Bending down to stay belong window level, I reached for my keys to open the door, but thankfully common sense prevailed. The interior of the house had been sheetrocked, the ceilings textured. The family room opened into a breakfast area adjoining the kitchen, all of it one large flowing space without partitions. Oak cabinets had been installed in the kitchen, but the title floor had not yet been put down. The air had the lime odor of drywaller’s mud, with an underlying scent of wood stain. The dining room was to the left, beyond the kitchen, then the living room, the entrance foyer, and a den. If you went into the hallway that led out of the breakfast area, you would find a laundry room, the downstairs bath, a coat closet, then the foyer. I walk away from the door and headed to my car. Oh, do not get me wrong, I was going to kill both of them. Jesus Christ himself could not stop me from doing that. However, I was not about to rush in there with my bare hands to do it. For all I knew, that fool in there with her could have been a kick boxer, or some type of thug with a gun. I had to go in there prepared. #RyanPhillippe 1 of 8

I opened the trunk to my BMW and pulled out the spare tire as quickly as possible. Underneath it was a wooden box I have been hiding for years. Inside the box was a black nine millimeter semiautomatic handgun with two fully loaded clips. I stared at the gun, wondering how the hell had things come to this. I had been a good faithful husband. Yes, I liked to look at women’s asses, but I have never strayed, event when it came to breakfast at Tiffany’s last week. I guess Kristi would never really knew how much I loved. Well, she was about to find out. I stuck the gun in my belt, then covered it with my shirt. I stood at the door and pulled the gun out of my pants. I still could not make out the conversation behind the door, but at this point. I really did not care. Surprisingly, I was a lot calmer than I would have thought. I hated the idea that things had some this far, but I loved Kristi, and if I could not have her, nobody would. I took out my key and quietly stuck it in the door as I went over my plan in my head. #RyanPhillippe 2 of 8

Then plan was to surprise Kristi and her friend, possibly even catch them in the act of intimacy. I was going to shoot the man first because brothers were always trying to play the hero. Kristi I was not worried about because she was only five-five, a hundred and fifteen pounds, so if she jumped bad, I could take care of her with one hand. Once I shot the dude, I would make Kristi explain to me where things went wrong between us, then I would take one last look at that phat ass of hers before blowing her away. Once that was all said and done I would go in the kitchen and grab a cold beer, and chug it down. I would probably smoke one last cigarette before sticking the gun into my mouth and pulling the trigger. The door was standing half-open, and the flashlight showed only oak cabinets and the spaces where the water and dryer would be placed. I went toward the front of the house and headed for the double entrance doors, which were still closed. #RyanPhillippe 3 of 8

Turning the knob slowly, I pushed the doors open. The short, portly brother sitting on my sofa, sweat dripping off his face, and using my towel to dry his face, and watching my TV did not even notice me as I crept up next to him. The first question that came to my mind was, “What the fuck did she see in him?” As I put my pistol to his head, I said, “You are a lot fatter than I expected,” in a low whisper. I had the gun pointed at the side of his temple. “Oh, shit. Please do not kill me, sir,” he pleaded. He shut up when I pushed the tip of the pistola past his fat ass lips and into his mouth. I finally put something more in his mouth than just some gossip. I could not help it. I laughed when I saw the puddle forming on the leather sofa and realized he had pissed on himself. “Damn, you a nasty mutha fucka. You fat son of a bitch.” I continued to laugh, but stopped abruptly when I remembered it was my couch he has pissed on, and it smelled like some old cat piss at that! #RyanPhillippe 4 of 8

I had to hold my breath, then I asked him, “Do you know how much this sofa cost?” He did not say anything, and I did not have time to dwell on stupid shit that would not matter in ten minutes. Besides, piss stains on the couch were not half as bad as the stains his brains were going to make he got lit like Christmas. “Where is she?” I demanded. I could not believe he had not attempted to move out of that lake of cat piss he was sitting in. Infidelity is breaking a promise to remain faithful to a sexual partner. That promise can take many forms, from married vows sanctified by the state to privately uttered verbal agreements between lovers. As unthinkable as the notion of breaking such bonds may be, infidelity is common. And when it does happen, it raises thorny and painful questions. Should I stay? Can trust be rebuilt? Can I and should I forgive and move on? I just wanted to know what the hell was going on. And where was my wife? #RyanPhillippe 5 of 8

As she came out of the bathroom, I motioned with the gun for her to sit down next to them man who reeked of cat piss. He actually started to cry. “Please, master, you can have everything I got. Shit, you can even have her. She does not suck dick, but the pussy’s pretty good. Just do not hurt me, man.” Clearly, he did not know Kristi was my wife. “You trifling, punk-ass little bitch!” Kristi shouted. “I did not suck your dick because it is so small, I cannot hardly find it. Ben, will you shoot this motherfucker, please?” I laughed. These two were like a comedy act. Only problem was, I did not have time to catch the show. People who need to approach their painful memories through some kind of activity instead of intellectual contemplation often prefer to use the process of investigation and verification. Once I felt that I was in control of the situation, by absorbing all the information I could gather, I was slowly able to drop my weapon, and allow the emotional impact to surface. #RyanPhillippe 6 of 8

When the awful ordeal ended, when the grip of dope was broken, I comforted my best friend Dave by letting him stay in the guest house, feeding the weak ex-addict soups and broths to get him on his feet again. He will never forget how I stood by him during this time, although he was creeping with my wife. He will never forget how my program rescued him from the special hell of dope. An estimated $12 million dollars could have been lost to this dope fiend if I let him wreck my marriage. An addict does not work to supply his habit, which may cost anywhere from $100.00 to $5,000.00 a day. How could he earn that much? No! The addict steals, he hustlers in other ways; he prays upon other human beings like a hawk or a vulture. He was psychologically unsuited to a job, even if he was offered one. As the addict’s new image of himself builds, inevitably he begins thinking that he can break the habit. For the first time, I made him feel the effects of this narcotics self-pride and let him know he was the mud of society. #RyanPhillippe 7 of 8

Understanding the life-threatening nature of the lack of dialogue makes it easier to comprehend the radical, often violent manner in which people flee from situation of deteriorated dialogue. Sometimes individuals who have been married for years suddenly sense that they are being slowly choked to death in their currently environment, that their very existence is being threatened. This is not a particularly easy idea to accept, especially for those who have gone through the trauma of divorce, for it is always easier psychologically to blame the other person problems than to search for one’s own contribution. This idea is neither particularly new nor radical. Psychoanalysts spend years in personal analysis trying to understand their own personalities, because they recognize that if they are not aware of their own anxieties, then their own insecurities will block them from communicating those thoughts and feelings, and this reciprocity can be burdensome, anxiety provoking, depressing, exhilarating, and dangerous. #RyanPhillippe 8 of 8