This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, brands, media and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
All rights reserved. Including the rights to reproduce this book or the portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the author.
Copyright © 2014 - 2021 Kashmira Kamat
ANY Form of PLAGIARISM/ COPYING of my story ideas, scenes, dialogues will not be tolerated! I will take strict actions.
Did you just read the happily ever after in the previous novel? I bet you did. I'd like to make a correction there. Nothing could be happily ever after, after marriage. Prince Charming, or the wannabe Jacob Black who loved belle in beauty and the beast, and that girl who lived in the tower. What's her name again? Ah, yes. Rapunzel.
They all lied folks. Yes. They did.
Don't get me wrong, I love my wife, and that's beside the point. Girlfriends tend to always listen to boyfriends, but when that girlfriend turns into your wife, she morphs some powers from the evil witch from the west. That's my bottom line and the first rule in the marriage handbook.
Always listen to your wife. She's always right, and if she's not, you wait until she wins an argument because she will.
You asked for our happily ever after so here I'm.
Before I married Alana, my room was the definition of bland. My sister Claire said I was boring, that I was getting old. I was only in my early thirties and I knew she liked to just get on my nerves.
After Alana became my wife, the bedroom morphed into whatever she liked. Three of the drawers that consisted of my ties were now replaced with lipsticks, fucking make-up kits and other nonsensical stuff women think makes them look prettier. Alana knew I hated makeup on her. When I asked her why she'd done that, she simply said the right side of the dresser was hers to occupy.
Since when woman?
Then I go to work as usual and come home tired and walk into the bathroom and get hit by amazing scents of shampoo and body wash. And then I noticed my stuff literally pushed into the corner. I felt bad for my shampoo bottles, they seemed intimidated by Alana's gigantic ones.
She'd also taken it upon herself to move the furniture around, and I'd given her free reign to do anything she wanted.
And if I'm being honest, I loved this change.
The house was more like home now. She'd brought the warmth and her vibrant spirit.
But sometimes that's just not enough.
At least not for an addict like me.
I sneaked a glance towards Alana who was sleeping with her back to me. I was cautious as I climbed out of bed, closed the bedroom door slowly behind me, and made my way into the living area bare foot. Slippers were a bad idea, I preferred not waking up the dragon.
I turned on a low beam lava lamp and padded barefoot towards the minibar which now consisted of only bottles of wine and other not-so-alcoholic, sissy drinks that Alana thought was a good substitute for liquor. She also getting rid of my entire collection of bottles was going to cut it. She thought if I didn't find any bottles in the house, I could let go of my addiction.
If she only knew.
Let's recap a bit shall we, before I married Alana, I'd been a professor at Carmel university and Alana was my student, so when our relationship started to look a little out of the normal teacher-student character, and when things went spiral, the faculty kicked my butt. And well, let's say life wasn't easy for me after that. Not after I had a guilt trip to Suicide Island, not to mention a quick two year trip to rehab after that.
We'll get back to that some other time, let's step out of the memory lane for now.
I remembered coming back home late from a meeting at the university and Alana gift-wrapping all the liquor bottles and sending them to my father, my brother, and her father. She'd planned a nice fast route from babe to bitch.
Worst of all, Sofia was backing up that plan. You remember Sofia, right? She used to be my therapist in Denmark, now she's Alana's new BFF and my mortal enemy.
Alana was under the impression that I hadn't touched a drop of alcohol in weeks. I'd successfully pulled off the Recovered Man of the year facade for her and my kids for the past one year. Dammit I'd promised her I wouldn't touch that stuff but, you see I've always been like this from the start. I've always listened to the demon inside me who told me one drink was fine.
I could sneak into a local bar in the evening and down a few drinks but, then again, I didn't want to risk that. She smelled every goddamn thing on me like a well-trained sniffer dog.
I walked to the other side of the counter and without switching on the LED lights of the bar; I touched the corner side of the wooden bar unit attached to the wall and tugged at it. The wine bottles jingled a melodious tune as it came apart. I stared starry-eyed at the glimmering bottles of pure heaven. My secret collection of bottles, which I'd successfully kept hidden from my wife. I picked up a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue, unscrewed the cap, and touched the bottle to my lips. The golden liquid rushed down my throat as if I'd downed a bolt of fire.