Negotiations

The Duchess of Pain

  Story Three: Negotiations

  By

  J. Niessen

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  Published By:

  The Duchess of Pain, Negotiations

  Copyright 2013 by J. Niessen

  Cover Page by J’s Art Emporium, Copyright 2013

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  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are products of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously.

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  Negotiations

  By Salvador Peters

  I believe no one is born with a phobia. Fears develop from experiences. Some anxieties seem irrational. Unease builds when ascending to a high elevation, and the notion occurs that it’s unsafe. A person is afraid of snails after seeing one stepped on, and its insides are squished out.

  My terror is of my wife Connie telling me that we need to talk. Within our five years of marriage, this introduction has never ended well. At the start of our relationship I welcomed the opportunity for open discussions. I quickly deduce the engagement as an intervention, to degrade my faults. It’s her way of shaping me into the character she expects. In debate (when I point out her fallacies) the subject is turned around onto me, and aimed at belittling my integrity. Always the arguments end in an ultimatum. “Shape up or ship out.” In these times of biased negotiations my financial limitations are used for leverage, as I’m without a well-paying job to support all the bills, and she knows I’m reliant on her to cover expenses.

  Her focus has gone from striving to gain my favor, to making me the most miserable person on this earth. I have to watch what I do and say, knowing that if I slip up she’ll insist on a sit down, in which new scrutiny (meticulously gathered and prepared) will be presented. I’m grateful to my wife for being here for me. I don’t want to live my life alone. In my heart I believe she’s my life partner. We have so many things in common. And when we get along, we create wonderful memories. The problem is, when things seem to be picture-perfect, my guard’s down, then suddenly and without warning her temper will snap for no apparent reason.

  I miss the longing Connie exhibited as my girlfriend, driven to please, rather than trying to mold me into her idea of the perfect man. Back then it was easy to offer her contentment. Simple tasks are what made her happy. While at work I notice an Internet ad that caters to our marital issues. I bookmark the page, unable to research the site details at this moment.

  I’ve chosen a charitable career, wanting to help out the underprivileged. Even those in poverty which live in the U.S. are well-to-do, compared to countries where its government neglects the distressed populace. The Mexican people I work with in Tijuana, despite their poor living conditions, have a great respect for God, and faithfully trust that He will provide for them.

  With our lives filled with work and responsibilities, is that our excuse for not seeking to sacrifice our free time? Or does our selfish nature deceive us into believing “To engage in charitable activities and church life limits us from doing what makes us happy”? It’s sad knowing that many never figure out what the key to gaining true happiness is. Self- living develops separation from completeness. Divided from inspiring light perpetuates dark emptiness. Seek the creator of joy.

  Even though I’m involved with missions, I don’t exercise Christian practices regularly. Yet I see evidence of miraculous support in peoples’ lives. Because of our human nature, it’s hard for anyone to put complete trust in God. I’m to trust that if Connie and I ever split up, and she threw me out on the street (like she’s threatened to do numerous times) God would provide. Right now He uses me, through my career, to better the lives of poverty stricken families.

  I imagine if Connie and I weren’t together, I could dedicate more of myself to the mission career I’m involved in. For unbelievers it must be impossible to grasp that our Heavenly Father looks out for each and every individual, as a loving and concerned father would.

  Connie, though professing to be a Christian, doesn’t hold the same compassion as I do for non U.S. citizens. I’ve asked if she would like to help with mission work on her days off. In the beginning she shows interest, but gradually backs away from involvement. Now she bluntly says, “I have something going on this weekend” with the attitude, “So don’t ask if I can help”. Adding, “Why don’t you take the time off, Sal, so we can do something else?”

  I return to the internet site that advertises for marital aid, and complete the lengthy online questionnaire. The logo for the business is LRD. Reading through testimonies of how this organization has helped troubled relationships sparks a new excitement. I detect a revitalized joy each individual has through the unconventional techniques LRD uses. Deep down I know there are alternate, and more positive, solutions: ones without the warned possibility of physical harm occurring during LRD’s intervening sessions. As a Believer I should be seeking tried and true Christian means to promote our spiritual walk, and help to resolve our troubled marriage.

  The last part of the internet survey has a box asking for any additional concerns. It’s my opportunity to let out the pent-up hurt that’s collected during the marriage.

  “What I can’t stand is the way my wife belittles and ridicules me. I try not to be too self conscious. But the comments she spits out hurt. I don’t understand why anyone would seek to make someone feel bad about the way they look. Things she said back when we first started living together have stuck with me. They resurface in my mind. Some things you never forget. These hurts have yet to let up, and I’m starting to believe the pain will be forever with me”

  Reading it over, I nearly “select all” and hit delete. Self-conscious that the person assigned to read my notes will conclude I need mental counseling, rather than support. A portion of me hopes the analyst will understand and sympathize, having been in similar circumstances. Selecting [Submit], I wait intently for a follow-up response.

  Once I started to sign up for car insurance over the web. When the quote was too high I exited the page. Soon my phone was ringing. The representative began consulting me, trying to save the sale. And it worked.

  But my phone doesn’t ring. Maybe the application didn’t go through? Checking my e-mail inbox, there are no new messages. Too much time’s been spent on this possibility. Dreading the thought of going through the extensive application again dissuades my perseverance. There’s a summer concert series starting up this Sunday evening that comes to mind. Having met at church, it would be an uplifting reintroduction for the two of us to begin attending again, and perhaps find a connection group to become a part of.

  It’s late as I’m driving home from work on the freeway, when an elderly motorist veers into my lane. Deducing the vehicle’s location, and calculating that applied acceleration will fail to get me clear, my only option is to slow down, (without slamming on my brakes and causing a pileup). Laying down on the horn the un-alert senior continues to merge as I’m in harm’s way. The back end of the encroaching vehicle nudges the front end of my Ford Taurus. I spin my steering wheel to avoid further contact, causing my car to spiral out
of control. An SUV driving behind me rams into my driver-side door. The look on the female’s face, that’s behind the wheel, is one of sheer horror. The road approved tank pushes me and my car forward to a safe stop. When the ambulance arrives I’m taken to the hospital. I would rather not bother Connie with excessive worry, when the greatest severity in this matter is the need of car repair. However if I don’t act she’ll get upset with me for not informing her of the event immediately.

  She sounds authentically concerned when told what happened, saying she’s on her way. Appeasement flatters my sensitivity. Her arrival, with sparkling distress in her eyes, reminds me of her lively compassion to my concerns as a newly met couple. The way her lips feel touching mine, is indicative of the time we first kissed. Lately her response has been non-charismatic when I go to give her a peck. Now her lips feel full bodied and warm with passion.

  For a brief time things seem genuinely better between us. Unfortunately Connie’s respect for the fragility of life, which the accident brought about, depletes. Three months later, after signing up for the (seemingly uninvolved) LRD program, our relationship is back on the fritz. I sense the impending doom of our connection falling apart. I urge Connie to attend church also, but she has reasons, (sounding reasonable, but I know they’re excuses). In lieu of the accident I’ve made a promise to commit myself to Christ, praying daily for my wants to be sacrificed.

  It seems her frustrations were craftily hidden and bottled up during the brief time of peace, and now the cork has popped. Connie overburdens me with ridicule for things I’ve done over the past 90 days, and then finishes the heated argument with an alerting threat.

  Knowing that if I were to speak aloud I would only be adding to the fire, I quietly question, “Is divorce an option?” I’ve heard preachers say that it’s breaking a covenant with God when a couple breach their vows, because the promise was made in the presence of God, ordained by a man of God, and thus sanctified by God. The basis for why some say same-sex marriage is a contradictory act--is because nuptials derive from religious tradition.

  My question is what if I wasn’t supposed to get married? What if God had other plans for me as a single servant? Sure, I’ve done my best to aid Him. But in the back of my mind I feel I haven’t been true to Connie because I’m away from her so frequently on mission trips.

  I suppose if she were being true to her faith, she would want to give up her personal life, by sacrificing her time. The selfishness Connie expresses, as a result of me not spending enough time with her, could be eased by the presence of God, once she gave her life up to serve, as an empty cup to be filled by Him.

  I receive an e-mail from LRD, the company I did the survey with. Shock hits when reading at the end of the letter: “Would you go through it all over again, if given a choice?” Thinking over the time spent struggling to please Connie, I conclude that the entire marriage and my self-sacrifices have all been for naught. She’s ever more demanding, and no closer to change. I wonder if she was faking her Christian faith, only attending church to find a potential spouse. Her heart is cold to me, proving that by risking my safety once again and enduring a life threatening situation (in the hopes to bring her close) the trial would be uneventful.

  If you believe my decision makes me the coldest person in the world, then so be it. Go ahead and ridicule my faith. But know that my heart has changed. Seeing that Connie’s not assisting my hopeful aspirations to serve the Lord daily I reply, “NO” to the LRD questionnaire.

  Less than an hour later I receive a phone call. The number is listed as Detective Jim Stevens. All cares sink. After an introduction, the greatest fright of my life comes over the line.

  “Mr. Peters, I have some troubling news. Your wife’s been involved in a car accident. We need you to give a testimony. When can you be here?” Shaken, I look at the time and stutter, “In 15 minutes,” having located directions to the required location.

  Detained as the prime suspect, I’m not allowed to visit Connie by her bed side. The incident happened as she was pulling into a department store parking lot. I’m shown footage of the event. Genuine terror grips my thoughts and I cringe from seeing the sudden blast. My heart sinks observing a familiar vehicle abruptly pull up behind Connie’s engulfed car. The driver getting out is the same female who was behind me in the SUV, during the freeway accident.

  I remain behind bars during their investigation period. Turns out a device was planted beneath Connie’s car. Researchers uncover surveillance footage of a man wearing a jumpsuit with the letters LRD on the back of his uniform, tampering with her car in the hospital parking structure, while I was recovering three months ago. Incarcerated, I accept this time as where God wants me to be. Inside prison there dwell detainees without humanity. Some conceal their plotting motives with crafted façades, and prey on those who are compassionate or naive in nature. Without enough evidence to bring my case to trial, I’m freed.

  Connie doesn’t pull through. I suspect she simply gave up on the will to live, after waking up from the induced comma to find her body horribly scared from the fire.

  It’s an emotional time living alone. The solidarity is depressing. Without the Lord in my heart, I’d have no doubt ended my life either in prison or when I got out. In time, the pain of loss and loneliness dissipates. I displace thoughts of the past with focus on the future. Motivations build to be God’s servant, and fulfillment gradually builds within me. I feel called to investigate LRD, and learn about this organization that utilizes such extremes to satisfy their client’s needs.

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