Her Loss, Part Two of Three

Her Loss, Part Two of Three

One thing that happened to Christian was financial – he began making more money.  He let Cecilia buy a new car of her choice.  She went and got a new fully loaded Lexus.  The car was an automatic v-8 with leather interior, a hybrid.  Her car was nice; her husband was becoming questionable.  Cecilia’s ideas on teaching had pretty much faded away.  “I really wanted to continue to teach,” she said to Christian, one night.  She did not really understand the difference in speaking with a human that had consumed alcohol as opposed to one who had not.

Christian had been drinking his preferred brand of aged whiskey, again – the “smoothest whiskey”, according to the bottle.  Even he did not really consider the consequences of any amount of intoxication.  “There is no need for you to teach,” said Christian coldly, “You cannot even keep a cleanly house.”  She thought he was playing; she had kept their entire house clean for months and months.  Cecilia did not really know what to say, that night.  She hated to be surprised with Christian’s discouraging words.

“Maybe I can teach online, somehow,” thought Cecilia.  The closest she came to that was answering support questions for new bloggers everywhere.  Though it was fun and actually helped a few people learn to write better; her loss was still that she was no longer a school teacher.  Was Christian making all of the money?  Sure he was; Cecilia could go out and buy anything.  He never minded; she paid the bills well and managed some of his private accounts.

Cecilia joined a book club.  It met weekly; it was named “The Wormers”.  To join, participants were to submit a book review and pay a 10$ annual fee.  The club sold t-shirts for 5$ that said “The Wormers”.  Cecilia was a proud “Wormer”; she reviewed James Patterson’s new novel, “Unlucky 13”.  Cecilia joined the book club, because her neighbor said it was an interesting and intelligible small gathering of young women who loved to discuss the mastery of new best-sellers.  Cecilia’s neighbor’s name was Muria Thorngood.  Muria’s husband was a wealthy defense lawyer; she had taken nine differing forms of martial arts before becoming an instructor of her own mixed style in her own dojo, downtown.

Cecilia continued to keep the house clean; she read books; and she remodeled.  Cecilia became an expert with interior design; Christian’s monthly liquor bill was almost as much as the wallpaper Cecilia replaced from time to time.  “I want you to fill these papers out,” said Christian, one night.  It was a life insurance policy for 5 million.  Christian traveled over twelve times a year by plane for business reasons; the policy was an idea presented by his company.  Cecilia filled it out; Christian drank himself to slumber.  His drinking had become a daily habit; he did not drink before he went to his office.  The stocks his company invested in continued to make more and more money.

Christian became more and more verbally abusive to Cecilia.  He, without noticing, became demanding.  She learned to cook various gourmet dishes from high-class recipes off the web.  “These dinners are not worth the money you spend cooking them,” he would say.  She was usually a little proud, anyway; they looked and tasted splendid to her.  Her blog followers were usually at a loss of words to view her cooking photos.

One night, the inevitable occurred.  Christian came home from work; it was a Friday.  On the way home he stocked up well on aged whiskey.  He finished off 1/2 of a 5th by the time he made it to their mansion and found Cecilia reading.  “You and your damn books!” he said, “Cannot you do anything with your life?”  “Why do you not start a private school so I can teach?” she asked in fright.  He was drunk and mad; he really needed to find a good reason to increase his anger.  “All the schools in this city and you cannot even do it at one of those?  You think I can just say ‘wham!’ and a new school appear so you can sit on your rump for a year making what I do in a week?”

“I do not see what is so crazy about that,” said Cecilia, feeling justified, “All you do is sit around or talk with investors and come home and drink – what do you care, anyway?”  This really upset Christian; his not really having something significant to be proud of other than financial success hit home.  It upset him even more to be accused of over drinking; the truth hurt.  He fore-handed her, as she was standing there, trying to be accurate with her statements.

Cecilia fell to the ground in pain.  She cried; she did not think he would do such a thing.  What a terrible surprise.  Christian went off to bed with a 2-liter glass bottle of aged whiskey thinking, “That showed her.”  He passed out drunk within the hour, and Cecilia slept in the large guest room, half of her head discolored and one of her eyes blackened.  What was she to do?


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