Page 30 of Petty's Crime

“I haven’t been in any other relationship,” I start. “I’m not going to lie to you and say I’ve been faithful, ‘cause I haven’t.” I’m not going to hide anything from her. “What was I supposed to do? You didn’t want to see me, sent quite a sign you didn’t consider yourself married. I moved on, Brit. I moved on. But no, there’s no little Pettys running around.”

“You moved on,” she repeats with a sneer. “And you never questioned why I didn’t want my husband to see me inside? You never thought how much it might hurt me to speak or read letters from you saying what was happening in your life. You never gave a fucking thought to me being locked up.”

Anger bubbles up and I slash my hand through the air. “Don’t tell me what I did or didn’t do. I wasn’t the one who left. That was you.”

“You would never have left me,” she chucks in my face. “You hadn’t the guts, soldier boy, and you’re not going to walk away from me now.”

I try to summon up the backbone she’d always accused me of never having before. “Let’s get this straight, Brit. I’m here with you while you get yourself sorted. Once you’re in a job and your parole officer’s happy, then I’ll move back to the club. I’ll support you financially—”

It’s her turn for her hand to sweep through the air. “Money from you isn’t what I want. I want you, Clark. And that’s exactly what I’m going to have. If your little singer thinks she can have any part of you, then she’ll have to think again. You’re mine, and no one else is ever going to have you.” She gets an ugly look on her face, one I remember only too well. “I hope you enjoyed yourself while I was away, because mine is the only pussy you’re ever going to have.”

She moves as if she’s going to get in closer, maybe try to steal a kiss from my mouth, or press herself up against me. Deftly, I slide to the side and evade her. I might not have the hots for her anymore, but hell, I’m a man, and as weak as any male. Although my cock’s at defcon five right now, the right attention from any female is likely to have it at defcon one. To give in would only complicate matters and we seem to have a lot to sort out. For a start, we’ve got very different views of what our marriage now looks like.

“It’s late,” I remind her. “I’m going to sleep on the couch.” Deliberately, I turn my back and remove my cut, folding it carefully and gently placing it over the back of a chair. I go to the closet and get one of the new blankets, shake it out, place it on the seat cushions, then, sitting down, remove my boots and my socks.

Barefooted, I stand. Ignoring her, I head for the bathroom have a piss, wash my hands and clean my teeth. When I emerge, she’s still where I left her.

I wait for her to have the last word, but instead of trying to argue me into her—well, it’s actually my—bed, she huffs. When I walk past her, she lashes out and her fist makes contact with my kidney.

Sucking in air, my hands go to the small of my back.Fuck, that hurt.But by the time I’m able to breathe again, she’s disappeared into the bedroom and closed the door.

My body crumbles down onto the sofa. I place my head in my hands, rubbing at eyes which feel watery while reminding myself that big boys don’t cry. She’s been back in my life for less than forty-eight hours, and already she’s reduced me to the man I was before my lucky escape.

Why is she always like this?

Britney is beautiful, I fell for her looks. Then, believe it or not, for her engaging ways. What does the nursery rhyme say?When she’s nice, she’s very very nice, but when she’s bad…Britney can be utterly horrid.

Our marriage was like walking on eggshells, I never knew what to say or how to judge her mood. A casual comment might make her smile one day, then the next, the same words might send her over the top.

I never realised how on edge I’d gotten until she was locked up. I resented freedom at first. They’d stolen my wife, the love of my life. Then with tentative steps a different me began to emerge, one who was no longer afraid to speak or who kept their thoughts to themselves.

I’d vowed no one would ever see me as weak again, and my self-promise had worked.

Until forty-eight hours ago.

I can’t do this again.

What choice have I got? I married the woman for better or worse, though the latter is all I really ever got. When I said my vows, I’d meant them. I wouldn’t have walked away if we hadn’t been driven apart. Fuck knows what would have happened to me, but something about Britney would have made me stay by her side.

The distance, the lack of communication, had eventually lifted the veil from my eyes, letting me see how bad she’d been for me. Believing she’d wanted nothing more to do with me enabled me to petition for divorce. That she hadn’t responded I’d thought was just another of her cruel ways to prevent me moving on with someone else. Which hadn’t been an issue. I was never going to risk putting my head in the noose again.

Where do I go from here? A relationship between me and Brit isn’t going to work in a million years. But wouldn’t I be a complete asshole to turn her away when she needs the stability of a husband and home to fulfil the requirements of her parole? And God help me, I haven’t the guts to turn her out on the street.

Maybe we can pretend. She can stay here in the apartment that’s rented in my name and I’ll go back to the room at the clubhouse. I’ll have to buy another bed, but other than that, it will work.

Surely my brothers would understand that so much time has passed it’s impossible to pick up where we left off. Or would they expect me to man up and give her a chance? I frown in the darkness. After her performance in the clubhouse, her success at getting them on her side, I doubt if they’d believe my side, even if I wanted to come clean about it.Little Brit? No way. Petty’s yanking our chain.

Lying back, I try to get comfortable on the couch which wasn’t made with someone like me sleeping on it in mind. My feet hang over the edge, and the arms are in the wrong place. Even if my mind weren’t racing a mile a minute, I doubt I’d get any sleep.

How could my life have changed in such a short time? I feel like I’ve been picked up by a whirlwind, and though I know I’m not in Kansas anymore, I’ve no idea where I’ll land—or if I’ll survive.

The thought that I’m trying to evade enters my mind.RoseLyn’s ex only had to hit her one time.She had the sense to walk away, while I stayed, making excuses for Britney’s behaviour every time, being the wimp Britney accused me to be. I can’t let it be the same this time around.

There’s a parallel with the singer’s situation. Like her ex, Britney isn’t going to let me go easily. She’s made that clear. And if I don’t let her have her way, she’ll find some way to fuck up my life.

How can I extricate myself from this marriage?

I practice telling Britney to get out and leave me alone, of telling her there’s no place for her by my side. I think about kicking her to the kerb both verbally and physically. I clench my fists, knowing I’m only being brave in the middle of the night. Brit drew me under her spell years ago, and now I’m back there again. My mind’s not my own. It’s under her control.

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