Marital Bitch (Men with Badges) - By Jc Emery Page 0,58

told myself. The truth is probably more like I felt like an outcast around them. I don’t anymore.

All of them know who they are and they take pride in that. I had tried so hard to separate myself from them in an effort to be something more. Though now, the elusive something more still evades me. I remember wanting a nice house, a small backyard, a devoted husband, and a couple of kids. In this moment, my stomach bloated and all of the windows open, I don’t know why what my parents had was never good enough for me. It seems I don’t know much of anything anymore, including myself.

“Can you go in the other room, stinky girl?” Brad asks, sitting in his chair and chuckling. I cock an eyebrow at him.

“You’re not exactly smelling fresh yourself.” I grumble and throw the green and white Celtics coaster at him. “Besides, this is your fault.”

“My fault?” he scoffs, blocking the coaster from hitting his face. He laughs and another round begins. I grab the nearest throw pillow and bury my nose in it. It doesn’t help. Nothing helps. Everything smells in here. “This is not my fault, Colleen. Who bought the laxatives to begin with?”

“Yeah, but they were supposed to just be for you, not me!” I shout through the pillow, covering my face. He laughs again and I fear the worst but nothing comes. Thank God.

“Yeah and you’re the idiot who fell for the old bait and switch routine. Did you really think I hadn’t anticipated that you’d put something in the creamer of my coffee?” he says, smiling and lets another one go. Now I think he’s doing it on purpose, if that’s even possible.

“Yeah and you’re the idiot who didn’t anticipate that I had switched mugs,” I remove the pillow from my face and smile at him smugly.

“Yeah and you’re the idiot who accidentally put it in both mugs! Now you’re suffering, too. So explain to me how it is my fault that you sound like Ol’ Flatulent Aunt Fanny over there?” I grimace and my stomach betrays me. Aunt Fanny is Brad’s great aunt who passed away a few years back. In her later years she was unable to control her bowels no matter where she went and she always had gas. No matter what.

Out of nowhere I start laughing uncontrollably. Brad just stares me down as though I’ve gone insane and I’m sure I have. Sitting here in the living room, channel surfing and polluting the air; I have more than I ever thought I would. Right now it really doesn’t matter how embarrassing this little problem is. Brad isn’t shaming me for it, he doesn’t find me disgusting for it, and he isn’t running away because his image of me is shattered. A lifetime of friendship has prepared us for dealing with flatulence—together—and not running like hell.

“You and me,” I finally calm my laughter. “We’re sitting here, letting ‘em rip, and it’s okay,” I say. Brad raises his eyebrow.

“Why wouldn’t it be okay, pretty girl?” He’s serious.

“Well,” I mumble and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “You’re not running away from me. You’re just here.” I smile up at him, thoroughly embarrassed at having to explain myself.

“When the hell are you going to get it?” he asks. “You’re my pretty girl and not just when you’re all dressed up. You’re my pretty girl when you’ve had too many beers and you’re ready to puke. You’re my pretty girl when you’re jealous and when you’re shy; and you’re definitely my pretty girl when you’re farting your ass off,” he smirks at me. I laugh loudly, unabashedly snorting along the way and he joins in. I take a moment to look at him and see a twinkle in his eyes.

We don’t talk about what we are to each other anymore. I don’t think either of us knows. We’re married. Okay. But are we friends? Lovers? Fuck buddies? God, I hope we’re not fuck buddies. As much as I’ve been enjoying the sex, I don’t just want to be something Brad does when he’s bored or between women. These past few weeks have me wanting more from Brad than just his friendship. I want his everything and I want to be everything for him; but what if Darla is wrong? What if Brad doesn’t love me? Part of me thinks I’d be an idiot to think he doesn’t have feelings for me. The other part of