"You Can Quote Me On This" Contest
Author(s): Faerie kitten (judges example)
Title: End Of My Rope
Word count: 2213
Quote: Quote Three
Pairing: Bella
Rating: M
Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight
Three years. I'd been with him three years and this was the fifth time that he'd used that excuse. He hadn't meant to fuck the hell out of some skank that he'd picked up at the local bar. They'd been drunk. He'd been lonely. She'd been a reminder of me.
Yeah, fucking right.
If that bitch had reminded my dear husband of me so fucking much, then why hadn't he remembered that he was married… to me? Fucking cunt.
Was it my fault that my work kept me away for weeks at a time? Was it my fault that I was so tired that all I did was sleep when I got home? Was it my fault that my cheating asshole of a husband couldn't keep it in his fucking pants?
Five times in three years he'd used the excuse of being drunk and missing me. Four times I'd forgiven him. Not this time. Not bloody likely.
First time it had been easy to forgive him. I was young, still new to my work, and understood that he had needs. Hell, I had needs, too.
Second time, it was almost understandable. I'd been away for eight weeks, off for a week, and then away again for another nine. He'd been so pissed that he couldn't get the words out to apologise without falling over himself.
Third time was when I started to realise that something was wrong. I'd only been away a week. One week after being off for almost a month. I'd come home to find him fucking some blonde bit of fluff that had a lower IQ than my weight. Again, he'd been drunk, so pissed that he hadn't even stopped fucking her when I walked in.
Forth time was the one that almost tipped me to breaking point. She'd been walking down the stairs, having just come out of our bedroom. One look at me, and she thought I was the maid. Took great delight in telling me about the mess that they had made in the bedroom. Even gloated a little that his wife was away. She didn't fucking like it when I announced that I was his wife.
But this time, this fifth time was the one that took the biscuit. Of all the times that I had suspected, and all the times that I had actually caught my dear husband in the act, this was the one that pushed me to the edge of the abyss. So close to the edge that I could see the thing looking back at me as I stared down. I could touch what was down there, taste it on the back of my throat, feel it running through my veins.
Two fucking days. I'd been called away for two days. At twenty-six I was on the verge of having enough money to retire. No more travelling for weeks at a time. No more running away at a moment's notice. All my time to do whatever I wanted.
I could spend my evenings with my husband, showing him all the reasons in the world why he never needed to seek pleasure elsewhere. We could spend our summers on some remote beach, watching as the sun made the sand glitter like fresh snow. We would take long strolls in the morning, just as dawn was breaking, before it got too warm to do anything.
We'd grow old together.
Apparently not.
I honestly didn't know what was the worst part about this final time. It wasn't the brunette piece of shit that was laid out on my bed, her legs spread as she cried out in pleasure. It wasn't even seeing my husband drive his cock into yet another piece of ass that wasn't mine. Nor was it the sound of complete satisfaction when he thrust into her that final time, calling someone else's name when he came.
I was used to seeing that part.
The thing that was worst, the part of it all that really threw me over the edge, was what happened afterwards.
He'd pulled out of the bitch that was in my bed, flopped next to her, pulling her onto his chest. Neither of them had noticed me standing in the doorway. Her hands had been all over him, and his were all over her.
"Damn," he'd whispered to her, "you are so much better than my wife."
"Then leave her for me," the whore had replied.
"You can't keep me in the life I've got here," was his reply. "My wife may be a lousy lay, and good at fuck all else, but she's got more money than you'd ever make."
His words were crystal clear. Each of them coming out perfectly clear and concise. The fucker was completely and utterly sober this time. He was fucking some whore of a woman in our bed, complaining that I was lousy at everything, and bragging that he was with me only for my money, and he was completely fucking sober.
"Fuck you," I told him.
Both of their heads whipped around to face me, realising that I was in the doorway.
"No, wait a second. Fuck off and die," I amended. "'Cause no way in hell are you ever getting any again."
I slammed the door behind me when I left, the force of it shaking the wall, knocking a picture to the floor with a shattering of glass. It was our wedding picture, the one where we both looked happy. How ironic was it that it was that one to fall to the floor in a thousand shards of glass?
A full hour after I'd found them in bed together, the whore came trotting down the stairs, barely glancing at me before she left. I didn't have anything against her. Not really. After all, it was my husband that was the cheating motherfucker.
He came downstairs ten seconds later. His hair was dry. He hadn't even bothered to shower the skank off him before coming down.
"Get the fuck away from me," I hissed when he tried to kiss me. "If you think I'm letting you anywhere near me ever again, then you are fucked in the head."
"Bella, baby. I missed you." God, that voice of his once had the power to make me so wet I'd beg for him to fuck me.
"Yeah, you missed me all right. What did you miss? Having someone on hand to stick your cock in without spending any money first or the lifestyle I keep you in?"
"Baby, I didn't mean any of that," he tried to tell me.
"I want you out, now."
"Bella, honey, I love you."
"Me or my money?"
"You, baby. Always you."
"So tell me, did you fuck her again whilst I was waiting? It doesn't take an hour to get some bitch dressed and out." He fucking had as well. "You think I'm just going to roll over and forgive you? Just like that."
"I know you love me."
"Yeah. I did. Once. Now get the fuck out."
He left. Reluctantly. Oh, he did everything that he could to try and persuade me to let him stay. Strutting his stuff up the stairs. Dropping his pants in the bedroom whilst I made sure he actually packed. Getting naked and asking me to join him in the shower.
He actually thought that he could win me over with sex.
"Expect a call from my lawyer," I told him when he got to the front door, case in hand. "I'll be filing for divorce in the morning."
"Half of everything you have is mine."
"Not when I tell my lawyer what a cheating asshole you are."
"They won't believe you." Yeah, because we had such a perfect marriage to anyone looking in from the outside.
"I'm at the end of my rope with you. Don't underestimate me."
The next day came and went. I didn't call my lawyer. I didn't call my husband. I didn't file for divorce. I came up with a plan.
For six years I'd worked my ass off, all over the world, in every country, and my wonderful husband of three years had done bugger all. He hadn't worked a day since we married. There was no way on Earth I was letting him have even a chance of half of what I owned. Besides, I wasn't exactly squeaky clean. Sure, I'd been faithful. I'd actually been in love with the man at one point.
"Honey," I said into my phone when he answered. "Could you… Would you… Can you come home?"
"Bella? Of course, love."
He was at the door in ten minutes flat. Case in hand.
"Sweetheart," he greeted me, arms wide open. "Come here."
His arms were warm when the engulfed me, holding me tight to his broad chest. I really had loved him once upon a time. He had been my whole word in that first year after we'd been married, and for the year before. Now all I felt was the stain of so many affairs, and so much wasted time.
"Come upstairs." I didn't need to give him my best come hither look, he was eager to follow me. Too eager.
With a sashay of my hips, I led him by the hand to our bedroom, to our bed. Pushing him down gently, I straddled his waiting erection, feeling the heat of it through our pants.
Lousy in bed, was I? Well, he certainly had no problem getting up at the prospect of fucking me.
"I missed you." My words were said with a sexual flare, with the promise of a good fuck, and the temptation of something dark and juicy. "I want you."
"Me, too, baby."
He had my top off in an instant, my jeans the second later. His soon followed, adding to the growing pile of discarded clothes on the floor. The rest of our clothes followed in a blur of kisses and hands. A kiss as my bra was undone, a caress as my panties came down my legs. We were up against each other, naked and wanton, eager for such different reasons.
He never saw it coming.
One second he was sliding a couple of fingers deep inside me, not even realising that I was dry as the desert, the next the cloth was over his mouth, and he was out like a light.
Extracting myself from his embrace, glad it was over, I set about the rest of my plan with a smile on my face. I had about an hour before he came around. Just enough time to do what I needed to do, get him where I needed him, and have everything ready for when he came around.
An hour later, and I had done just that.
Looking around at the opulent hallway, I realised that I would miss the house. It was a shame that it had to be done here, but houses could be bought, furnishings could be replaced. They were just things.
A groggy moan brought my attention back to what I was doing.
Propped up on a stool, hands tied behind his back, was my husband. It had been hard work to get him into the right position without marking him, but I had my ways, and certainly enough practice.
"Bella?"
"Honey, you're awake. Just in time." I smiled up at the confusion on his face.
"What's going on?"
"You shouldn't have fucked with me."
It all seemed to dawn on him at once. The feeling of something around his neck, itching to be used. His hands tied behind his back, in the same silk ties that he'd used on me once or twice - nothing like silk not to leave a mark. The stool under his feet. The look on my face.
"You're kidding me?"
"No, not kidding. Killing, yes."
"You won't get away with it."
"I already have. Right about now, I'm being seen on camera filling my car up, almost a hundred miles away from here. There's a note, in your handwriting. It will stand up to the most intense scrutiny, down to only your fingerprints on the paper. You couldn't stand my being mad at you. You couldn't live with your cheating ways. How noble of you," I told him, feigning being touched. "No one will ever know."
"You wouldn't."
"You don't know me."
"You love me." He seemed so sure of that.
"I did. But I've had enough of you. I'm not taking any more."
Still so disbelieving. "You wouldn't."
"You ever hear the saying, 'If you're at the end of your rope, then tie a know and hold on'?" He shook his head. "Hold on."
With one swift kick, I kicked the stool out from under him, watching as the rope that I tied to the banister took the weight and snapped taunt with it. My dear husband's eyes went wide with shock.
It was a good few minutes before he finally stopped breathing and struggling. Someone would find his body whilst I was 'away.' It would be our maid, perhaps. Or the mailman. Poor things.
"I really did love you once, Edward," I told his corpse as I removed the binds. "But you shouldn't have fucked with me."
There you have it, the first of two examples coming your way from me. You can use any of the quotes in whatever way you wish, be it for comedy, angst, love, lust, slash, smut, lots of smut. Anything you like.
Hope you enjoyed it.