The Gentler Sex [Javorcek & YellowSmoke]

Alenka Górecki


The empty, hollow ticking of the clock seemed all too strongly to echo the state of Alenka's marriage, each percussive tick a mimicry of the blows which had left her once beautiful body bruised beneath her pink woolen turtleneck. At 21 she had moved from her native Poland to the United States to be with Krzys, and a month later they had been married. It had been the culmination of a long-held dream to leave her homeland, and with her beloved husband by her side, she had settled in quickly to life in a new country. Five years on, the cloud beneath her had dispersed, only to reform above her as a dark, shadowy gloom.

Krzys was out late again - presumably drinking again - and the dinner which Alenka had prepared for him had been sitting cold in the oven for 5 hours. The immigrant relocation clerk could only hope that his spirits would be high enough upon his return that he wouldn't blame her for that too, as he had blamed her numerous times now for the evaporation of his dreams and the stagnation of his career. All the love and passion of their early marriage had disappeared, and her husband only made love to her now when the drink was on him; even then, it was not exactly what she'd call love-making.

A slim, shapely 5'5", Alenka was certainly a beauty, but her slight frame left her in no position to defend herself when Krzys was angry. Still a part of her loved him, or at least loved the old Krzys, whom she desperately hoped was still alive and well inside him, waiting to emerge from beneath the grimy coat of the violent drinker of whom she now lived in fear. She was curled up on the couch when she heard the door being unlocked, blue jeans clinging to her shapely hips, her knees pulled up before her chest to support the book with which she passed the time, waiting for her husband to return.

Krzysztof Górecki

“You’ve had enough, Krzys.” Johnny, the scraggly looking bartender from Back Streets was busy wiping a spilled gin and tonic off the long, wooden bartop. The Polish man who was sitting across from him had knocked over a freshly poured glass in his attempt to pick it up and take a drink. Krys was borderline disastrously drunk. Johnny never did understand why Krzys came in here almost every night to get hammered. He was probably half of the old bartender’s age and always came in wearing nice button downs or suits; definitely not like his usual clientele of bums and losers. Maybe the kid’s job is just stressful and that’s why he was always here, drinking gin and tonic after gin and tonic. “I’ll call you a cab…you okay?”

Krzys could only nod at first, words were too hard to form. After a moment of feeling Johnny’s eyes boring into him, the tall man finally responded in a deep voice coated in a soft Polish accent. “Yes…I am fine.”

The cab ride back to the small apartment that he and his wife shared was fairly uneventful. Traffic…all the time, fucking traffic. I hate this place. Krzys paid the cab fare that was far too much with a menacing glare to the poor cabbie. Then he made his way into the apartment complex and up to the third floor on two very unsteady legs. His 6’2” frame kept threatening to keel over as he swayed and stumbled along…but somehow he managed to get home, even if he couldn’t manage to make his fingers open the door.

“Alenka! Door!” Krzys growled as he pounded on it impatiently. Stupid key…it wouldn’t go into the damn lock. “What took you so long?” He grumbled when his wife –finally- got off her lazy ass and opened the door for him. Krzys could barely stand to look at her pretty face anymore. While the first year or two of their marriage had been nothing but bliss, now it was a complete and total wreck due to his wife holding him and his career back. Just the –sight- of Alenka reminded him of his current situation: stuck in a shit hole apartment, with a crap job in a middle-management position. His goal by 25 had been to have a house a wife and some children…though now at 28, all he had was just the wife. 30 was looming closer and closer…his birthday was in two months and he was still stuck here in this damned apartment complex.

He should’ve just married an American girl.

“Where’s dinner?” Krzys was in an especially sour mood today. Some kid with a Bachelor’s degree just got a promotion over him. He’d been with the company 10 years!! How the hell did some jackass kid fresh out of college with zero experience get the position over him?!?! He should have taken that promotion he had been offered 4 years ago when he had had the chance.

"It's in the oven," Alenka replied, offering her husband a smile and doing her best to seem cheerful. She could see - and smell - that the drink was upon him, and did not want to do anything which would rouse his wrath. She always felt as though she was treading on eggshells when he was in such a state. It was bad enough that he held his faltering career against her, as well as her inability to bear him a son or daughter. That had been tough for her to handle; she'd found out after two years of marriage that she would never have children, and though Krzys had been comforting at first, it slowly became apparent to her that that had become one of a multitude of reasons for him to be unhappy with her. He'd passed up the opportunity of a promotion to please her, and the longer his life stagnated, the more she feared for her marriage.

"I'll heat it up now," she added, turning towards the kitchen. It would take ten minutes to adequately reheat the meal, and the table was already set for him; her own used dishes were already washed and dry upon the sideboard by the sink. She'd nearly forgotten what it was like to eat with him, and the old days of candlelit dinners and wine were but a distant memory. Romance? That too had been long forgotten, though it sometimes came back to her as a painful comfort in her loneliness, when she dreamed dreams which would never see the light of day, and in the end they served only to torture her and remind her of that which she could not have, as though romance itself were dangling out of reach, tempting her to throw herself over a cliff in its pursuit. Alenka, though, could not bring herself to the precipice, and instead sank deeper into a growing and all-too-familiar sense of acquiescence.

As if God wanted to spite him further by giving him a barren wife, it also seemed that he had been sent a wife that couldn’t manage the simple task of feeding her husband. Was she mocking him with that smile? There was nothing amusing about his empty stomach. Krzys’ brow furrowed, green eyes narrowing in irritation that he would have to wait for food. Had he been gone long? So long that dinner had gotten cold? He couldn’t remember…he didn’t think he had been at Back Streets all that long; he had just had a couple of drinks after all. Though he had lost track of how many drinks he had had after nine... “Fine.” Krzys growled as he took a seat down at the small table that they ate their meals at. Well…not really –they- as much as –he- ate his meals at.

Krzys had been drinking so heavily over the past 4 years that he was easily made irritable; couple that with an empty stomach and he was downright a danger to be around. If he weren’t so drunk that he didn’t think he could stand without toppling over, he probably would have thrown Alenka into a wall for being so thoughtless that she couldn’t even manage the simple task of having dinner ready for him when he got home from a long day at a thankless job. He was a bear to work with at the shipping company he was employed at. When he was sober and going through withdrawal for the 8 hours he had to go without any alcohol, he had almost no patience for the screw ups of his underlings. And then the moment he was finished with work, he went to one of his favorite bars and drank until he felt much better…but then he’d keep drinking; guzzling alcohol until he could barely remember who he was. That was how he liked it: who he was was a loser and it was all Alenka’s fault.

“What did you do today?” Sometimes, he’d try to force some conversation between them…only because ten minutes is a very long time to spend in complete silence. It didn’t used to be like this…he could almost remember a time when they had first started dating, had been deeply in love, and could spend hours in silences that were not awkward.

"Work was slow," she told him, seating herself across the table from him as the cooker hummed quietly. "Janosz's English is getting much better, but he still can't say 'vehicle' correctly; he's so funny." Alenka smiled again, trying to lighten Krzys' mood, though that often proved to be a fruitless task. Janosz Chlebowski was another Polish immigrant, and one of Alenka's regular customers at the readjustment and relocation clinic where she worked, helping foreign nationals to find work and to improve their English. He'd been making progress recently but still there some words which routinely caused him problems, as though his tongue had learned to pronounce them one way, and only with intense concentration could his brain win out and voice them correctly.

"I finished my painting for tomorrow," she tried, after Janosz's difficulties had failed to make the impact she'd hoped they would. "I can show it to you."

For the past three weeks, Alenka had been attending art classes. As a teenager, she'd loved to paint and draw, and engaged herself in numerous arts and crafts. Of late, with her marriage languishing in the doldrums and work giving her little to cheer about, she'd decided to take it up again, with the hope that an improvement in her mood might precipitate something similar in Krzys. As bad as things had gotten, the pretty blonde still hoped that everything between herself and her husband would right itself again, and that she could be happy and loved in his masculine arms. Sat across the table, he cast an imposing figure, much at odds with her slight, delicate frame. His green eyes were distant, hers pale blue, and hopeful as they gazed at the man she loved so inexplicably.

Probably the –last- thing that Krzys wanted to hear right now was that Alenka was hanging around other men. He knew that it was part of her job, but he didn’t want to hear a damn thing about it. Possessive and easily made jealous, the tall Polak had gotten into fights with other men just for looking at –his- wife in a way that he didn’t like. Not a particularly muscular man, he didn’t always win the fights that Alenka got him into…but he was pretty sure he could kick Janosz’ ass. ‘He’s so funny’; the simple statement bounced around his drunken mind, pounding against his skull, making his brow furrow in aggravation that his wife so enjoyed spending time with a man that was not him.

“I do not want to see it.” Krzys stated gruffly as he glared at her. He didn’t care for Alenka’s new hobby and thought it was a waste of her time and their money. Krzys ran the finances of the household; using Alenka’s earnings to pay for the apartment, utilities, etc. But he was a good enough man that he so generously gave his undeserving wife an allowance. And if Alenka wanted to spend her allowance on something as useless as art, he could not really fight her or forbid her to go; though he did often voice his opinion. “I’m glad you had time to work on your damn painting and not on making sure dinner was warm for me by the time I got home.”

He had a very old world notion of a wife’s place. Alenka belonged in the house, where she was safe from any of Kzrys’ competition. She should find joy in taking care of the home and her family. Hmmph…but their family was small; there was not much to keep her occupied. But still, apparently coming to America had made his wife more of a free spirit. Well…at least she had signed up to take an art class and not something like cooking or sculpture. What self-respecting mad would be caught dead in such a hobby that was dominated by women?

What the hell smelled like burnt dinner?

“Alenka! Did you forget to set the timer?!”

Oh no. Alenka's heart sank almost as quickly as she rose, a sudden fear holding it inert as she darted towards the cooker, but it was too late. She'd set the temperature too high, and within the oven - the opening of which was marked by a billow of black smoke - the chicken and potatoes she'd prepared for Krzys were charred and burned; only the peas looked edible, and somehow, she didn't think they would be enough to appease her husband's hunger. How could she have been so stupid?! A look of hopeless regret dawned upon her face, and tremulously she turned her eyes back to Krzys from her spot.

"I'm so sorry, drogi... I'll... I'll make something fresh."

Why, Alenka? Not now, not now! she thought as she stood and glanced about her, her actions mirroring the internal search her mind was undergoing for an idea of what to make, skipping from one thought to the next and trying to piece together a suitable meal: satisfying and quickly made. Krzys was volatile at the best of times, but when he was drunk he was positively volcanic. She glanced at him with sorrow in her pretty, pale blue eyes, and the smoke which still hung dispersing in the air made it look as though he was quite literally seething with anger, dark wisps of smoke rising from his ears in a vision she would later contemplate painting, only to think better of it for fear that her husband would see it and know its origins.

Quickly she turned and stepped towards the fridge, tugging the door open and grasping a packet of frozen chicken from the built-in freezer. She need only defrost it and then she could fry it - with peppers, yes! And onions. She had sour cream and tortillas; fajitas would not take long to prepare, would they? In her hand, the chicken was icy cold, as cold as the eyes which glared at her from behind.

“Glupia dziwka!” Krzy spat out the insult as the acrid smell of burnt food filled the apartment. Just to make matters worse, it seemed that the grey wisps had managed to waft their way out of the kitchen and off towards the smoke detector in the living room. BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! Kryz rushed over to turn the damn thing off, he hated the high-pitched noise, it was making his alcohol addled head pound.

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BE-ep He just about tore the stupid machine to bits in his attempt to remove the batteries and cease that wretched noise. What was Alenka trying to do, burn the whole apartment complex down? With a growl, he popped out the batteries and tossed them onto the couch. Now that that annoyance was taken care of, he strode back into the kitchen, just in time to see his wife taking something from the freezer. Frozen chicken?! What was she going to do with that? Defrost it in the microwave until it had the texture of boot leather? Or was Alenka going to attempt to cook the frozen mess and poison her husband with meat that was raw in the middle.

In two short steps, the tall Polack had managed to cross their small kitchen/dining room and was now bearing down on Alenka. He grabbed the frozen packet of protein and launched it out of the kitchen, into the living room, and straight into a wall. There was a thud, followed by a crack that was probably the plaster wall giving way to the force of Krzys’ throw.

“See what you make me do?!” He growled; so engrossed in his alcohol and hunger fueled anger that he blacked out for only a second. But when that second was up, Alenka was wearing a bright red mark across her cheek and his hand tingled with small pinpricks of pain from slapping his incompetent lover so hard. “What is wrong with you tonight?! Too busy pining over Janosz to focus on your husband?” Krzys roared, uncaring if the neighbors heard. “I brought you from Poland, put a roof over your head, helped you get a job, and you can’t even handle making me dinner?! What good are you?!”

Well, Krzys knew of at least –one- thing that his wife was good at: letting him take his pleasure until he was exhausted and could go to sleep. Perhaps fucking his pretty wife raw would help sate the ache in his belly by tiring out his muscles so that he could do nothing else but fall into a deep slumber.

“Come.” He grabbed her, fingers fisting the pink woolen turtleneck she wore as she dragged her off with him towards their bedroom.

Not again - why must something always go wrong? We used to be so happy... No, Krzys, no! Don't bre- It was too late for wishful thinking; the awful beeping subsided and Alenka knew that when she inspected the alarm, she would find it in a state of disrepair, much akin to the state of their marriage. At least she could put something together for him and hopefully - with his belly full of food and alcohol - he might drift off to sleep. She was barely thinking of what she was doing when a sudden shadow loomed over her, and the chicken was wrenched from her grasp. Turning, her arms raised defensively as the frozen poultry hurtled through the open air and with a horrible crunch connected with the wall. She couldn't even bring herself to look Krzys in the face, for fear of the rage she might see burning in his eyes. As such, she never saw his hand arcing through the air towards her.

Her whole world was jolted, the force of the blow turning her again; she swallowed and sniffled once, fighting back the tears which began to burn the backs of her eyes but she would not cry. Her cheek throbbed and bore the print of his strong hand in red upon its surface, as though someone had scattered rose petals upon the snow. She heard his words but couldn't listen; she only scarcely caught something about her pining over Janosz, which was a preposterous thought. Didn't he know that she still loved him? Despite all their trials and all the abuse she had suffered, didn't he know that she still wanted to make her marriage work? She touched her cheek lightly and flinched; she'd have a fresh bruise to cover on the morrow.

She felt like whimpering as she was dragged away - a rag doll in his powerful grasp - and though she wanted to resist, she was afraid of what might happen if she did so. Her heart groaned at the sight of the damaged wall as she was whisked past it: that too would need repairing, only that would be a simple task...

Through the living room and down the hall - their feet treading noiselessly on the carpeted floors as they went - Krzys lead her to the neatly furnished bedroom which they shared. It's beige carpet and walls were offset by curtains of a deep maroon, it's wooden furnishings composed of light-coloured woods which were varnished and routinely swept. Above the bed, Alenka had recently hung a picture which she'd painted, drawing on her memory of the Polish landscape outside of Warszawa, though right now it felt like a poor location to have hung it. Krzys made no secret of his disapproval of her renewed interest in art, and she flinched again at the thought of anything sparking a further decline in his stormy mood.

Either Alenka felt lighter or Krzys was a hell of a lot stronger... Hmmph, perhaps it was the drunk muscles…yes…that was it. Part of him was surprised that he was still in such a state, and then he remembered that his belly was empty; he hadn’t eaten since noon. Now that it was approaching midnight, Krzys was tired from a long day of work, starving, and once they got into the bedroom, he contemplated just forgetting a rough round of sex with Alenka and just going to bed.

But then that painting caught his eye…and Krzys’ anger flared once again.

“Goddamn waste!” Krzys growled as he released the pink wool turtleneck before sitting down on the edge of the bed. He didn’t want to face that ridiculous painting that Alenka had no doubt spent a fortune on. Though, the thought dawned on him that it was perhaps something -she- had painted herself rather than something she had picked up in a shop on a whim. If that was the case it was even worse; that painting now symbolized a waste of time –and- money.

“Come, kneel.” His voice was clipped, short, much in the way that someone would speak to a dog. Right now, a dog might rate slightly higher than Alenka…but they’d never know, since animals weren’t allowed in this disappointmet of an apartment complex. The drunk pointed to the ground, right infront of him as he spread his legs enough to allow Alenka a clear place to kneel on the carpeted floor. “You are going to help me fall asleep. Since you are incapable of doing it by being an attentive wife and feeding me, you’re going to tire me out instead.”

Finding pleasure usually did help temper Krzys rage. Plus he was always so tired after an orgasm he’d almost immediately fall asleep afterwards, especially when he was drunk. He’d definitely be able to get some rest even though his stomach growled with just about as much anger that his voice held. Yes, one good cum and then they could both go to sleep and forget this whole horrible night had ever happened.

Krzys settled on untucking his white button down shirt as Alenka got into position. He balled up the shit and chucked it over towards the hamper. Then he undid his belt and his trousers, pulling the mess of cloth down enough to remove his still soft member. He was so drunk and so furious that even the enticing view of Alenka’s pretty face could not coax a reaction out of him. Though, her mouth would surely do the trick.

“I want you to suck me until I am hard. And then…maybe if you’re good, I will think about fucking you.”

It hadn't always been like this. There had been a time when Krzys has made love to her - be it sweetly or roughly, it had been love - though Alenka could scarcely when the last such occasion had been. Since his drinking had become routine, however, sex was always a brusque affair. There had been an affectionate spell during which she did her best to beguile him back into love with her but it hadn't worked, and now the act did little more than leave her feeling used and - sometimes - bruised. She had rarely been wont to say no to her husband, and through trial and painful error she had learned not to say no to him when he was in a state of inebriation. It made her feel hopeless, and the knowledge that he would at least fall into a deep, deep slumber afterwards was bitter compensation.

Still, she paused for a second, another forlorn glance at his impassive features marking a wistful remembrance of better times, but then she did slip to her knees before him, hiding her reluctance behind the cold obedience which a relationship with Krzys had taught her. Oh, please don't, she thought. Just cum and go to sleep like you always do. She knew what would happen then: she'd fall asleep feeling alone and unloved, a broken heart and a near-comatose man her only company in a world which had dealt her a cruel hand over the past few years. Of course, the salt in the wound was that she recognised her own reluctance to leave him, and was powerless against it.

Taking his warm, soft manhood in one hand, she let obedience become her ritual of escape; focusing on getting him off would lock her in the present for a time, and the pains of her past and future would fade away... for a time.

Her hand had the delicate composition which a painter's should, but she let her grip grow firmer as he slowly became erect in her grasp, stroking him and letting her thumb rub the sensitive spot where the shaft of his penis met its head. The act was just one more thing in her life which mirrored the state of her relationship: she used to love taking him in her mouth, but now all joy had been sapped from it along. He drank her pleasure along with his vice, and as she lowered her head between his thighs and her lips spread around his girth, she thought of how different it would feel were it anyone but Krzys. Immediately she scolded herself - drunk or not, this was her husband - and as if in atonement, she sucked firmly on his swollen tip and rhythmically her head began to bob.

Krzys had never slept with a more perfect woman than Alenka. Perhaps it was her size…she was just the perfect height and weight for him to maneuver and overpower in the bedroom. Or maybe it was how willingly she bent to his will and did as he commanded…the sight of her on her knees always did fill his alcohol hazed mind with the heady rush of power and control. Not long after taking his member by her hand than did Krzys begin to grow hard, his hips rocking just the slightest bit in anticipation. Alenka did always give the best head; granted, it wasn’t as good as it had been when they had first started dating, but Krzys wrote the difference off to them being together for so long. Obviously he had just gotten used to Alenka’s mouth and that’s why her talented tongue no longer felt as mind-blowing as it once had.

A soft groan snuck it’s way past his lips and he reclined just a bit, holding himself up with one hand while the other assisted in keeping his wife’s hair out of her face so that he could watch her. The way her pouty lips stretched as she took inch after inch of his throbbing manhood into her drove him wild. And those eyes…those beguiling grey eyes that had drawn his attention. They always so innocently looked up at him, as though checking to make sure he was enjoying himself.

“Good girl Alenka…that’s it…take every inch.” Krzys murmured softly as his grip on her head tightened and he began to piston his hips upwards into her bobbing mouth. He tried to do his best to keep from ramming the whole thing into her before she was ready. As much as he just wanted to get off, he didn’t want to choke her. But controlling himself was becoming harder as he neared his peak, his throbbing and twitching cock demanding that he find release soon. So with a soft growl of impatience, he grabbed the back of Alenka’s head with both hands and began to thrust into her mouth. A couple of pumps and he was there, his cock twitched and several thick ropes of his seed erupted into her mouth. “Swallow…ever drop.” Krzys groaned as he withdrew and plummeted into Alenkas warm wet mouth several more times, just to make sure he was spent, before finally sitting still on the mattress once more.

“Now… go brush your teeth. Then come to bed. I will hold you tonight, you have done such a good job.” He panted out softly, running his fingers with surprising gentleness through her silken blonde locks. After an orgasm he was usually much more tolerant of his wife’s shortcomings; she almost made up for –all- of them with how good she was in the sack. But tonight, Krzys was too tired to manage to fuck his wife properly and return the favor of a climax. Hell, he was too tired to even take off his pants before bed. He merely just turned about, tucked his softening member back into his pants, and made his way under the sheets, still half-dressed.

Rising from her subservient position upon her knees, Alenka offered her husband a soft, half-hearted smile and turned towards the bedroom's en-suite bathroom. Somehow it was easier for her too to forgive Krzys his shortcomings after a bout of sexual activity, even if she herself had not been the recipient of anything other than a mouthful of his warm, salty seed. The taste of it still lingered at the back of her mouth as she flicked on the bathroom's light and found her toothbrush nestled beside his in a small, handleless porcelain cup. The smile she'd offered him irked her slightly; was she really so eager to please? Even after all the abuse, did sucking him off make it any better? She wished she could stand up for herself, but she knew from experience that she could not; she was a follower, not a leader; a compliant and not an antagonist, and she knew it. How bitterly she knew it...

Her eyes caught their reflection in the mirror as she worked the brush across her white teeth, coating them in an equally alabaster shade of foam, and in that reflection she could almost see her lips wrapped around his manhood as he thrust into her mouth again and again; she could feel how stiff and warm he had been in her mouth and wished that she could enjoy as much as she used to. What she had once loved was now a means to put her drunken spouse to sleep, and what had once turned her on immensely now did so only a little. She wanted to enjoy sex again - it could be so much more than a tool - but this was the hand which life had dealt her, and she was too fearful of the repercussions if she were to ever try to forge a new path in life. Everything she had done in the past 5 years she had done with Krzys by her side - or at least in the background, sometimes disapprovingly - but he was there nonetheless. She could scarcely remember the last thing which she had done by herself.

Absurdly, she found herself wishing that he would take her again - if only to drag her from her own thoughts - but she knew he'd be asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. Tomorrow is a new day, she told herself. A new day... the same as the one before... She sighed, rinsed her brush and her mouth and set the former back in its cup, and made her way back to the bedroom. Pushing her jeans down from her gently curving hips, baring her thighs and stepping out of them, she pulled her sweater off over her head and removed her bra without removing the plain, white t-shirt which covered her torso. Krzys had always liked it when she slept in underwear and not pajama bottoms, and so it had become habit, though the pleasures to be wrought from it were all but forgotten.

Slipping under the covers, she let herself lie close to him, and the smell of alcohol assaulting her nostrils, though by now it was a scent she was used to. Even if he held her there would be little warmth in the gesture, not like the old days. At night he could still be her comforter, but only in the way a child draws comfort from a stuffed bear... Alenka slid closer to his warm body, curled up beside him, and shut her eyes. The loving husband who once lay by her side served now as little more than warmth and hope of a better future, in the face of today and yesterday's odds...

"Dobranoc, kochanie." Empty. How empty those words felt.

Krzys’ response to his wife’s bidding of goodnight was only a sleepy grunt and tired arms lacing about her petite body. He tugged her closer to him, cringing a bit as her cold body melted against him. “Mmph…” Another grunt, her feet were cold. Why were they always cold? But Krzys was used to it by now, letting his wife tuck her cold toes under his leg was something that he had allowed her to do for a very long time without complaint. Though, in the beginning of their marriage, it had usually brought in a playful bit of teasing and many free kisses…but right now he was too tired to exchange such lightheartedness with his wife.

Within a couple of minutes, Alenka’s body was nice and warm and he could finally fall asleep.

----

Mornings for Krzys had been going the same way for five years. His alarm would go off, causing him to release his beautiful wife from his possessive grasp so that he could roll over and swat at the beeping clock a couple of times before he found the ‘Snooze’ button. Then he’d spend another ten minutes under the sheets, somewhere between awake and dreaming, the alarm would go off once more, and then he’d actually get up from bed after he turned it off the second time.

He’d stagger around the bedroom until he figured out which way the bathroom was. He’d always done this, even before Alenka. Krzys was always disoriented in the mornings…but the alcohol definitely made it worse. Depending on how much he had had to drink, he’d sway a bit more on some days rather than others. Today was one of those days: wobbly legs carried him over to the shower as his brain ran on autopilot. He didn’t actually wake up until the tail end of his shower when he shut off the water and quickly dried off with a towel.

Alenka was usually still asleep and Krzys was careful not to wake her up. He could be cruel at times, but he wasn’t heartless. He knew that his love needed her rest, and so he was quiet as a mouse as he dressed into his slacks and shirt for the day.

“Milego dnia moja droga.” Krzys whispered before leaning down to kiss Alenka’s cheek. The words weren’t loaded with tender love as they had once been…and the kiss was rather chaste. But, well, Krzys was a creature of habit. He had started this routine of wishing his wife a good day and kissing her goodbye years ago, and he would probably keep doing those actions everyday for the rest of their lives together. Krzys left the bedroom, shutting the door quietly behind him. He had some homemade bread with a piece of cheese for breakfast as he usually did. Then he grabbed his lunch box, jacket, and headed out before he missed the bus that would take him off to his middle management job at the warehouse.

Hopefully nothing would go wrong at work today. He had noticed Alenka’s bruise on her cheek. And while he couldn’t remember striking her, he knew that he probably had. So perhaps, if everything went smoothly today, he’d buy her some flowers as he usually did to say he was sorry. As much as Alenka disappointed him as a wife sometimes, he did love her. And as a good, Catholic man, he couldn’t bear the idea of his wife leaving him because he had been inattentive.