Videll Dais/New
Breakdown Part 1
By Videll Dais
The doctor looked at me across a mahogany desk the size of the Oval
cricket ground, his expression like the tone of his voice was, to put it
mildly, detached. "I'm sorry Mr. Bishop. The results are conclusive." I
felt the blood drain from my face, pool somewhere around my kneecaps. I
swallowed, my mouth and throat suddenly drier than the Gobi. "How long
have I got?" "I'd say six months at the outside. Depending on medication,
mental attitude, a positive outlook and all that, could be a bit longer."
"Great," I said. "What d'you suggest I do now?" The doctor remained silent
a minute, eyes downcast, idly playing with a gold pen, rolling it between
his long, spindly fingers. I watched the pen spin, flash sunlight, and
thought, Jesus, he'll still be writing prescriptions with that when I'm
dead and gone. Dead. Gone. The words reverberated around the inside of
my head. I made an effort to still my thoughts, but it was nigh on
impossible. My brain, at least the part not diseased, spun with dizzying
confusion. I felt close to tears. Pull yourself together, Bishop, I
silently told myself. This is no time to get all morbid and self-pitying.
At last, the doctor spoke: "You could opt for chemo," he said, his voice
flat, unemotional. "Mind you, I won't beat about the bush. The treatment
is expensive and can have some pretty drastic side effects; makes you
pretty damn sick to be honest. I can't speak for the quality of life you'd
be left with. The end result is guaranteed, though. There is no cure.
But the choice is yours." I said nothing, stared out the window at the
brilliant pink blossom of a cherry tree, the neatly trimmed verdant lawns
with their weeded, almost regimentally squared borders. For some
inexplicable reason the colours appeared more vivid, more indelible, than
ever before. "Take a few days to think it over, Mr. Bishop. I'll go
along with whatever you decide." Of course you will, I thought. For the
kind of dosh I'm paying you'd go along with anything. I stood and extended
my hand. We shook. The doctor held my grip for what I thought was longer
than really necessary. "For what it's worth, Mr. Bishop, I am sorry. If
I were you, I'd put my affairs in order, then go and do all the things
you've wanted to do but never got around to. Enjoy yourself. Make the
most of the precious time you have left." "Thank you, doctor," I said. "I
appreciate all you've done. I doubt you'll be seeing me again. Goodbye."
I stepped out into the bright spring sunshine and moved among the busy
shopping crowds as if in a trance, separated, enveloped by an air of almost
surreal unreality. Jack Bishop, I thought, dead walking.
* * *
I was in the bar by six that same day. I ran through a whole gamut of
emotions as well as a bottle of JD and several beers. By ten, the barman
politely suggested I'd had more than enough and asked if he could order me
a cab. When I got home, I ignored my wife. and I had been
virtually ignoring each other for the past three years. I saw no reason to
change the routine. My 13 year-old daughter, Adina, was another matter. I
crept into her room and, without waking her, lay down on the bed beside
her, cuddled her in my arms and silently cried myself to sleep. The next
day, as the doctor had suggested, I put my house in order. Well, I made a
start anyway. I checked my savings (and was pleasantly surprised), ditto
my insurances, and Adina's trust fund. When the finance was up to date and
sorted, I phoned my boss - a ray of sunshine a minute, a grade A arsehole
whom I'd never liked or respected - and told him to stick his job right up
there where he packed his piles. Up to that moment, I'd been one of the
top programmers in the IT game. Astonishingly, I had just voluntarily made
myself jobless. My boss didn't like it much, naturally, but it certainly
brightened my day. I actually laughed as I put the phone down on his
hysterical ranting. About two pm, I decided it was time for a little light
refreshment. was wherever spent her days and Adina was
at school. I had some free time and the house to myself, so why not? I
got to thinking about my life, and what to do with what was left of it. As
it happened, the light refreshment got out of hand and by three I'd done
another half bottle of Jacky D, bless him. Jack and I had had a long
standing relationship, but I don't believe we'd ever before been quite so
intimate or intense about it. When came through the door around
three-thirty, she was not amused. What's new, I thought. Then we got into
it. The questions, the biting quips, and nasty remarks came quick and
fast: Why wasn't I at work? What did I think I was doing getting drunk in
the middle of the day? Did I have no sense of responsibility? Did I have
no sense at all? I took it as I usually did, in silence, for about ten
minutes. I then told her in no uncertain terms to shut the fuck up. I'd
never spoken to her like that in my life and certainly had never used foul
language in her presence. She was so stunned she immediately buttoned her
lip and stared at me dumbfounded. After a minute or two, she found her
second wind. "What did you say?" "You heard me, Angelina. Shut the fuck
up. You want a divorce, right? That's all you've been on about for the
past eighteen months, so I figure it's time I did a deal with you. Have a
drink and sit down." Aghast, began another onslaught. "Don't
speak to..." I held up a finger. "Don't make me repeat myself or, by God,
I'll put you across my knee and give your shapely arse a real tanning. You
won't be able to sit down again this side of fucking Christmas." Angelina's
jaw dropped. "Wha?...I...I" "Shut it! Now!" She sat on the sofa, mouth
agape, gobsmacked. "That's better," I said, pouring another large one. I
poured her usual vodka tonic. "Now perhaps I can say my piece
without interruption. When did we last make love?" looked at me,
baffled. "Pardon?" "I said, when did we last fuck?" "A-are you mad?"
"Answer my question." "I don't know. I can't remember." "Exactly. Neither
can I. That's going to change. In fact, there's going to be a whole lot
of changes around here. You be a good little and perform your marital
duties to the best of your ability for the next six months, I'll give you
that divorce. No arguments. No quibbles. And I'll foot the bill." "You
can't be serious." "Believe me, I'm serious. To prove it we're going to
start right now." I stood in front of her, close, and unzipped my fly.
"I'm feeling really horny and want you to suck my cock." Angelina's face
paled. One thing she'd never liked, and always refused me, was oral sex.
"You're drunk." "So?" "I absolutely refuse. I won't do it." "Listen, my
beautiful wife, you do it now and willingly, or I'll make you do it."
"Don't be ridiculous, Jack. You can't force me to do what I don't want to
do - in bed or out." looked at me with nothing but utter contempt.
She looked away, downed her drink in one, licked her full, scarlet lips and
sort of sneered at me. I felt something tear deep in my chest, something
rip painfully. sutures, perhaps; wounds that never really healed,
still raw, still bleeding. "It takes a to achieve something like that,
Jack. A real man," said. "Do you even have the remotest idea
what a real is? You probably don't remember because you were
invariably out of your tiny skull, but when your so-called best friend,
Ray, stayed with us those few weeks last summer, he proved to be a real
man. If you want to know the truth, Jack, he made me suck him just there on
our sofa. He had a huge cock and he made me suck it with you out cold
right beside us. He made me suck it till he filled my throat with hot cum,
till he made me it, and you know what? I enjoyed it. I enjoyed
getting down and dirty with him. What d'you think of that? He was a real
man, Jack. Something you'll never be." "Yeah? We'll see," I said, taking
a deep breath, controlling the almost irrepressible urge to punch her right
in the mouth. But violence was never my way. "I'll ask you one more time:
Will you suck my cock?" Ignoring my question, refusing to be in the least
little bit intimidated, flicked a lock of hair from her
ice-cool blue eyes and stood up. "I'm going to take a shower and change,
Jack," she said, her husky tone dismissive, bored, completely without
interest. "I hope by the time I come down, you will have sobered up enough
to come to your senses." I could see was enraged; beautifully cool
and controlled, yes, but absolutely full-on livid. I'd at least gotten
under her skin and I liked that. I watched her go upstairs, her curvy
hips, shapely buttocks, and long long legs taunting me, making my semi-hard
prick twitch in my underwear. I finished my bourbon. Ok bitch, I thought,
you don't want it the easy way, looks like I'm going to have teach you the
hard way. In my study, well from Angelina's prying eyes, I had a
few things I'd recently collected together. I'd been harbouring odd
fantasies of late, dark, some quite and, without really knowing
why, I'd ordered up some stuff from a mail order sex catalogue: a
blindfold, some light, but very strong, adjustable restraints with instant
wrist and ankle fastenings - made out of Velcro or something; a couple of
vibrators of different sizes, some nipple clamps and KY jelly all in a
nifty little case. Perhaps, somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew this
day would be coming and had unconsciously been preparing for it. Case of
'New Order' toys in hand, I stood at the bottom of the stairs for a while
listening to the shower running. I'd put up with Angelina's unjustified
shit, her frigid cunt, and feminine putdowns, for fourteen years. I'd
given her my best shot both in devotion and lifestyle only to be verbally
castrated and crucified every chance she got. Even Adina, my own flesh and
blood, my own beloved, cherished daughter, was beginning to get into her
mother's bad habits lately, and that I couldn't take, not from a thirteen
year-old. Well, now it was time to put a stop to it, to end the whole
sleazy charade. Now we were going to play things my way. The more my
hasty plan formulated, took shape in my diseased mind, the more excited I
became. A warm glow tingled in my groin, made hot blood surge in my veins,
heart thud in my chest. If I was drunk, I certainly didn't feel it. What
I felt was years of emotional and sexual denial coming to a head, reaching
boiling point. I felt strong as a door, elated, and supremely
confident; not in bad shape actually - for a dead man. Slowly mounting the
stairs, I smiled to myself and thought: Beware Bishop. It looks
like the time has come for ol' Jack to become a real and rewrite the
gospel according to how he sees things. Like the doc said: 'Enjoy
yourself. Do all those things you wish you had of done but never got around
to.' Hey, what did I have to lose?
End of Part 1
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