Jack gets home

It was full dark by the time Jack got home and he used the time sitting in the back of the uber to sober himself up. He was fairly disturbed by the events with the mysterious woman, but chose to compartmentalise those thoughts. He recalled a guidance councillor from many years ago telling him that it was ok to put negative thoughts into a box and shuffled that box into the back of his mind. Probably it was deeply harmful to his emotional health, but it was a habit he had taken up.

His house was dark when he entered, but not completely. As he walked down the hallway into the kitchen he noticed a dim glow of a computer screen spilling out from the living room. When he peaked inside he saw his daughter Becca, desperately typing away at her laptop.

Sighing, he dumped his suitcase and wandered on in. A pair of bespectacled green eyes lifted at the sound of his entrance and softened a little. Her brunette hair was hid under a beanie, her freckled face brightened into a smile.

“Hi, Dad,” she greeted, “have a good trip?”

Jack swallowed back the desire to bitch about her mother and instead collapsed onto the couch beside her. “It was...boring, dull, tedious,” he gave her a weary smile, “same old shit really.”

The corners of her mouth tugged into a smile but she turned her gaze back to her computer, typing away rapidly in a way that amazed him. He watched her in silence for a few moments before nudging her with his shoulder.

“Hey,” he said, “I’m pretty sure at a certain point the brain stops retaining information. You’ll do better if you get some sleep and recharge your noggin.”

Becca hummed. “I will soon, just need to finish these notes for Amber.”

“Sweetie, why are you making notes for Amber?” He frowned, picturing his daughter’s vapid little friend. “You’ve got enough to worry about with your own exams, you don’t need to be helping her too.”

“It’s honestly no big deal Dad,” she continued to type without looking up, “I’m almost done.”

He wanted to press the issue, to tell his daughter that she should ought to establish boundaries and stand up for herself more. But he knew how much of a hypocrite that would make him and besides, the argument would only stress Becca out more. So instead of arguing he merely exhaled deeply, rose to his feet, pressed a kiss to his daughter’s head and left it with a simple, “five minutes, then bed.”

“Ok Dad,” she looked up from her typing to offer him another smile, “love you.”

“Love you too.”

He shuffled into the kitchen, collected his suitcase and then trudged upstairs. There was light flickering from underneath his other daughter’s door along with a low murmur of voices. Jack shook his head in annoyance. Technically Eve had a studio apartment, but she didn’t hesitate to crash in the family home when it suited her after a night out. He just prayed that she hadn’t brought home a boyfriend this time.

Once he came to his bedroom he hesitated at the door. Would he be able to control himself when he saw his wife? Or would the bubbling rage that he had been sitting on for the past few hours erupt in a horrible shouting match.

Jack took a deep breath and then entered.

Sharon was asleep in the bed, snoring lightly alongside the rhythmic rise and fall of her great tits. In even middle age with a figure that had grown somewhat curvaceous, she was still a very beautiful woman and watching her sleep Jack felt a swell of desire and awe. What miracle had he worked to convince this woman to ever sleep with him, let alone marry and produce two children with him?

But whatever magic had once been there between them had long since faded. Watching her sleep was the only time he could really be around his wife and see any peace on her face. From the moment she awoke until she lay down for the night, a permanent scowl would affix itself to her whenever he was in her presence, and words of contempt and disdain would be muttered in his direction. It broke him a little bit to know how much she had come to loathe him.

He thought back on what the mysterious woman had said. The green fire. The warmth that flooded through him. Could he really change how people felt? Could he make his wife love him again?

It was a tempting idea, the notion of gently bringing things back to the early days of his marriage. But there was a question of consent, of his wife’s agency. He couldn’t just start playing around in her mind like some kind of demonic neurosurgeon.

In the end he discarded the thought and prepared himself for sleep, settling into his cold and untouched side of the bed.