, and here, I don't have.

No problem, we'll stop by the drugstore on the way to pick those up.

Be right back... let me gather the other goodies… I heard another round of giggling between her and the stranger.

I heard various cabinet doors open and shut, the door to the garage open and shut, the stairs squeak again, and a few minutes later she was back.

Did you find everything else?

Yes, EVERYTHING!

Ok, find a plastic grocery bag to put them all in and we're off.

 

They walked over to me. STAND UP.

And with one hand on the back of my neck, and the other in the small of my back, they led me out the back door, across the deck, and into the car.

I was put in the back seat. It was just like being arrested… hands cuffed, sat down and head lowered to avoid hitting the roof of the car.

The stranger got behind the wheel, my girlfriend got into the passenger seat.

And with a triumphant tone, "WE'RE OFF!" …

Stay tuned for part 2 …

  

  

  

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