Imbalance Pt. 01

Authors Note:

My editor, Nonethewiser, was unable to help me edit this story. He plays a key role in the development of my characters, as well as catches any grammar and spelling mistakes that I make. He was sorely missed.

I wanted to thank commenters like Lordslamdawgg, FD45, The Unoriginalist, Harddaysknight, Swingerjoe, and Luedon. Many may disagree on this, but I feel that these commenters bring a unique perspective to the stories that they read. Whenever I am writing a story, I look for comments from these people in other stories. More times than not, those comments have been helpful to me.

I also wanted to take time to talk about another commenter. Crkcpper. Recently, he'd become very vocal about his displeasure with me for deleting his comments. After I deleted a really lengthy one, I decided to reach out to him to give him an avenue to vent. Through a series of conversations via the feedback tab, I believe we came to a better understanding of each other. After the unpleasantness of us airing out our grievances was done, I got to know a lot more about him. I also got a better understanding of readers who share the same viewpoint that he has. In return, I hope that I gave him a better understanding the writer's point of view.

I can't speak for him, but I found the interaction with him quite enjoyable. Everyone has a story, and every one of those stories can be interesting. I wanted to thank him for having an open mind and a willingness to speak to me with maturity and respect. I encourage anyone else who has a grievance with another named commenter to do the same (can't be done with anonymous ones because there is no avenue to have a back and forth, unless you leave an email address). You may understand their perspective better, or you may not. But at least you will have more knowledge of that person, rather than assuming you know all about him/her. You will be surprised as to how wrong your assumptions can be. I know I was.

Anyone whom I have offended or pissed off, I encourage you to contact me. I always try to respond to the emails that warrant responses.

One last thing of note is that I know nothing about engines, aside from the general knowledge. I know how the environment of an engineering lab is, but nothing about engines in particular.

Thank you all for reading.

***

Raindrops danced on the roof and the windows of the house, providing a rhythmic tune like an orchestra of percussion instruments. The loud clap of thunder that banged through the night was like a cymbal.

Tip. Tap. Boom! Tip. Tap. Boom!

I was half asleep in our bed when she spoke softly to me. It was a little louder than a whisper, barely louder than the rain outside. I almost disregarded what she said altogether as I was peacefully slipping off into a satisfying slumber. But then, a few seconds after the words left her mouth and hung in the air, I finally heard her. It nearly shook me awake.

"What did you just say Claire?"

In the darkness I heard her take a deep breath and sigh sadly. Her hand slowly reached next to her and turned the switch on the bedside lamp, cascading our bedroom with light. Then she turned over and laid on her back. Her eyes stared at the ceiling above us, avoiding mine altogether.

"I'm unhappy Frank." She repeated quietly, as if she regretted having to say it.

Unhappy. That got my attention. That word, spoken in a soft reluctant tone, is always part of a deeper message. It is never just a word that comes alone. It is like a scout, scoping out the territory to see if it is vulnerable for attack. It will soon be accompanied by an army, ready to devastate the land.

"You're unhappy? What does that mean?"

I rolled over to face her. To get a good look at my wife. I saw her eyes start to glisten with unshed tears. She didn't back at me. Her stare stayed fixed on the ceiling above.

"I'm not happy. With us. With...you."

"Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me" is a famous aphorism that kids say. Most of us have used it at some time in our childhood when another kid tried to torture us in verbal warfare. The truth is, that phrase is used as a balm to cover the hurt that words actually cause us. It makes us FEEL like the words never touched us. But if the words never touched us, we would never feel the need to say it.

The words that Claire just said to me touched me. Like a sharp blade touches soft skin.

Tears started welling up in her eyes and slipping down her cheek. She still wasn't looking at me, but I was staring intently at her. The face that I'd found so beautiful for the past 11 years was filled with such agonizing pain at this moment. I would have felt the need to comfort her if the pain in my heart didn't eclipse anything that she felt at the moment.

"You are unhappy being married to me? Is that what you're saying?"

She didn't answer me. She just sniffled. But her silence and the fact that she didn't recant her words spoke volumes. I don't think there is a way to aptly describe the torrent of agony that consumes you when the person that you thought you'd grow old with tells you that she isn't happy being with you.

"Why are you unhappy?" I asked, trying to remain calm. But the cracks in my voice betrayed that. In truth, I was on the verge of breaking down at any moment.

Tears continued to stream down her face and into her pillow. She was still looking up at the ceiling and avoiding my eyes.

"I don't know Frank. I just am."

"You don't know why you're unhappy? That sounds like bullshit Claire." I spit at her. I was beginning to let the pain give way to anger, which was much easier to control. And redirect. I saw her flinch at my words as more tears started to fall. She didn't say anything more.

"So, what does this mean? You want to leave me? To leave us? Huh? Is that what you're trying to tell me?"

Silence. I actually expected her to burst out and vehemently deny wanting to leave me. To claim that she still loved me, but just needed to work through some things. But she didn't. She let the silence answer for her. I don't know if any words could have hurt as much as her silence anyway. Like there was nothing left to say.

I answered the stab wound to my heart with venom and rage. I snatched the comforter off and jumped out of bed like it was on fire. Claire finally turned her head and looked at me.

"Frank, please try to understand."

"Understand what Claire? That my wife doesn't love me anymore and wants to leave me? I think I fucking understand perfectly!"

"I never said that I didn't love you Frank. I just said that I was unhappy."

I knew back peddling when I heard it. I wasn't letting her off the hook.

"So, you want to stay married to me?"

She hesitated a moment, like she was searching for the right words to say. However, the only right words were the ones that said she wanted to stay married to me. She shouldn't have had to search for THOSE words. Any response but an immediate one is the wrong answer.

"I don't know what I want." That was all that she came up with.

We just looked at each other; the only thing that was between us was a thousand unsaid words. The memories of our lives, our children, our...love seemed to fade into the ether as the new reality descended on us. At least that is what it felt like to me. It seemed like this reality was already present for her, and had been for a while.

"Yes you do. You want a divorce." I said after a moment of nothingness. The words choked in my throat, like they didn't want to come up. She didn't answer me, but she didn't really need to. It seemed like she was saying so much with so little words.

It actually laughed a little when I thought that this was the most efficient use of words that I'd ever seen. Efficiency is getting the most of what you can using as little resources as possible. Hey, I'm an engineer. Had been for the past 13 years, though many would argue that I was one at birth. Solving problems and making things work is in my blood. Even at a time like this, I can make connections that relate to building something or improving performance.

My snort of laughter threw her off a bit. She cautiously got out of bed and slowly walked over to where I was.

"Honey..." she started as she reached out for me in an attempt to comfort me. It seemed more like she was trying to placate me. Soften the blow of her world shattering revelation. Like anything she said or did would make things better. I stepped back away from her. I wasn't in the mood to ease her guilt.

"Don't call me that. You don't get to call me 'honey' after you tell me that you want to leave me Claire." She gulped and retracted her hands, once again avoiding my gaze.

"I didn't say that. I'm just trying to explain Frank."

"Do you, or don't you, want to be married to me? That needs no explanation. That's a yes or no question. So answer it. One word. Yes or no?"

"Frank, just let me..."

"Yes or no." I interrupted her. In my mind, any explanation that she could give needs to come only after she gives THAT answer.

But she didn't answer. She sat there, looking at me with tears in her eyes.

"That tells me everything I need to know. You don't have to say it. The fact that you won't say yes can only mean no. Tell me I'm wrong."

More silence.

"You know what? I'm tired. I worked 11 hours today with no lunch break. I don't need any explanation about WHY you suddenly want to leave me. Why you're so UNHAPPY. I need sleep. So I'm going to the couch in my office to get some much needed rest. We'll talk about this tomorrow."

Her face changed suddenly. It morphed from a sullen woman to an angry banshee. She found her voice that was so absent moments ago.

"FUCK YOU FRANK!" She exploded. Her response was so startling that I was taken off guard. She was peering into my eyes with a look of determination and frustration. "I know you spent 11 hours today at work. You wanna know what you did when you came home tonight? MORE WORK! You shut yourself in your office like you do every night! Now you can't even be bothered to talk to me about why I'm unhappy?"

"You're saying that you wanna leave me. What more is there to talk about?"

"That's not what I said."

"YOU DIDN'T DENY IT EITHER CLAIRE! Don't mince words with me. Say what it is that you want."

"YOU WANT TO KNOW WHAT I WANT? I'll tell you! I want to feel loved. I want a man who wants me around. Who wants to be around me. I want to feel sexy with a man who thinks that I'm sexy. THAT IS WHAT I WANT!"

"And I don't make you feel that? Is that what you're saying?"

She once again fell silent. I wasn't going to let her off that easily anymore.

"GODDAMIT CLAIRE! ANSWER ME."

Something hit me suddenly. I don't know where it came from, but it was there. A revelation of sorts. A moment when things became illuminated for me. She didn't say that she wanted ME to make her feel sexy. She said that she wants a man who makes her feel that way.

"Does someone else make you feel that way?" I choked out. Her face gradually fell until she just broke down in tears. Then she covered her face in her hands.

"Yes." She said softly in between sobs. The anger and venom that was there a moment ago was no longer in her voice. Now it was just sadness.

My world stopped. Everything in me ceased living. I didn't respond to that. I couldn't. I just sat there and watched her cry.

"Who?" I asked finally. No answer. Just more crying.

"WHO?" I yelled out, jarring her a little. She hiccupped in surprise, and then wiped her tears.

"Doug." She said softly. "It's Doug."

Doug. My ex-best friend. How cliché is that?

Can words even describe what you feel in that moment? There are no adjectives that can aptly explain it. No one can come up with any poetic metaphors that can accurately paint a picture of the depths of despair that you sink to when you find out that your wife and your best friend had betrayed you. Both chose someone else over you. To make matters worse, they chose each other.

This magnifies the betrayal tenfold. The pain that is a result of that betrayal is also magnified.

Pain. That's the only word that fits. No other can suffice. Even its synonyms fail to match what this knowledge does to you.

I wanted to respond, but I couldn't. There was so much to say, yet all of it meant nothing. So many questions flooded to my mouth, along with accusations, threats, and simple words like "cheating cunt" and "bitch". But nothing came out.

I did the only thing I could do. I left. I just stomped out of the room and left her there as I descended the stairs to my impromptu bed chambers in my office, which was located next to the living room. I closed the door with a slam, shutting myself in. I momentarily basked in the safety of solitude. But that safe feeling was a fallacy, because I wasn't truly alone. The pain had accompanied me.

I heard footsteps descending the stairs, and I knew that it was Claire following me. I quickly got up and locked the door to my office. I couldn't speak to her. I didn't trust myself. I had never hit her, but tonight threatened to shatter that record. This lock was protecting both of us from me.

The doorknob rattled as she tried to open the door. When she failed, she knocked persistently while she called out my name. I continued to ignore her, still not trusting myself. The pain was speaking to me, telling me to do horrible things to her. it was painting horrific pictures in my head of my wife's smooth legs intertwined with Doug's hairy limbs. The moans. The laughs. The sex.

She finally gave up with a sigh after about 10 minutes and went back upstairs. I was finally blessed with peace and quiet, so I tried to make the most of it by getting the sleep I so desperately needed.

Unfortunately, getting that much needed rest was easier said than done. The couch was comfortable enough, and not at all unfamiliar. I'd fallen asleep on this thing many nights when I had a problem that I had to solve and didn't want to keep Claire up. The problem that I was having now was that my mind just wouldn't be quiet. I was plagued with thoughts of my wife falling out of love with me, and in love with Doug. The realization that she didn't want a life with me kept looping over and over.

When did this happen? Worse still, how did I miss the signs?

My mind thought back, playing and replaying interactions that I'd had with my wife. I was trying to find a point in time when the love started the fade. A moment that things began the shift.

There has to be something.

Scanning our years together, I couldn't find anything. Nothing monumental enough to explain how we'd gotten so off track. Everything had been the same as it had always been.

In stories like this, usually the man can go back and see a pattern of the wife declining sex and affection. However, with us there was no declining sex life. We still made love a couple of times a week. I mean, sure, there were no fireworks or anything like that, but that's normal. Right?

There was a time when we were crazy kids. Newlyweds who couldn't stand to be apart for a single moment. But life changes people. Relationships mature. Priorities change. That's life.

My question was, when had Doug weaseled his way into the mix? I'd known Doug for nearly 13 years. He was my friend before I met and married Claire. At one time we worked for the same company. In fact, we both started working there together.

There are outgoing people who are popular everywhere they go. They can make friends at the drop of a dime. I wasn't like that. I don't make many friends. In fact, for me to even call someone a friend is a leap. Doug was my friend. Claire was my wife who was also my friend. Emphasis on was.

It wasn't that I was socially inept. It's just that I don't meet many people that I have that kind of connection with. I have work associates that I'm fond of. My assistant Sarah, for example, is one person who's been very instrumental to my life. I admire her and find her refreshing to be around. But still, even with all of that, I wouldn't consider her a friend.

I was an only child growing up. I learned to get along without needing daily contact with other people. That independence followed me into adulthood. But not needing many friends doesn't mean that a person doesn't want ANY.

Like I said, Doug and I once worked side by side. We were working together for years before I was promoted and became his boss. There wasn't any jealousy or anything. At least not as far as I could tell. We still occasionally hung out when we could. Unfortunately, my promotion came at the cost of a drastic reduction of my free time. Our friendship still strived, but it definitely took a hit. I wasn't really aware of how much of a hit it took until tonight.

The strain became even greater when he was offered job with another company. It came with a promotion for him, so it was a no brainer as to whether or not he would take it. I was happy for him, but sad to see him go.

One thing about Doug was that he wasn't like me when it came to engineering. He was smart as hell, but he wasn't as dedicated to his job as I was. He enjoyed making good money, as did I, but he didn't find the same joy in building that I found. For him, it was just a job. He was able to do it and go home. When he left the lab and went home, he didn't even like talking about work.

Me, I was the opposite. I LOVED building things. Things that were already built, I loved figuring them out so I could make them better. Even when I was out with my wife and kids at family gatherings or restaurants, I found time to doodle small impromptu schematics on napkins and other things.

Doug and I were interns when we started. I was accepted for a yearlong internship that only had 12 slots. When the internship was over, there were two open jobs available. May the best man (or woman) win.

I instantly liked Doug, and I don't like many people. I felt a kinship with him. During our internship, we helped each other out. Each of weeded out the competition until we were the last two standing. I would love to say that we did it ethically, but I'd be lying. When you are competing for a job that starts out at 80K a year, good guys really do finish last. Don't let Disney tell you any different.

There was one intern who was a threat to us. His name was Donald. It was down to us three. Since there were only two jobs available, we knew there was a chance that one of us wouldn't make it. Donald was smarter than both of us, and we needed him gone. In fact, he had a design for a propulsion system that would have certainly knocked one of us out of the race.

So we stole it. We got him drunk one night under the guise of friendship, stole his designs, emailed it to Doug, and sabotaged his laptop to be sure that he didn't save it anywhere else on it. Then, we took every CD and flash drive in his room, hoping against hope that we got any backups.

The plan was to make sure he couldn't wow anyone with his design. Then, once we were assured that he was safely out of the way, Doug would email his schematics back to him.

It worked. Without his designs, he didn't have a leg up on us. Better still, he threw a hissy fit and disqualified himself. He attacked us in full view of everybody, while Doug and I played the innocent victims. After Donald was gone, there were no questions as to who got the two job slots.

I met Claire after I'd finished my internship and had been officially working for the company for a year. Doug and I had been friends at this point for two years. I won't get into how we met, or give ad nauseam details about our courtship. It seems irrelevant at this point. We met, I thought she was beautiful, asked her out, and we married a year later. Had been married for the past 10 years. We even have two girls. Stacy (8) and Kelly (5).