And then there were those seething über-resentments too trying to remain unspoken a single minute longer. The smugness on her face as she announced her promotion just days after he’d been passed over for some philandering young hot-shot ten years his junior. The look of pathetic, schoolboy lust on his reddening phizog as he flirted desperately with Sonya from Corporate at the annual Xmas shindig (“She’s not going to sleep with you…!” she’d thought, in equal parts mocking, superiority and resentment; she did though, of course, the slut). The fake hand-holdings and forced joviality of endless arse-licking dinners, scrabbling pitifully up the greasy ladder of success one rung at a time, snivelling like a weasel in heat at the prospect of another immaterial pay-bump…
No more. The trap was set the moment they clunk-clicked their last inside that interminable, overpriced people-carrier and began a leisurely cruise at 70 down the highway to hell. The brats were in tow, of course; no sense in leaving such a poignant reminder of their matrimonial devotion rotting at home while the decadence of bourgeois glory beckoned. Ever the tiresome, whinging instigator, it was Tabitha who dealt the deciding hand -
“Mummy, tell Philip to stop it!”
“She started it…!”
“Did not…”
“Did too…”
“Oh, quiet the fuck down, the pair of you…!”
“Don’t you swear at them…!”
“Well, someone’s got to show a bit of fucking backbone around here…!”
“Don’t you tell me how to raise my children…!”
“Don’t you tell me how to run my own family…!”
Tyres squealing, horns flailing manically either side, the nostril-scorching sear of burnt rubber rising from the tarmac. Wordlessly, they exited their respective doors of the cold, mechanical coffin and climbed the neighbouring verge to its grassy summit. Snarling like rabid bears, they began to circle one another, enacting the movement of vultures in a holding pattern as their feet stomped purposefully to an insistent, tribal rhythm.
“You…”
She struggled to find the words, bile frothing at the corners of her mouth as she spat out vitriol like a venomous cobra.
“…Conceited… presumptuous… contemptible… ARSEHOLE…!”
His cheek muscles twitched and his eyeballs bulged, revealing bloodshot tributaries leading straight to a dark well of hatred.
“You… you… YOU…”
He faltered momentarily as steam poured from his flaring muzzle: a bull ready to take charge
“…BITCH…!”
Reckoning. With the release of a violent, surging orgasm, they exploded towards one another, screaming and mauling as they locked horns and began the process of sadistic deconstruction. The grubby brass wedding bands were the inaugural casualty as fingers were crudely wrenched from their sockets to produce a slackening effect conducive to the rings’ unholy plummet.
Always the leeching bloodsucker, she was the first to bite, clamping her jaws around the flat of his knuckles and pressing down with animalistic force until she felt her molars grind satisfyingly against the bone. He roared in simultaneous aggro and delight as he clubbed her loathsome face with the back of his free hand, sending her loping sideways into the mud. Laughing maniacally, she raised both hands in mock invitation, quivering with fury as she willed him to the slaughter through pulsing, psychotic eyes.
“ - COME ON…!”
As he barracked towards her, she ruptured the tender of his groin with one piercing swoop of her stiletto, the triangular toeline gashing through the base of his scrotum and sending one testicle oozing down his trouser leg. Howling like a stuck jackal, he wailed and gnashed for her lopsided breast, latching his teeth around the join and thrashing his head from side to side, a marauding Velociraptor at prey. She heard the fabric of her £40 cotton shirt tear loudly as the white-hot spasm took hold, fangs tattering her undergarments as he chomped hungrily at her wobbling, fleshy teet. The sad, child-ruined breast sagged propitiously through the schism in her blouse, a lustreless parody of allure.
Throwing his flaccid frame to one side in a ferocious display of strength, she snapped the Gucci belt from around his waistline and lashed the gleaming buckle square into his eye, emitting a thick gush of vitreous humour which smattered back to earth like mottled rain. He hooted in amusement as he reached for the vacant socket and found only a hollow cavity where once had sat the orb which admired her long-faded beauty. She whirled the metal fastening around her head like a dominatrix, sending the squashy globule spinning to the roadside as it clumsily dislodged from the belt’s spiny clasp. As he stumbled towards her like a crippled zombie, she dropped to one knee and plunged her manicured talons deep into the flesh of his pubis, raking a troika of gruesome etches upon the worthless maggot she had once so desperately craved. Taking firm hold of his flopping, bloodied manhood through the breach in his zipper, she tugged like a bell-ringer at mass and cackled gleefully at his tortured squall as she ripped away the foreskin, bringing justice to bear for all the woefully unsatisfying intercourse she’d endured over the years. Sonya from Corporate my arse, you prick!
Philip and Tabitha - the wretched, ungrateful devil-spawn deemed widely responsible for their present ruin - watched in bemusement from the family’s air-conditioned Volvo, fogging up the perspex with each dim breath from their snot-encrusted snouts. It never used to be like this. When did the elation of those excitable early encounters give way to such disillusion, resentment and strife? When did their children, those once-adorable products of their youthful passion, become such mewling, bedwetting embarrassments? Had they, in fact, ever really known each other…?
Carelessly distracted by her own display of righteous valediction, she never saw his rebuttal coming. One thunderous jolt of his thick skull was all it took to catapult his cranium onto her nose; she felt the bone splinter and cartilage splay in every direction as it was truncheoned to a mushy pulp in one brutal, crushing blow. Staggering backwards in a bid to stifle the hosing expulsion, she was defenceless against the well-buffed leather bootpoint as it rocketed up and kicked her firmly in the cunt. His clumpy Size 10 wedged neatly in her slackened cleft as she screeched in duress; removing the appendage with a relishing squodge, he yanked the beige tweed skirt from around her waistline and revelled in the sight of her wilted labia flapping uselessly in the breeze. That one’s for the drunken spit-roasting she took from those two Rugby lads back in college while they were “on a break”; no, despite his noble entreaties of forgiveness over the years, he never, ever forgot.
Undeterred, she pitched herself like a carnivorous banshee and tore his ear away with one magnificent cleave. Claret flowed with the rush of a waterfall, coagulating in a sticky pall around her thirsty lips as she savoured the succulent taste of vampirish lust. As he reeled in shock and awe, she used the rugged engagement diamond still banded to her forefinger to carve a thick layer of gore through the soft flesh of his nipples, drenching his torso in delicious red plasma as she brought his pendulous man-tits clattering down against his stomach. Sensing the thrill of impending victory, she Rocky-punched the bastard once more for good measure, sending him spitting acidic fountains of rouge into the air before one cruel, fatal slip on her M&S heels saw the ankle snap away beneath her.
Who fell first, and who brought who down, remains the subject of bitter dispute to this very day. Torn limb-from-limb, a mangled caricature of their former selves, they collapsed in a disorderly heap before clambering weakly towards one another. They fucked, perfunctorily and without emotion, before being granted a speedy divorce.
C.C. 11/12/11
