On A Limb with Claudia

Just out of spite
by claudia hall christian

“Just out of spite, I confess I ruined three lives….” - the English Beat, I confess

“Crap.”

Turning his collar around his neck, Ethan Foster pulled the door closed and crept across the wooden porch. He hoped to be across town before Janette woke up. And, of course, he wanted to miss the Husband’s return from work.

His car was…. That’s right. The car was parked in front of the bar. They walked back to her place. Again.

He hadn’t noticed the cold last night. But after three hours of drinking whiskey and playing pool, he wasn’t feeling much of anything. He tried to remember what Janette felt like.

He did remember the noise. She made so much God damned noise the entire neighborhood got off last night.

Right on cue, the Husband pulled up. Crap. The Husband raised his hand in ‘hello’.

Holy crap, he’s parking. Keep walking Ethan.

“Leaving my house?” The Husband asked.

Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Just keep walking.

“Yeah,” Ethan said.

“And how was she last night?’

“I don’t actually remember,” Ethan said. His face made painful contact with the Husband’s fist. Fuck. “Listen man, I don’t really want any trouble….”

That’s the last thing Ethan remembered before waking up in an ambulance. Someone found Ethan’s unconscious form on the sidewalk. The paramedic helped him sit up. Hearing only the ringing in his ears, he watched the man’s lips move. After a promise to visit his imaginary primary physician, he was released from the Emergency room.

The Denver Police stopped him in the hospital waiting room. Did he wanted to file a complaint? Ethan shook his head.

He’d only confessed out of spite. That God damn song looped through is aching head. How stupid can you be, Ethan?

Where’s my car?

Oh right, at the bar. By Janette’s house.

Returning to the cold streets, Ethan walked in the general direction of his car. As his head cleared, his internal diatribe returned. Each footfall on the cold concrete whispered: “stupid, stupid, stupid.”

Nearing the bar, he witnessed two things at once – his car and a bright yellow Denver Boot. They seemed like two separate objects floating in space. He walked around the car finally bending down next to the booted tire. In a rush, his mind clicked.

The Denver Boot was on his car. Fuck. Guess he wasn’t driving.

Wondering what to do next, he sat down next to the boot. His butt went numb before he realized that his apartment was only three blocks away. He held onto the car until he had his balance again. Walking across the street, he continued toward home.

One block down. He moved with conviction through the cold air. Standing on a street corner, one short block from home, a familiar car pulled next to him.

“Oh my God! You look awful! What happened!?!” Janette screeched through the passenger window.

Ethan’s head turned toward her car while his feet kept working to earn home. One more block. Keep walking Ethan. Don’t be a dumb ass.

“You aren’t going to speak to me? What am I? A common whore?”

Ethan stopped to look at Janette. Cards on the table time.

“Yes Janette, you’re a common whore,” Ethan said.

Janette swallowed the information like a bitter potion. Nodding slightly, she said, “I don’t care what you think. You enjoy yourself.”

“I wish I could remember,” Ethan said.

“What did you say to the Husband? He said he ran into you.”

Ethan gave her a dark look and continued walking. His apartment building rose in front of him like Mecca. He would close the door on this entire debacle.

Work? He checked his watch. Fuck. Late for work. Fairly certain he lost his job, he turned on Janette.

“What?”

“Aren’t you going to invite me in?” Janette asked.

A wave of disgust welled inside him. When had this happened? How had he, Ethan Foster, gone from boy wonder to boy wandering through the fucking cold?

“Sure.” Ethan heard himself say. “What about the Husband?”

“He’s pretty beat up from some fight. He’ll be in bed the rest of the day. We’ve got all day lover.”

“Why do you stay married to him?”

“Are you asking me to marry you?”

Ethan groaned.

“I’m sorry Janette. Go back to the Husband. I need to end this.”

“What are you saying?”

“It’s the right thing to do. If you’re ever single, give me a call.”

Turning his back to her, he walked into his apartment building.

His car was booted. He had certainly lost his job. When the Husband woke up and found her gone, he was going to come looking for them. He confessed out of spite and ruined three lives.

At least the guy in the song cared that he ruined his own life. Pressing the button to his elevator, he saw Janette enter the building.

“Get out of my life,” Ethan said.

“I’m not going to do that,” Janette said.

His throbbing head pumped with rage. Then as soon as it came, the rage slipped away and indifference returned. He stepped onto the elevator. Following Ethan onto the elevator, Janette yipped, like the barking of a small dog, at him. He had no idea what she was saying.

In his dark apartment, the message light flashed a red warning on his answering machine. Pressing the button, he heard what he expected. His boss fired him.

“Don’t bother coming back, Ethan.”

Dropping onto the couch, he held his head in his hands. He didn’t look up when Janette plopped next to him. When she unzipped his pants, he shifted away from her.

“I’d like you to leave,” Ethan said into his hands.

“What was that? Did you just ask me to leave?”

“Yes, please get out,” Ethan said.

“You can’t throw me out. I will ruin your life.”

“My life is already ruined. Please go.”

“No.”

Ethan was overcome with terror. What if she never left?

“Get out,” he screamed.

“You’re shouting at me, Ethan Foster.”

“I know I’m shouting. I like to shout.” Ethan opened his apartment door. “Get out.”

With a flip of her hair, and a slight push from Ethan, Janette stomped out of the apartment. Leaning against the door, he listened to her heels click in the hall.

Christ.

Without bothering with his clothing, he fell onto his bed and slept. Ethan woke with a single thought in his head: “I’ll never drink again.”

Laughing at the thought, he wandered through his apartment. On his way to the bathroom, he pressed the television on. The noise from the evening news blared through the apartment.

Flicking off a spot of mold, he dropped a couple pieces of bread in his toaster. He dug around in his refrigerator until he found his last Coors stuck in the back. Setting the beer on the counter, he poured a bowl of cereal and milk. He spit the sour milk and cereal around the dirty dishes in the kitchen sink.

The beer glistened on his counter. Popping the top, the tan liquid caressed his lips when he heard the words: “Murder Suicide in Denver”. Moving into the living room, he watched Janette and the Husband flash across the screen. He set the beer down.

Ethan would tell people later that the world stopped, time ended and, like a video game, Ethan stared at five doors. He could pack his apartment and leave town. He could return to the bar and drink until the police arrived. He could call his mother and beg her for a loan. He could lay low in his apartment for a month. The last door read simply “Get honest.”

Ethan knew what he needed to do.

He hadn’t loved Janette. He didn’t even like her. And Janette never liked him. Hell, she never even knew what he did for a living. He was just one in a string of lovers she kept to aggravate the Husband. He hadn’t been angry when he told the Husband what he already knew. He used their relationship drama to inflict damage on himself.

He wasn’t always boy wandering. Four years ago he would have never given Janette another look. Ethan nodded at the television.

Ethan picked up the telephone and dialed the police.

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This work is licensed under a
Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

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Saturday Stories are short stories created by claudia hall christian. If you would like to join Saturday Stories, email claudia.hall.christian@gmail.com for more information.
Just out of Spite is part of the “Song Story” project of stories inspired by songs.
For more stories, check out: Stories By Claudia.
Thanks for reading.

Filed under: Fiction, Saturday Stories