I arrived home from Sam's place about seven o'clock. Barry's E Class was parked in the garage and as I pulled the Benz in beside his vehicle I thought about leaving my shopping bags in the trunk. I wasn't sure I wanted to get into a discussion about my shopping habits tonight.
Stepping into the kitchen I noticed the light was on in the den. Walking to the door way I glanced toward him.
"What were you doing all day?" He asked rather sternly.
"Shopping." I replied quite bluntly.
He reached for an envelope on the end table beside him and held it up. "I got the credit card statement today."
"And?" I asked.
He face grew stern before he said. "You charged twenty eight hundred fifty dollars last month."
I could tell where this conversation was going and said. "So."
His face went from stern to bright red as his anger boiled up inside. "So." He paused then said. "What in the fuck could you possibly buy that cost that much."
I wanted to see if I could really get him pissed so I smiled and said. "Stuff."
"You must think I'm made of money." He shot back.
Barry's salary is well into the six digits and I knew he could afford me spending twice that amount every month but it was clear he was using the credit card statement as a means to start a fight. And after what he said to me this morning I was more than willing to accommodate him.
"I'm not sure what you're made of anymore." I replied cocking my hips as I spoke.
"What the fuck does that mean?" He shot back at me as he stood up.
I curtly replied. "You should know what that means."
As he walked toward me he said. "I want your credit cards!"
"Fuck you!" I instantly replied.
His hand reached for my purse and tried to pull it from mine. I held tightly until the strap broke.
"Now look what the fuck you've done. That's a three hundred dollar purse." I exclaimed.
He pulled again and ripped the broken strap through my hand burning the soft flesh in my palm as he did. As he fumbled through the purse looking for my card case he almost screamed. "And how much did you spend today?"
I was now as pissed off as he was and my hand really stung. "A little over a grand." I smugly replied.
His face was now bright red and the veins on his neck were extended. "You fucking gold digging bitch. I'm cutting you off." He screamed.
"Go fuck you self." I hissed back at him.
His anger welled up inside and in an instant his open hand shot out at me slapping my cheek hard and snapping my head to the side.
With an instant red welt on my cheek and my flesh stinging even worse I tried to slap him in return.
"Don't even try it you bitch." He yelled as his hand caught mine in mid air holding my wrist tightly.
His fingers duck into my flesh. "You're hurting me!" I screamed.
"I'll do more than hurt you." He shot back. "I'll throw your gold digging ass outta here."
Tears had been streaming down my cheeks the affect of the leather burn in my hand the red welt on my cheek and the finger marks on my wrist. "I call the cops and have them haul your sorry ass of to jail for spousal abuse." I said holding my hand up to show him the evidence.
Barry finally found my card case and removed all but my drivers license and one gas card. "I'm leaving in the morning to go see State play but Monday I'm calling my lawyer and have him draw up divorce papers." He said.
"You're filing for divorce over one credit card statement?" I asked.
"Over a pile of credit card statements." He replied.
"Those statements don't show what I bought. For all they tell I could have been buying things for the house or even for your sorry ass." I reminded him. "You have no grounds." I added.
"I'll have my attorney make something up." He said.
I laughed then replied. "Your lawyer is good at that. Mine will eat him alive." I said not knowing what attorney I'd find to represent me but knowing women always win out in a divorce.
"Speaking of making things up I'll tell my attorney that you've been fucking your secretary for years." I quipped.
"You can't prove that." He quickly replied.
I gave him a dirty look then answered. "We just see about that."
I then turned and ran up the stairs locking the bedroom door after slamming it shut.
As I ran some cold water on a wash rag to sooth my hand and cheek I thought about what he had just said. Why would he say I can't prove he's fucking his secretary unless there was something to be proven.