Being My Brother-in-law's Wife (Old version)

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27.

Charles groans lowly, his head sliding to his side and back. His face was purple, completely disfigured and his pride of a son gawked at his father with teary eyelids. Before Charles killed his wife they had three children, two daughters and one son. The girls were living it up in a college somewhere and I only had the twenty three year old ′trophy’ son as leverage. Charles’ pride is sitting right across him, a small metal table being the only thing separating the two men and their restrains, if you’d like to be graphic and paint me as a horrible human being.

Tediously, I rub the pistol against my temple and gesture the boy to start talking, “Dad?”

Daniel’s head jerks right up; his eyes squinted in confusion before taking in his son’s current state. I had mini-Charles cuffed to a chair but he was bruise free, for now. The mood shifts dramatically in the room once Charles releases a loud, animalistic growl.

Sexy...

“Mason, let the boy go.”

His speech is quite tedious and I was feeling...playful. Charles’ mini-me looked exactly like his father but his face was sterner, which must be reason why he is a chartered accountant of his own budding business of exporting American oil shipments. I didn’t have anything against Louis, nothing at all, I just really despised his father and I wanted to make him pay for what he has done to my wife and children.

My gaze settles on his, “Give me one valid reason as to why I should free him, Charlie?”

Charles gulps visibly and you could feel the tangible fear brewing in his eyes, “I’ll leave you and your wife forever, you can even keep all your valuables.”

Did he just say keep? As in, they were about to be taken back by the owner but since he’s had a change of heart he decides that they can be kept? He is talking about my empire, my money, my wife and my children. My wife hooked on translucent tubes, plugged on various machines and IV units is not something that can be brushed off easily. Jae being rushed into emergency c-section early this morning on my way to this bastard isn’t something that can be fúcking brushed off easily.

“My wife slipped into a coma yesterday,” I cock my nine mm pistol once and press it against Louis’ temple “now, I have one bullet in this chamber and if you’re not talking in the next few trigger pulls your son will die. Who are your allies?”

“Dad--” a loud click echoes into the room but not because of Daniel’s reluctance to speak, rather because I feed off his son’s fear.

"Mason --” another click fills up the room and Daniel’s eyes widen, the father in him desiring to protect his son from having his brains splattered across the old dingy wall.

"Fúck, will you just stop to listen --” yet another click reverberates inside the room and what a pacifying sound it is.

“Dad! Just tell him!” smart one, Louis, smart one. He should remind me to buy him some McDonald’s when I’m done here.

“Yeah dad,” I growl pushing the pistol against Louis temple harder and a pathetic whimper leaves his lips “I became one this morning and there’s a chance that they might fúcking die!”

"Dad! Fúcking tell him about Promise Majumbo!”

One! A few more to go.

“Keep your mouth shut --” hello fourth click. Two more and Louis will be thrown into a shallow grave once I’m done with him. “M-Mason, please!”

Fifth click...

“Dad! Macy is pregnant and I need to go back home to her!”

Sweet little thing, he has a child on the way.

“Fine! Ludwig Lockenwvars!”

I already knew his allies so this was for my plain entertainment - sixth and final trigger pull and tears were running down Daniel’s cheeks. Gesú Cristo, the man is fugly.

“I gave you a name! I gave you a fúcking name --”

“I know who your allies are and right now they’re being gassed one by one in a pathetic old Mercedes Benz,” I pat Louis’ cheek and the young man’s eyes flutter open as if he was bewildered he didn’t die “I just really needed to do that. So, kids, I have a story to tell you.”

I haul out a blade from my pocket and I flip it into plain sight, “you had better look interested in my story or else someone’s balls are coming off.”

Instantly, they straighten up their spines and the fear was like sweet ambrosia in my eyes. Louis was an average man, earned considerable good wages and lived the perfect life. He had incredible grades, vital contacts and not once did he ever land in jail. Basically, he’s perceived as the good one in this case.

“I haven’t slept since yesterday and as you can see Charles, these are the jeans I was wearing while you attempted to beat me up,” I tut mockingly at him “your jabs are like your wife’s pússy -- dead.”

The anger seeping from Charles was like a blanket of visible aura. If he were a cartoon character right now I’m sure his face would’ve been beet red from the soles of his feet right to the crown on his head, with the stereotypical steam-exiting-out-of-the-ears of course.

“My children were brought into this world at six-thirty-eight a.m. this morning at a tiny six-and-a-half months old. Their lungs weren’t fully developed so they can’t breathe on their own. Their feeding regime is weak because they weren’t prepared for such a sudden exit. My wife, the woman whom your men kicked like a dog, is in a coma and I fear for her life every passing minute.

I went to church yesterday, while the doctors were working on her. I felt sick, I wanted to throw up and it felt like something...something hard was placed on my chest. Even devils will bow at His feet and I acknowledged that the minute I started throwing up and crying all over the place.

I know that I’m going to hell, it’s no surprise really. I know that once my wife meets her maker I won’t be there with her but I want to go to hell knowing I’ve recruited all the living devils as Satan’s playmates down there.”

I run a finger through Louis’ raven hair with a slight smile playing on my lips, “can I spell something I couldn’t and probably won’t be able to say to my wife in a really long time?”

I didn’t need an honest frankly because I was finally exhilarated to infiltrate my work of art.

“First of all, I need an ‘I’...where can an Italian man get an ‘I’ around here?” I eye Louis’ middle finger that is currently cuffed to the arm of the chair and darkness filters my thoughts “can I borrow your middle finger for a second?”

“No --!” Louis screeches in excruciating pain as I saw his middle finger right off his carpal bones and it isn’t an easy task. His bones were made of enamel and calcium so they were hard to saw completely, nonetheless I like the song Bloody Shrills.

Which reminds me...

I set my phone on record and gesture Louis to begin his shrilling, although he seems too frustrated to even process my request. Ignoring his incompetence, I continue slicing off Louis finger until it finally gave in, a dramatic spurt of blood spewing from the wound.

Bleed much?

“Let my fúcking boy go!”

Carefully, I place the long middle finger (which is clad in a stunning gold wedding band) on the table and angle my head just like Charles had done the day before. Something just doesn’t feel right. I almost feel as though there’s more I could do to enhance the piece of artwork.

That is until a spontaneous idea strikes me with no mercy.

I turn to Louis again, whose skin was beet red, and I smile giddily at the young man, “do you mind if I borrow an eye? I just think it would make an awesome pun for your father.”

“Mason - the boy has a family --”

“And I don’t? Fúck, tell your boy to quieten down!” my index finger and thumb dive into the eye socket and I grip what I’m looking for, hard. Louis is yelping in pain, thrashing around to try and escape my fingers but there’s nothing much I can do about it - my fingers are legitimately in your warm, soft and sweet eye socket, figlio.

After the count of three, a white eyeball with a raven-coloured iris bathed in crimson liquid is put in the place of the middle finger, which was currently peeking out of Charles’ breast pocket. Charles looked green, not with envy, but rather with a concoction of pain and disgust as he watched me practically mutilate his son in front of his own eyes.

Next I’ll need a heart...never mind, I’ll just attend to that later. For now I need a ‘U’. What in the human body is shaped and looks like a gorgeous ‘U’?

What other than the dental representation of the lower jaw?

“Louis, do you mind if I borrow your lower jaw? Trust me; I’ll just break the foundation with my elbow and then pull it right out.”

Louis has left the building, officially. He would occasionally slip into consciousness every now and then but there’s only so much the nerves of the human body can take. My wife taught me that a little while ago. Charles was weeping, mucous trailing down his nostrils and I may have taken a few selfies with the guy.

#HashtagMCMNah

“See, I’ve got an eye for ‘I’. I’ve also got his lower jaw for ‘U’ and I think you’ll like what I have in store for you,” I drop Louis’ throbbing heart onto the table with a nae-nae and a grin “ta da! Get it? I heart you. Love brews in my heart and that’s where she belongs. I love my wife, more than the word itself and you’ll be fucking damned if you think I would allow you to touch her and let you get away with it.” I glare at the gory scene, which includes a gaping bloody hole right in Louis’ chest, and cringe visibly “you’ll be left to chill and bond with your son until you die. Goodbye.”

Charles throws all forms of profanity on the table, labelling me all blasphemous names but they couldn’t inflict any pain on me whatsoever like I had just dismembered his only son in front of his eyes. I hand the guard a thick envelope of money in case Charles decides to use all tricks in the book and extract a few wet wipes from a dispenser nearby.

“Tell Nathan to forgive me for the mess I’ve made in his basement.” The guard smirks in acknowledgement and nods.

-

“Figlio!” my mother envelopes me into a hug as soon as I step foot into the hospital and it takes my all not to break down right there and then. We men cry in bulk. You gather all of your emotions and frustrations into a huge heap before releasing everything when you’ve been finally pushed to the edge.

Mama’s hug was like a cool beverage on a summer’s day, a placation and I needed her more than anything. Mama was in dire tears, coaxing me to cry with her but I was still riding off the satisfaction I got from ruining Charles for eternity. Mama releases me from her tender embrace and presses her lips on my forehead, “come, you need to see this.”

Confused, I pass my other relatives and Jae’s family members with quiet greetings before lurching beside my mother inside the hospital halls. Mother is quick, her Italian behind swaying with her every move and she takes a swift turn into the paediatric ward. The sound of wailing children acts as a searing hot dagger piercing into my left lung as images of my tiny infants filter my mind. Are they okay? Did they pull through?

Mama stops in front of concealed room where a nurse was awaiting our arrival with hospital gowns, latex gloves and surgical masks. I couldn’t find any distinct features on the nursing sister, other than her hazel-gold eyes but she gave off a motherly aura. In no time, I am armed and ready to meet with the evidence that secures the fact that I’ve been a failure as both a husband and a father.

Time seems to stand still as we’re beaconed inside the room and the sister motions me closer to the tiny bottles. They were small, extremely small but they had their mother’s fight in them, along with her massive curly head. A labelling tag was secured around their dainty ankles and seeing ′Unnamed’ scribbled onto the paper bruised my Italian pride.

A boy and a girl. We have a boy and a girl, both sleeping soundly as the machines beeped beside them. They were the size of a rugby ball and couldn’t feed yet, resulting in tubes being inserted through their reddened belly buttons. Their skin was the colour of cashew nuts but their plump lips had a cherry red colour, especially my son.

He’s going to break hearts.

“We wish we had the choice of offering them breast milk but Mrs. DeLuca hasn’t woken up yet,” the nursing sister explains sadly and my heart twists in my chest at the revelation “they have a lot of fight in them and another surprise none of us were prepared for.”

What does she mean? Is it something bad? Fúck, one of them doesn’t have a lung I’m guessing?

“Both children have sparkling blue eyes, which is rare in interracial couples because melanin is the most prominent gene,” I reach into the hollowed tunnel leading to my daughter’s foot and brush the smooth soft skin with my thumb “they opened their eyes briefly while they were sent into a different ward.”

“Will they be fine?” Mama asks quietly while staring at my son, his small yet strong stature nestled in between some cotton fabric “survival wise, I mean?”

“Things are a bit indefinite at the moment,” I really wish she’d have something else to say “we’re just gunning for seven-and-a-half months and then we’ll see actual results.”

“My wife, how is she?”

“My main focus is your two children...”

“Micah and Isabella.” It sounded right, it felt right. Of course it is fúcking right, I’m their father.

The nurse’s eyes crinkle as if she were smiling underneath the surgical mask and she continues her sentence, “Micah and Isabella. I am not responsible for your wife and you’ll need to consult her doctor if you want a status report. ” she places a warm hand on my shoulder and sighs “it’s a tough road ahead and they’ll need you.”

“Money wise? What expenses need to be covered? Do I need to have different incubators ordered in--”

The nurse ushers me quietly, “the hospital is doing fine in that department, we just need you to be here regularly as you can. Children have a bond with their fathers and you being present will calm your children down.”

A small little hand squirms for a few seconds before stopping and I felt the breath being knocked out of my lungs. My son, Micah, was actually showing signs of movement. He was actually moving his hand at the sound of my voice.

This...this is maddening and so surreal. At that very moment I vowed to protect them from anything and anyone.

“Do...do you mind if I could be alone with them?” I felt my throat tightening at the fact that I’m asking for permission to be alone with my children “just to be with them, please?”

The nursing sister left and so did mama, who left reluctantly because she claimed she couldn’t get enough of her nipoti. Finally being alone and at peace with them, I noticed the genetic features they both inherited from my wife and I. The cherry lips were obviously mine and the curly caramel hair was thanks to Jaenelle.

Mason - 1

Jaenelle - 1

They both had button noses, tiny and small and they immediately reminded me of their mother.

Mason - 1

Jaenelle - 2

I went back and forth, comparing the tiny little details they had before feeling a set of scrawny arms settle around my waist. Could it be that the bliss of our children had woken Jae up and that is reason why she is hugging me from behind? Hell, my wife is awake and I can feel her cheek nuzzling into my back. The miracle, that is Micah and Isabella, has awoken my wife!

“I’m going to be an amazing stepmother, they’ll love me so much Mase.”

That was when I flipped my shìt.

My fingers pry Selena’s gaunt arms from my waist as if I’ve been burned and I turn my body to face her. The woman had the audacity to drape on the necessary precautionary gear to keep my children free from any infections or bacteria.

“Mase, what’s wrong?” her hand nears my face and I clutch her wrist harshly before dragging her out of that room. The last thing I need is my children feeling my negative energy.

“Mia amore --”

I take my mask down and lower my tone even though the anger was still palpable, “shut your fúcking mouth. Are you fúcking ludicrous?”

Her hazel-amber eyes widen with shock, “why are you treating me like this? M-Mase, my wrist...its hurts!”

“Keep your mouth shut.” my eyes scan the ward for any onlookers before I lean into Selena’s face “you’re a gutsy puttana, do you know that?”

"Stop. Calling. Me. Names." She grits out lowly while trying to pull her wrist from my grip “Leave. My. Wrist.”

I let go of the carpel bone and the reddened area feeds my insanity, “I fúcked you and that was it.”

"No!” She shakes her head angrily “I refuse to allow you to use me. I’ll tell the police you raped me.”

"After I kill you?” her eyes widen in shock once again “get the fúck out of my life Selena and leave the club.”

Her hard wall comes crashing down instantly, “N-no Mason. I love you. Ti amo, mia amore --”

“If you call me your love once again,” I exhale vigorously and exhale in the same manner “I’ll send you to Ghana, naked and without an identity.”

I haul out my phone and place it on my ear, “Ciao, Mason parlare. Ho una donna , altezza media e corpo in forma . Lei sta andando fuori a Ghana e troverete il suo fuori Croneville Medical Hospital. Sangue e assicurarsi che lei non attirare l’attenzione. Addio.”

(Hello, Mason talking. I have a woman here, average height and fit. She is heading out to Ghana and you’ll find her outside Croneville Medical Hospital. Make sure there is no blood and she doesn’t attract attention. Goodbye.)

“You’re seriously twisted if you think I’m going to walk out of here and into my doom.”

My lips couldn’t help but split into a wide grin, “funny, because you will be doing just that.” My eyes widen in anger “God! Aren’t there any nurses on duty here? I need assistance.”

A nurse standing by, flimsy blonde with delicate features, rushes to my aid and locks her jade eyes on my face, “S-sir, what could be the problem?”

Irish? Nice.

“Can this woman please be thrown out of here?”

Irish cutie frowns confusedly, “what could be the matter?”

And then I laid the worst accusation a nurse would never want to hear, “I caught her trying to cut down the oxygen supply to my children. My son and daughter are still critical and due to some obsession with me, she tried to kill them so she could have me for herself.”

The nurse was infuriated and soon beefy security darted into the room, seizing Selena instantaneously. She thrashed and wept, claiming innocent but a black Cadillac was parked out front just for her already. Her touches alone made me want to bath myself in a bath of magnesium sulphate and cleanse away her filthy clutches.

I sought for redemption in a different manner, a twisted manner. My mind was in disarray as I stared at my wife sleeping soundly in her hospital bed. The room was a flower shop. It was filled with lilies and roses, which I believe were her favourite combination. Her hair was messy and craggy, her face lined with blotches of purple and black and her lips were busted, painfully.

My thumb brushes the crown of her head, the skin still smooth as I remember it and I bring my lips down on her nose. Walter and Blair were here earlier, taking care of Jae until Walter had to join my men in a game of gassing out New Orleans’ heavyweights in the criminal kingdom. Her breathing was steady, shallow but I long to have her open up her eyes.

Fúck! It can’t be that hard! Just open your bloody bellisima eyes and tell me to make love to you in this very hospital bed. Christ, please tell her to open up her fúcking eyes!

“Jae...I went to church yesterday. I’m changing, for you, Isabella and Micah.” The beeping sounds echo in the room “if you wake up now then I’ll give it all up. If it pleases you, I’ll become a male entertainer just so I’m occupied and not a complete arse.”

She’s doing this purposely, she’s punishing me for all those times I wasn’t completely honest with her, right? All I need to is admit that I was wrong and she’ll wake up, right?

“Jae, please wake up.” She patronising me once again, testing me to see if I’ll writhe and quiver at her acts but I won’t. I refuse to allow my wife to take advantage of this moment and make fun of me. I bet she’s laughing inside, laughing at me and she’s enjoying this pain I’m in.

“Jaenelle, you had better fúcking sit up and kiss me!” I demand raucously but she still wasn’t moving nor abiding to my requests.

With heavy eyelids I collapse on her chest and heave in harsh breaths, “kiss me? Touch me? Say you never want to leave me? Please?”

What if she misses the first time their eyes flutter open? The first time they cry for her? Their first smile -

No.

I refuse to stain my mind with such negative thoughts. I’m slowly slipping in and out of insanity, and that only occurs when I’m creating art. That is the only time I grant myself a considerable dose of insanity because I enjoy the beauty of basking in the permeable parts of my brain.

The permeable thoughts just fizzled out of existence as soon as I felt my wife’s grip tighten around my hand.

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