Here is part 2 of the bullet dodge. In case you’ve missed it, or are new here, the first part of this trainwreck can be read here.
So shortly after Bible Thumper decided that I had zero choice in becoming den mother, things got progressively hostile between the two of us.
One day I had noticed that there were black spots climbing up the wall in the corner of one of his son’s room. I told him about it and said it looked like there was a mold problem. Not surprising, seeing as how he was deep in the woods and did zero upkeep to his house. He got mad at me and accused me of being an alarmist.
One night I was startled awake; the whole bed was shaking. In my half sleep state, I turned over to see what was going on and the bible thumper was furiously masturbating next to me with his laptop on. He had a porn addiction. I was in a fog and asked “what are you doing?”. I mean, cheese and rice, I thought it was the beginnings of an earthquake or something. He quietly closed his laptop, turned over and acted like nothing happened.
Everything seemed fine – until I got back home from work that evening. He laid into me about what I did the night before. Excuse me? Apparently I was selfish by falling asleep without first knocking boots with him. Oh so sorry, I’m exhausted from leaving at the crack of dawn to drive to Montreal and back daily, and in every spare moment I have, clean your shithole of a house. How DARE I fall asleep at bedtime. He called me a cockblock because I disturbed his porn/masturbation session. Cue the crickets. Okay…..
Flash forward a couple days later; I came home from work one night and was convinced I had just walked into a home invasion gone wrong.
The entire contents of his son’s room were all thrown haphazardly into the dining room. Apparently the roof was leaking and surprise surprise there IS mold in the walls.
He didn’t even try to put some sort of order to the place. I spent about a week eating my meals with a piss stained mattress a couple feet away from my face until the insurance guy came over.
He was on vacation that week and swore up and down he would put order to the place. Never happened. He was perfectly content living like a pig in his own crap.
I was so discouraged. Stepping into that place at night made my stomach turn and my anxiety was sky high. When I got home on Friday night, the place was still a shambles. He was out getting his youngest son from him mom’s in Tweed.
I was so pissed at the state of the house that I said nothing when he came in; I just shut the light and pretended to be asleep.
The next morning I was getting ready to go to the gym. His royal fartness was still sleeping. I was very quiet in taking my shower and going back into our room to get dressed. As I was getting ready to leave, I noticed he was sitting straight up in bed. I turned to smile and say good morning.
Wrong. The look on his face told me it was not a good morning. At all. His eyes were bulging out of his head, his nostrils were flared and his face was so red it was bordering on purple.
I asked what was wrong. Cue the psychological mind fuckery. He said I knew very well what was wrong. I was purposely making as much noise as I could while he was trying to sleep.
It all went south from there. He started screaming (not yelling – screaming) at me. I reached my turning point and screamed back for once. I lived here too! He responded with “not anymore you don’t. Get the fuck out!”
I didn’t feel like it at the time, but he did me a huge favor. Since I was being thrown out with nowhere to go, I let ‘er rip and had a few choice words for him as well.
To be continued…