Suicide, When All Goes Wrong.

"No! Don't even touch me!" Henry looked at his wife with fury. She tried to run her hand down his face again. He slapped her, hard, although she didn't need it. Her face was cut in many places and her neck had a thick bruise where the rope had broken it. "You had every thing! Why did you do this?" around him, hell swirled and burned, "You had a marriage, a father that loved you, a son on the way!"

"The baby, he was a lie," she swallowed the lump in her throat, "I made up the baby. That girl you met from the club last summer left a message. She wanted to talk to you. I didn't let her. I hung up. Then a few weeks later," she motioned her head and hands to look like she had when shedied. Henry looked at his wife with exasperation. His first child was a lie? His dead wife was taunting him in his dreams? What had he done to deserve this? He looked at her eyes, lies she'd told swimming in them. "I... I don't even know you anymore."

Henry woke up suddenly. Icy wind breezed over his bare chest. He stared at the clock. "Two a.m?" he rubbed his eyes. With a swift motion, he swept the covers off the bed. He winced as cold air rushed over his legs. As his feet hit the floor it reminded him of the accident. The sound. Actually, he wouldn't really describe it as an accident. He went to the pale wooden dresser. "Ugh," he hadn't done any washing since it happened. "I guess I'm not going out today..." In the kitchen, dishes were overflowing the sink. Henry looked at them and almost cringed. Was he really this lazy? Was this one of the reasons? He didn't know. He set to them and finished after twenty minutes. Sitting on the couch, he grunted. He flicked the T.V. remote and nothing happened. The power bill! He rushed to the phone. The call didn't even go through. Nothing was working out. But then, as if someone said the punch line, everything turned on. It may have been a powercut. "You have two messages," the answerphone called in it's monotone voice. He walked over and pressed the red button. "Henry, this is Iris, you met me last summer at that night club."

As the music pounded Henry struggled his way through the club. Scantily clad girls frolicked around shirtless men. He felt out of place. But still, he removed his wedding ring. He didn't know how, but he recognized her immediately. Iris was waiting for him in a private dance booth. She was wearing a very short skirt, a bikini top with about a pound of make up smeared over her face. She smiled as he approached. He widened his eyes when he noticed the two other men in the booth. "Did I... uh interrupt?" he asked as the men looked at him with venom.

"No, sorry boys, times up," she winked at each. They stood up awkwardly, puling their shirts down. Iris motioned Henry into the room. He stepped forward cautiously. "Um, what did you want to talk about?" he said as she danced toward him. She didn't reply. She kept dancing emphasizing her ass and breasts. "I just needed to see you," she finally said. She laid her hand on his collar and yanked him up. He stood there awkwardly. "Ha ha! I need to get some beer in you," she giggled, "When you were here last you tore that shit up,"

"Really...? I don't remember. I-" he was cut off as she kissed him square on the mouth. He didn't resist, but he didn't like it either. As she kissed him longer, the more articles of clothes she removed from him. He still let her.