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The Fight Skyler Drevan
Since the day we were married, I have been fighting my husband. We have had the most heinous fights that have had him and me both in the emergency room. We have had several brawls but none were as devastating as the fight that we had after a dinner party on the evening of one of the most beautiful nights in Miami on August thirteenth.
Darren and I were entertaining some friends and co-workers that evening to celebrate a year that I have been at the associate position at the Branson and Morley marketing firm. Early before the party began, I felt that Darren wasn’t too thrilled to have the situation all about me. I made a lot more money than Darren did. Darren and I were married not long after he received his citizenship papers. Because he wasn’t a legal citizen for so long, Darren couldn’t legally work in this country and I had to support him. Darren really didn’t take to the idea of my being more successful than he.
He finally found a job in late June as a waiter in a new and struggling restaurant just fifteen minutes from our home in Wood brook. Before the party, Darren was complaining of a mess that we’d have to clean up and stated to me on more than one occasion before and during the gathering that he wasn’t lifting a finger to help clean up the mess that my friends were sure to leave. I tried my best to ignore his words but his voice was kind of hard to drain out so as always, I just listened and agreed. Guests began to arrive a little early than the scheduled eight o’clock arrival time. By a quarter to eight, there were a dozen people at out house. Darren and I were mingling around the grand piano that my grandmother left to me in her will. That was a special piano because it was imported from Italy to her during the depression and is rumored to have been played by one of the three tenors as a child.
By eight-thirty the house was full with friends and co-workers celebrating my year anniversary, one of my dearest friends Karen Lucy Made a toast in my honor. She said that she was proud that she had a friend in me and that she had never known such a strong person in her life. She wished me the best in the future and that I would one day have the family I so desired. I’ve always loved children but Darren said that he wasn’t ready. In fact, whenever the subject of children came up in bed, he’d turn over and refuse to make love for that night.
The gathering of friends didn’t last very long. By eleven-thirty everyone was outside in the back yard having a drink while Darren and I were in the guest closet gathering the coats and accessories. While there, Darren mentioned to me that we needed to talk after our guests were gone. I didn’t know what was on his mind but I admit that I was deadly curious and wanted to know immediately. I didn’t exactly rush my guests out the door but I in a way made it clear that we were tired and wanted to get to bed.
After the final guest had left the house, Darren and I walked towards the back yard patio and started to clear the glasses from the table and bar areas. Through his thick French accent, Darren asked me if I thought in any way that I was better than him because I was a big time marketing associate and he was nothing more than a waiter in a soon to be defunct restaurant. The very question both puzzled and hurt me. I have never done anything to this man to give him any idea that I thought I was better than he. Before I could answer his question, Darren took his fist and smashed it through the glass patio table. His hand and knuckles were bleeding and he was just getting started. Darren and I weren’t sized up evenly. He was six foot three and two hundred twenty pounds. I on the other hand am five ten and a hundred and ninety pounds fully clothed and soak and wet. But I was never ever afraid to fight when I felt that there were no other options.
Darren knew that my home was my pride and joy. He knew how hard I worked to get to the level of financial security I’m at. He knew how I had valuable antiques in my home that were handed down to me that were generations old. Darren was drunk and on top of that he was insanely jealous and insecure of me. After the patio table, Darren flew into the dining room past the Italian oil paintings I had recently purchased at an art auction and headed straight for the piano. It was the one thing over all that I treasured the most and I almost dared him to hurt it in any way. As Darren motioned to strike the piano with his fist, he stopped in midair and laughed at me sardonically while simultaneously looking at me in great victory. I stared back at him with pity in my eyes for him because I knew that if he were to hurt my piano that I would have no other choice but to physically fight my husband.
For a brief moment I thought that Darren had come to his senses. He stepped away from the piano as I looked on in momentary relief as he stepped out of the room. At that moment when Darren was gone, I dropped to my knees and thanked God that no harm had come to my precious gift. My thanks, however, would be ever so brief. When Darren returned to the room he found me on my knees and ordered me to move. I thought that he wanted me to come to him so that we could make up. In my naivety, I removed myself from the blocking view of the piano and walked over to him. With tears in my eyes, I gave him and hug and begged him to seek help for his emotional issues. After a few moments, Darren reached in his pocket and pulled out a pistol from the gun collection in the billiard room.
Darren emptied the thirty nine year old gun into my precious piano with five shots straight through the tender instrument. That was all that I needed to explode into a frenzy of uncontrollable anger and unmatched madness. After Darren finished destroying my piano, he dropped the gun and plopped himself onto the couch in one of the dens and smirked himself to sleep. While he rested, I went into the kitchen and turned on the automatic over and placed five pots of water on high. I let it sit for about a half hour before I turned the oven off. Darren was a sound sleeper, especially when he was drunk. I knew that I could do anything short of hurting him while he slept and he would not awaken.
Knowing that he would not be disturbed, I removed all of Darren’s clothing and placed him into the Jacuzzi in my bedroom, tied and completely unmovable from head to toe. I muzzled his mouth so that his screams wouldn’t hurt my ears, as I stated before, Darren had a large voice. When he was shackled in the tub with no place to go, I poured some ice cold water on his face to wake him. When he was fully awake I apologized for what I was about to do but that he had brought it on himself. As he was screaming curse words under his breath, I began to pour the steaming hot water all over his body. Little by little, I emptied out each pot. By the time I was finished, Darren’s body looked like a cut fish that had been beaten after death. Before I was finished I told Darren that we were threw and that if were to turn me in for what I had done, I’d be sure that he never lived to see me in court facing charges. He knew that to be true because I had relatives in the high courts of America, one of the reason he was able to establish citizenship in this country after just two short months.
It was hard to fight my husband and cruelly punish him for his sins to me but I had to do what I had to do. He pushed me way too far for the last time. I had had enough. What hurts the most is that being a gay couple, Darren and I had all the odds stacked against us. Sadly instead of it being us against the world, it was Darren against Me.
READER'S REVIEWS (6) DISCLAIMER: STORYMANIA DOES NOT PROVIDE AND IS NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR REVIEWS. ALL REVIEWS ARE PROVIDED BY NON-ASSOCIATED VISITORS, REGARDLESS OF THE WAY THEY CALL THEMSELVES.
"Bravo!I can identify with the protagonist - mission fulfilled." -- jim roxenberg.
"more of an opinionated recollection of both your tempers than a short story, and i personally disagree with your final motives of scalding the poor man in the jacuzzi. apparently the word "divorce" never crossed your mind when you were in the emergency room after one of your so-put many fights." -- harry.
"Apart from the fact, that the three main elements of a short story (beginning, middle, end) are provided, it is obvious, that the writer has pointed right from the start with an arrow towards the end (in medias res). Two characters with their specific personality traits, a few meaningful props, no dead freight, a climax and even a touch of philosophical message as a finishing sentence - one must be blind, not to recognize a short story. It is the writers' choice to exclude divorce as an option, as it is also the writers' choice to let his 'usually normal' charcters do something out of character in a given situation - even perfectly normal people tend to overreact or do something extremely dramatic, when passion, emotion, anger and loss of control (just to mention a few factors) meet at the right time. By the way: I had the impression, that the story was based on a true story. Anyways...the way it was presented, it could have been also plausible fiction. Skyler Drevan has convinced me with logic and believable storytelling. Good Luck, Skyler!" -- Jim Roxenberg.
"I must be blind? you think i could write an article on a football season and call it a short story? hey, as long as introduce characters and give a climax and a resolution it'd be a short story wouldn't it? no, you dumb idiot, it might as well be a short story but essentially a history lesson on the football season. Say I throw a few morals in there about trying your hardest or overcoming adversity, then exclude numbers and change names and give a precise, overall message? That's the underlying difference, and it's exactly what this Skyler Drevan has decided to do with his own story: he told of a night he got in a fight with his husband and tore off his skin with boiling water because he was a drunk asshole who shot apart his beloved piano. Look again and let me know if you see any sort of underlying message about humans and their so called "extremely dramatic overreactions" when "drama passion emotion and loss of control" take over. It's not there. I know plenty of people who wouldn't do such a thing to a human life, and believe me, it's actually the norm, yet Skyler writes like it's the action we must all take. Please. And don't get all touchy with me again, because I'm simply speaking out against a true story that should've landed this writer in jail. And you know what? If he'd have divorced that moron in the first place he'd still have his piano, wouldn't he?" -- harry.
"I had no idea that this piece of writing, whatever you may call it, could cause such a argument. Let's just say that this is based on actual events as told to me by one of my best friends. Whether or not I should be in jail really has nothing to do with the story. I never said that this was a story based on me. Harry, lighten up and move to another page. Believe me, you (whether you like me or not) will not make or break me. I already have gone further in writing than I ever thought possible. To Harry, get a life, to Mr. Roxenberg, thank you for your support and defense but please do not feel the need to respond to Harry any longer. Any future comments from him will be deleted." -- Skyler Drevan, the author.
"I certainly had no intentions to respond to such a comment, Skyler. I guess harry speaks for himself, LOL!" -- jim roxenberg.
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