Being married really wasn't the trip I thought it'd be.
I really hate admitting it, but there was some parts about Madsen's paranoid ranting when I first proposed he was right about. It was pretty easy hiding the job, sometimes I almost think it's too easy. So that's really not the problem.
The problem, is that I'm abso-freakin'-lutely bored. I love Carly, otherwise I sure as hell wouldn't have proposed in the first place and put myself through this much crap to make sure everything went smoothly for us. But... I don't know. I can't even explain it, because I don't know when or how the hell it happened.
We're not having sex. Just... period. I'm practically afraid to kiss her like I used to, because she never seems to want it. When she's around. On my days off, she's always busy. On her days off, when I'm busy, she doesn't actually say anything, which is why I stopped saying something.
And there's certain things she does that are driving me straight out of my freakin' skull. This tired sigh thing. The dirty looks whenever she thinks I'm not looking. The indifferent look when I am looking. And what the hell is she doing wearing half the crap she wears? She looks like a conservative tightwad housewife, and that's not Carly.
I've even thought about telling her some of this, just to get a fight out of her. Anything at this point, jeez.
I sighed as I glanced in the rearview mirror when I pulled in, and killed the engine. I grabbed my wedding ring, and looked at it, wondering if she'd notice if I stopped wearing it. I know I check every day to see if she still is, just to get some sort of bearing about where we are.
It's something, what can I say?
I put the ring on, and got out, heading into the shed. I've got at least a minute before she looks outside, and if she asks, I'll just say I was checking to see if that jackass next door finally returned the freakin' lawnmower. He's had the God damn thing for three months now, and he never says anything one way or the other when he sees me about it, oh no. Just that fake lame smile, and a 'Hi Sam, how's the wife?'
I hate that guy. I'm really thinking about blowing up his house, or getting Madsen to do it. But there'd be too much explaining behind it to the higherups.
I got down, checking out my weapons, making sure everything was still in place, along with the couple of million I've got stashed down there. I like this place, it's the one other room besides my dark room where I feel like me, and not like I'm living this lame ass lie.
Then I headed back up, and finally came in the house, looking around. She's in the kitchen, I can hear her in there. With dinner. And let's just say, Carly's cooking has been in one hell of a decline over the last couple of years. I don't want to go in there. But I'm going to.
Someone just kill me.
"Hey."
"Hey." I smiled a little, trying to make it look as real as I could, and gave her a quick kiss before looking around. So far, all I'm seeing is a salad. Maybe I'll just have that and fake being full instead of eating the rest. Keep some of my sanity for the night.
"How did everything go?"
"Great." I killed a Guatemalan informant with a twelve gauge shotgun. I love it when I can be loud. "Tonya told me you called, sorry I missed it, I was busy." Blowing someone's head wide open.
Thanks for the details Sam, I really feel close to you when I'm given such a lengthy explanation of your day. I can't share much, it doesn't mean that Sam should be as quiet about his work as I am. I have an damn good excuse, he has none.
"Thats good."
"Tonya told me you called, sorry I missed it, I was busy."
I don't know if I believe that. At this point I'm starting to think that she tells him it's me and he just doesn't want to pick up. He hardly ever talks to me anymore, and when he does it's nothing that could be considered holding a conversation. The words come easily enough, but there's nothing to them.
"Don't worry about it. It wasn't important."
It never is.
"How was your day?"
"It was good. I tried out some new sales techniques."
I got to improvise my kill using an axe. I found it next to a fire extinguisher and really let Mr. Montague have it. If he wanted to have a clean death he shouldn't have taken my knife away. That really pissed me off.
The good news is I got it back when he hit the floor. The amount of blood was unbelievable. I get a kick out of making a mess.
"I picked up the latest book for the club on my way home; Ladies of Garrison Gardens. I think I'm going to start it tonight." So that I can ignore you.
Rachael insists that I include a book club as part of my cover, she says it makes me sound more normal since most women love using them as a way of avoiding their husbands. I think it falls into the same 'not me' category that these itchy sweaters and disgustingly long skirts do. They're trying to make me prematurely old.
None of my coworkers seem to realize that Sam's perfectly capable of aging me all on his own with his dumb looks and dull personality. The one that came out of nowhere. He was so much more interesting before we got married.
Most days I don't know what I'm doing wrong. I follow the rules. I play the part of a really great wife. What is it about my behavior that made him change so much?
"Dinner will be ready in a few minutes. We're having pot roast."
Again.
I can't believe Sam still likes it so much. Personally, I think it tastes like shit. They just keep preparing it for me because it's the textbook definition of a regular meal. I'd rather make burgers and milkshakes on my own and eat something decent.
I think I still know how to cook. It's been a while since I've tried, but at the least I know whatever I'd make wouldn't rot in my stomach like this catered crap.
"I baked cookies too." And if anyone tries to discredit me for the one thing I actually did do, they can take a peek in my bra.
"It was good. I tried out some new sales techniques."
"Nice." I'm just freakin' riveted. I should go get that twelve gauge and shoot myself with it. But not before telling her everything. How I'm a professional killer, who goes around the world killing whoever I'm told to in generally whatever way I want. How I can actually fight.
And how her cooking is complete crap.
"I picked up the latest book for the club on my way home; Ladies of Garrison Gardens. I think I'm going to start it tonight."
The book club. Another thing that just isn't her. Does she do this for kicks to torture me? I'll personally tell her better methods of torture, if that's the case. I got into this marriage still retaining bits and pieces of myself, aside from my job.
She's someone completely different. Period.
"Dinner will be ready in a few minutes. We're having pot roast."
All I need is the salad. Why can't it just be the salad? God damn it. "Great." I pulled another smile, wondering how in the hell I can keep doing it after five years. There's gotta be something in the damned pot roast. That's how I've been able to act like this.
"I baked cookies too."
I shouldn't be so happy about that. It's lame to be so happy over cookies. And yet, right now, I'm freakin' ecstatic. It'll save me from the after taste of the damned pot roast. "Thanks." This time, the smile's a little more real. "I'm going to go grab one." I can smell them now, I don't know why I didn't notice it the second I came in.
Alright Howell, seek and find the sugar before the food torture begins.
Won't that ruin his appetite? I mean, as far as he knows I've been busting my ass in the kitchen for the past few hours. Sam should be considerate enough to save the cookies for dessert.
He's starting to get like one of those husbands who thinks they can do whatever they want just because the wife gets a little busy sometimes. Granted, I'm busy blowing people's heads off, but he thinks I'm in advertising. In other words, he thinks I'm normal and he's still acting like Cookie Monster right in front of me.
What's next? A beer belly and bad hygiene? Those are basically the only two areas he's managed to keep in check. Everything else is just...not the man I married.
Lauren gets a kick out of this. She says its what I get for making any kind of vows to man; even when they intend to make good on their promises, they follow them through half ass.
I think she was probably right about me tying myself down. The ropes get tighter everyday. I never knew it was possible to strangle someone with a boring personality, but if there's anyone in a position to pull it off, it's Sam.
He can't fight to save his life, but he can bore me to death.
If I ever tell him the truth I swear to God I'll get pointers on being that pathetically uninteresting.
Ignore the fact that you can see the freakin' cookies, and she caught you just before you could get to them.
Ignore the feeling of deja freakin' vu, because you know you've been in this situation before.
And ignore the knowledge that you are abso-freakin'-lutely condemned, and you know it, because this is what you signed on for by marrying the so called love of your life, who turned into something completely different. If you're going to get through the next ten minutes, you're going to have to ignore that.
God damn it.
"Yeah, I was just going to have one."
I looked back, and saw that she was pissed, just like she was when this happened before. There's no getting out of this, and I really really hate that. There's not a word for how much.
"... But it can wait until after dinner." After I eat the crap you keep putting on the table, and try not to get sick over it. At least they'll get the taste out of my mouth.
Whatever, she looks satisfied. That's all that matters... or something. I don't care anymore.
The phone can ring any minute now. Emergency assignment. I need more of those. I have to take my name off of the regular assignments list, and put myself back on as on call. My life was easier then.
Except I'm really not going to do that, because it'll disrupt the nice little schedule we have here, and probably give her more of a reason to act the way she does.
Then take one. You're an ungrateful jackass who never appreciates anything I actually do for you anyway. Sure, you just said 'thank you' but what you probably meant was 'thank you for giving me something to stuff in my mouth so that I don't have to talk to you'.
I swear, all of the problems in our relationship come from things we don't say. Well, that and the fact that we haven't had sex since...no dwelling. Our therapist doesn't want us to dwell. Wouldn't need a therapist if we were having sex, but we do and we're not so we're not supposed to dwell.
"... But it can wait until after dinner."
"Yes, it can." I turned to look at him, noticing how disappointed he was, all because of a damned cookie.
Lauren was right about his hair. I try not to think about it, but sometimes when I see him now it just hits me... It would probably be better if I stopped thinking about that now.
Oh damnit, if he really wants a cookie that bad...
"I take it back. I made them for you, you should be able to eat them whenever you want."
Is this the kind of "compromising" and "letting the little things go" shit the therapist was talking about? Because it's really annoying and I hate it. I shouldn't have to just 'let things go' and let Sam get his own way. Letting things go sucks.
Being married sucks.
And I don't care what our therapist says about compromise, it can't possibly be that helpful if I'm the only one doing it.
Grabbing the mitts off of the counter, I put them on and take the pot roast out of the oven.
Personally, I think it smells about as good as it tastes, but again, Sam eats it.
I swear, he just does it to make me miserable. And it works.
I set the pot down, adding a few last minute touches since dinner technically was all set fifteen minutes ago when they brought it in.
I already gave in, damn you, stop freakin' 'emphasizing' that I did, because I don't want to hear it. One thing that's never changed, she's way too into getting her way.
Wait, what's that look for?
"I take it back. I made them for you, you should be able to eat them whenever you want."
... Is this a trick? Okay, between this and that tightwad housewife look, I just... this is freakin' insane. Marriage wasn't supposed to be this way. It just wasn't.
She's expecting me to go for it, that has to be it. It's a freakin' trap. And I'm not falling for it.
"No, I'll just wait until after dinner. Be right back." I headed into my office and turned on the computer, checking for any e-mails. Nothing new, a congratulations on a 'job well done' for the Guatemalan guy, and some bad jokes from Madsen.
"It's ready."
"Be there in one second." I called, checking over a file and reading my other e-mails.
Being married really wasn't the trip I thought it'd be.
I really hate admitting it, but there was some parts about Madsen's paranoid ranting when I first proposed he was right about. It was pretty easy hiding the job, sometimes I almost think it's too easy. So that's really not the problem.
The problem, is that I'm abso-freakin'-lutely bored. I love Carly, otherwise I sure as hell wouldn't have proposed in the first place and put myself through this much crap to make sure everything went smoothly for us. But... I don't know. I can't even explain it, because I don't know when or how the hell it happened.
We're not having sex. Just... period. I'm practically afraid to kiss her like I used to, because she never seems to want it. When she's around. On my days off, she's always busy. On her days off, when I'm busy, she doesn't actually say anything, which is why I stopped saying something.
And there's certain things she does that are driving me straight out of my freakin' skull. This tired sigh thing. The dirty looks whenever she thinks I'm not looking. The indifferent look when I am looking. And what the hell is she doing wearing half the crap she wears? She looks like a conservative tightwad housewife, and that's not Carly.
I've even thought about telling her some of this, just to get a fight out of her. Anything at this point, jeez.
I sighed as I glanced in the rearview mirror when I pulled in, and killed the engine. I grabbed my wedding ring, and looked at it, wondering if she'd notice if I stopped wearing it. I know I check every day to see if she still is, just to get some sort of bearing about where we are.
It's something, what can I say?
I put the ring on, and got out, heading into the shed. I've got at least a minute before she looks outside, and if she asks, I'll just say I was checking to see if that jackass next door finally returned the freakin' lawnmower. He's had the God damn thing for three months now, and he never says anything one way or the other when he sees me about it, oh no. Just that fake lame smile, and a 'Hi Sam, how's the wife?'
I hate that guy. I'm really thinking about blowing up his house, or getting Madsen to do it. But there'd be too much explaining behind it to the higherups.
I got down, checking out my weapons, making sure everything was still in place, along with the couple of million I've got stashed down there. I like this place, it's the one other room besides my dark room where I feel like me, and not like I'm living this lame ass lie.
Then I headed back up, and finally came in the house, looking around. She's in the kitchen, I can hear her in there. With dinner. And let's just say, Carly's cooking has been in one hell of a decline over the last couple of years. I don't want to go in there. But I'm going to.
Someone just kill me.
"Hey."
"Hey." I smiled a little, trying to make it look as real as I could, and gave her a quick kiss before looking around. So far, all I'm seeing is a salad. Maybe I'll just have that and fake being full instead of eating the rest. Keep some of my sanity for the night.
"How did everything go?"
"Great." I killed a Guatemalan informant with a twelve gauge shotgun. I love it when I can be loud. "Tonya told me you called, sorry I missed it, I was busy." Blowing someone's head wide open.
"How was your day?"
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Thanks for the details Sam, I really feel close to you when I'm given such a lengthy explanation of your day. I can't share much, it doesn't mean that Sam should be as quiet about his work as I am. I have an damn good excuse, he has none.
"Thats good."
"Tonya told me you called, sorry I missed it, I was busy."
I don't know if I believe that. At this point I'm starting to think that she tells him it's me and he just doesn't want to pick up. He hardly ever talks to me anymore, and when he does it's nothing that could be considered holding a conversation. The words come easily enough, but there's nothing to them.
"Don't worry about it. It wasn't important."
It never is.
"How was your day?"
"It was good. I tried out some new sales techniques."
I got to improvise my kill using an axe. I found it next to a fire extinguisher and really let Mr. Montague have it. If he wanted to have a clean death he shouldn't have taken my knife away. That really pissed me off.
The good news is I got it back when he hit the floor. The amount of blood was unbelievable. I get a kick out of making a mess.
"I picked up the latest book for the club on my way home; Ladies of Garrison Gardens. I think I'm going to start it tonight." So that I can ignore you.
Rachael insists that I include a book club as part of my cover, she says it makes me sound more normal since most women love using them as a way of avoiding their husbands. I think it falls into the same 'not me' category that these itchy sweaters and disgustingly long skirts do. They're trying to make me prematurely old.
None of my coworkers seem to realize that Sam's perfectly capable of aging me all on his own with his dumb looks and dull personality. The one that came out of nowhere. He was so much more interesting before we got married.
Most days I don't know what I'm doing wrong. I follow the rules. I play the part of a really great wife. What is it about my behavior that made him change so much?
"Dinner will be ready in a few minutes. We're having pot roast."
Again.
I can't believe Sam still likes it so much. Personally, I think it tastes like shit. They just keep preparing it for me because it's the textbook definition of a regular meal. I'd rather make burgers and milkshakes on my own and eat something decent.
I think I still know how to cook. It's been a while since I've tried, but at the least I know whatever I'd make wouldn't rot in my stomach like this catered crap.
"I baked cookies too." And if anyone tries to discredit me for the one thing I actually did do, they can take a peek in my bra.
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"Nice." I'm just freakin' riveted. I should go get that twelve gauge and shoot myself with it. But not before telling her everything. How I'm a professional killer, who goes around the world killing whoever I'm told to in generally whatever way I want. How I can actually fight.
And how her cooking is complete crap.
"I picked up the latest book for the club on my way home; Ladies of Garrison Gardens. I think I'm going to start it tonight."
The book club. Another thing that just isn't her. Does she do this for kicks to torture me? I'll personally tell her better methods of torture, if that's the case. I got into this marriage still retaining bits and pieces of myself, aside from my job.
She's someone completely different. Period.
"Dinner will be ready in a few minutes. We're having pot roast."
All I need is the salad. Why can't it just be the salad? God damn it. "Great." I pulled another smile, wondering how in the hell I can keep doing it after five years. There's gotta be something in the damned pot roast. That's how I've been able to act like this.
"I baked cookies too."
I shouldn't be so happy about that. It's lame to be so happy over cookies. And yet, right now, I'm freakin' ecstatic. It'll save me from the after taste of the damned pot roast. "Thanks." This time, the smile's a little more real. "I'm going to go grab one." I can smell them now, I don't know why I didn't notice it the second I came in.
Alright Howell, seek and find the sugar before the food torture begins.
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"Before dinner?"
Won't that ruin his appetite? I mean, as far as he knows I've been busting my ass in the kitchen for the past few hours. Sam should be considerate enough to save the cookies for dessert.
He's starting to get like one of those husbands who thinks they can do whatever they want just because the wife gets a little busy sometimes. Granted, I'm busy blowing people's heads off, but he thinks I'm in advertising. In other words, he thinks I'm normal and he's still acting like Cookie Monster right in front of me.
What's next? A beer belly and bad hygiene? Those are basically the only two areas he's managed to keep in check. Everything else is just...not the man I married.
Lauren gets a kick out of this. She says its what I get for making any kind of vows to man; even when they intend to make good on their promises, they follow them through half ass.
I think she was probably right about me tying myself down. The ropes get tighter everyday. I never knew it was possible to strangle someone with a boring personality, but if there's anyone in a position to pull it off, it's Sam.
He can't fight to save his life, but he can bore me to death.
If I ever tell him the truth I swear to God I'll get pointers on being that pathetically uninteresting.
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Freeze. Don't move.
Ignore the fact that you can see the freakin' cookies, and she caught you just before you could get to them.
Ignore the feeling of deja freakin' vu, because you know you've been in this situation before.
And ignore the knowledge that you are abso-freakin'-lutely condemned, and you know it, because this is what you signed on for by marrying the so called love of your life, who turned into something completely different. If you're going to get through the next ten minutes, you're going to have to ignore that.
God damn it.
"Yeah, I was just going to have one."
I looked back, and saw that she was pissed, just like she was when this happened before. There's no getting out of this, and I really really hate that. There's not a word for how much.
"... But it can wait until after dinner." After I eat the crap you keep putting on the table, and try not to get sick over it. At least they'll get the taste out of my mouth.
Whatever, she looks satisfied. That's all that matters... or something. I don't care anymore.
The phone can ring any minute now. Emergency assignment. I need more of those. I have to take my name off of the regular assignments list, and put myself back on as on call. My life was easier then.
Except I'm really not going to do that, because it'll disrupt the nice little schedule we have here, and probably give her more of a reason to act the way she does.
Why did I get married again?
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Then take one. You're an ungrateful jackass who never appreciates anything I actually do for you anyway. Sure, you just said 'thank you' but what you probably meant was 'thank you for giving me something to stuff in my mouth so that I don't have to talk to you'.
I swear, all of the problems in our relationship come from things we don't say. Well, that and the fact that we haven't had sex since...no dwelling. Our therapist doesn't want us to dwell. Wouldn't need a therapist if we were having sex, but we do and we're not so we're not supposed to dwell.
"... But it can wait until after dinner."
"Yes, it can." I turned to look at him, noticing how disappointed he was, all because of a damned cookie.
Lauren was right about his hair. I try not to think about it, but sometimes when I see him now it just hits me... It would probably be better if I stopped thinking about that now.
Oh damnit, if he really wants a cookie that bad...
"I take it back. I made them for you, you should be able to eat them whenever you want."
Is this the kind of "compromising" and "letting the little things go" shit the therapist was talking about? Because it's really annoying and I hate it. I shouldn't have to just 'let things go' and let Sam get his own way. Letting things go sucks.
Being married sucks.
And I don't care what our therapist says about compromise, it can't possibly be that helpful if I'm the only one doing it.
Grabbing the mitts off of the counter, I put them on and take the pot roast out of the oven.
Personally, I think it smells about as good as it tastes, but again, Sam eats it.
I swear, he just does it to make me miserable. And it works.
I set the pot down, adding a few last minute touches since dinner technically was all set fifteen minutes ago when they brought it in.
"It's ready."
I hate you.
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I already gave in, damn you, stop freakin' 'emphasizing' that I did, because I don't want to hear it. One thing that's never changed, she's way too into getting her way.
Wait, what's that look for?
"I take it back. I made them for you, you should be able to eat them whenever you want."
... Is this a trick? Okay, between this and that tightwad housewife look, I just... this is freakin' insane. Marriage wasn't supposed to be this way. It just wasn't.
She's expecting me to go for it, that has to be it. It's a freakin' trap. And I'm not falling for it.
"No, I'll just wait until after dinner. Be right back." I headed into my office and turned on the computer, checking for any e-mails. Nothing new, a congratulations on a 'job well done' for the Guatemalan guy, and some bad jokes from Madsen.
"It's ready."
"Be there in one second." I called, checking over a file and reading my other e-mails.
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