A crack of lightening flashed through the black night, blinding the lone driver for the briefest of moments.  Rain pounded on his windshield so hard that he was forced to a crawl on the two-lane road that led to his house.  The low rumble of thunder was his only companion in the early morning hours of that Sunday morning.

It was 3:30 in the morning and he was beyond late getting home for yet another Saturday evening.  Not that it mattered; any excuse he could think to make to the wife waiting for him at home would fall short.  And besides, at this point, he could care less.

            Their marriage had been over for months now, ever since the first time he had cheated.  Oh, he loved his wife, but her nagging, her constant disapproval of his drunken nights with friends, and the fact that she had turned her full attention to their seven-year old daughter weren’t what any man would call the perfect life.  So he had taken his lonely heart, with all the pain it held, and found comfort in the arms of another.

            3:30 in the morning

            Not a soul in sight

            The city’s looking like a ghost town

            On a moonlit summer night

 

            Raindrops on the windshield

            There’s a storm moving in

            He’s heading back from somewhere

            Where he never should have been

 

            And the thunder rolls

            And the thunder rolls….

            Another clap of thunder jolted him out of his thoughts, forcing him to turn his attention back to the road and the nasty weather that was putting a damper on his spirits despite the passion he had just shared in a hotel room across town.  He sighed.  His blonde hair was mussed and his green eyes looked tired and devoid of the lively sparkle of happiness.

            He and his wife had married too young.  That was the problem.  Both had been sophomores in college when she had gotten pregnant and they had been forced to marry.  Oh, he had deeply cared for her, but he wasn’t sure if it was love.  He hadn’t had enough time to discover if that’s what he truly felt.

            So he had been forced to grow up really fast and take on responsibilities he knew he was nowhere near ready for, of that he was sure.  The Monday through Friday, 9-5 office job he held bored him, the small town life slowly strangling the life out of him year after painstaking year.  He was starting to go crazy.

            He had turned into a person he no longer cared for.  Instead of the gentle, understanding young adult he had once been, he was now a hard-hearted adult, who thought the world had turned its back on him.  Arguments had become more and more frequent in his house, and instead of using words to get his point across, he used fists, a fact his wife knew very well.

            But he had things under control.  He loved his wife, to an extent, and would never cause her too much harm.  The bruises always faded and she always welcomed him back with open arms in forgiveness anyway.

            Another flash of lightening, followed by a low roll of thunder accompanied the young man as he finally pulled the car into the driveway and shut it off.  As he raised eyes to take in the sight of the house, he cursed.  It looked like every fucking light in the house was on.  Didn’t she know that the electricity bills would be horrendous if she insisted on keeping every light burning until he dragged his sorry ass home?

            With a last roll of his eyes, the man grabbed his briefcase and held it over his head as he ran towards the front door.  Once under the safety of the porch roof, he pulled out his keys and opened the door, prepared to meet the unavoidable wrath of his unhappy wife.

            Every light is burning

            In a house across town

            She’s pacing by the telephone

            In her faded flannel gown

            Asking for a miracle

            Hoping she’s not right

            Praying it’s the weather

            That’s kept him out all night

 

            And the thunder rolls

            And the thunder rolls…

            “Lance!” the female voice cried as soon as he had shut the door and began to shrug out of his long coat that had kept him dry.

            “Sorry I’m late Maggie, I got caught up in some important work at the office yet again,” Lance stated as he set his briefcase down.  He looked up and froze in his tracks.

            His wife was dressed in a very sexy red negligee made of fine silk, with little rosebuds sewn all over it.  The piece of clothing accentuated her full breasts and slim waist, a fact Lance had always loved about her.  Her dark hair, thick and curly, had been left unbound and cascaded alluringly down her back.  Eyes of smoldering ocean blue clashed with his own emerald ones and he instantly felt himself harden, despite his earlier romp in the sack.

            He noticed that the dining room table had been set with their finest linen tablecloth, tall, elegant candles long blown out, and a dinner sitting cold.  His heart began to thump faster as he realized exactly what he had missed that evening…

            “Today was our anniversary,” she softly whispered from her seat on the couch, her eyes watering up with unshed tears.  Lance felt his heart drop to his feet, at once feeling like a complete asshole.  It hadn’t even crossed his mind that today was their eight-year anniversary.

            “I’m sorry baby, I completely forgot,” Lance stated as he finished hanging up his coat and walked in his direction.

            “I thought something terrible had happened to you, what with this weather and all.  You could have at least called so I wouldn’t be up worrying half the night,” Maggie lectured, holding herself close as another clap of thunder reverberated through the otherwise silent house.

            “I told you I was sorry, what more do you want from me?  Work has always been unpredictable, you know that,” Lance stated, his nerves beginning to rise at her simple statement.  He quickly got his emotions under control, however, when he noticed Maggie wince from the tone in his voice.  “Look, how about we forget about my work for a bit, go upstairs, and I’ll make you forget about the fact that I was so late getting home?”

            “I dunno Lance…” Maggie hesitantly began as she allowed her husband to pull her to her feet and into his arms.

            Before she had a chance to say another word, however, his lips were crashing down on hers and she forgot all the protests she had been ready to spout at him.  He lightly nibbled on her bottom lip, and she moaned, quickly allowing him entrance to her mouth.  His tongue plunged in, exploring the familiar territory with wanton abandon.

            He pulled their bodies flush and she immediately began to wrap her hands up in his hair while his went behind her, one cupping her ass, the other holding tightly to her upper back.  It was at that moment that she realized something was wrong.

            But on the wind and rain

            A strange new perfume blows

            The lightening flashes in her eyes

            And he knows that she knows

            He smelled strange.  Not like he normally smelled.  No, he smelled vaguely of…perfume?  A woman’s perfume.  Her eyes widened in shock and she immediately began to pull away.  With a groan, Lance pulled his head back, annoyed at the interruption and wondering what was wrong.

            “How could you?” Maggie whispered, her heart thudding in her chest, her eyes flashing cobalt anger.

            “What?  What are you talking about?” Lance questioned, knowing deep down in his heart that she knew what he had been up to earlier that night instead of coming home for their anniversary dinner.

            “Do you think I’m stupid?” she cried as she pried herself loose from her husband’s embrace and began to pace the living room floor, “Do you think I wouldn’t realize that you’re screwing around with other women?”

            The slap was unexpected, and her cheek immediately began to sting.  She bit her lip to keep from crying out and knew she was walking a fine line.  Lance was uncontrollable when he was angry, and there was no telling what he would do; there was no way that she wanted to see him that angry, especially tonight, when her pride and heart were both in shreds.

            But how could she sit back and let her husband cheat on her with nameless, faceless women while she stayed home and played Suzie Homemaker, taking care of their daughter Molly and making the house a home?  She had had aspirations, dreams of her own years ago, but she had put them aside for this man.  This man who constantly hurt her over and over.

            Well she was sick of it.  She was done playing the grateful bitch, rolling over and taking it each and every time he dished out some form of punishment.  Tomorrow, oh tomorrow, she would pack up Molly and they would head out to her mother’s place in Texas, far away from Louisiana and this green-eyed, blonde-haired monster she was unfortunately married to.

            “I’m leaving Lance.  I’m sick of putting up with your shit day after day, so that’s it, I’m done,” Maggie stated, her voice coming out stronger than she thought it would.  Her husband’s jaw fell in shock.

            “W…what?  What are you talking about?  You can’t leave me!” he cried, his voice rising with each word that he said.

            “Yes I can, and I will,” she threatened, crossing her arms over her chest as she faced him down, her stance firm and unapproachable.  Lance could do nothing but stare at her, realizing that she was, indeed, quite serious about leaving.

            The thunder rolls

            And the lightening strikes

            Another love grows cold

            On a sleepless night

 

            As the storm blows on

            Out of control

            Deep in her heart

            The thunder rolls

            She couldn’t leave him!  Who would do his laundry and make him dinner?  Who would clean the house and take care of him when he felt under the weather.  Who would make him lunch to take to work and mend his clothes when they got holes in them?

            It suddenly hit him just how much he had taken her for granted all eight years of their turbulent marriage.  How self-absorbed, self-pitying and utterly pathetic he had become over the years.  He frowned.

            With a cry of anguish, he leapt in Maggie’s direction, knocking a coffee table over in the process, but never noticing the pain that coursed through his right leg.  He fell to the floor, his wife under him, and for a moment, neither of them moved.  Then Maggie began to squirm, fear in her eyes, knowing that Lance had gone over the edge and she needed to get away from him.

            “You’re never going to leave me,” he yelled as he landed a punch square to her right eye.  She whimpered at the pain, seeing stars for a moment. “You’re my wife and I forbid you to leave.  You have to stay and take care of me, run the house, keep everything clean, and make me dinner…”

            Rain poured heavily outside, pounding on the windows, gushes of wind making branches of the surrounding trees bang against the fragile windowpanes.  A flash of lightening, followed quickly by a startling clap of thunder extinguished the lights in the house and cut off the end of Lance’s sentence.

            But he quickly regained his sense in the total blackness, and with a wild light in his eyes, he began to slap Maggie again, until his hands came in contact with her slim throat.  Without thinking, he grabbed onto the graceful column and began to squeeze, unaware of the choking sound coming from his wife’s lips.  She struggled, unable to get a full breath of air, terrified that this was how she was going to die; choked to death by her husband.

            “Mommy?  Daddy?  Where are you?” a sleepy voice suddenly questioned from the darkness of the stairway.

            Both Lance and Maggie froze at the sound of their daughter Molly’s voice.  The young girl had heard the two of them arguing before but never before had she witnessed them physically going at it.  Lance immediately rolled off his wife and went to the bottom of the stairs where he pulled his frightened daughter into his arms.

            “I’m right here doll; now tell me, what’s the problem?” Lance gently questioned as Molly snuggled up in his arms.  Maggie felt her heart break.

            Lance was, in truth, a wonderful father.  True, he treated her like shit, but when it came to their daughter, he was nothing less than a perfect father figure.  He took Molly to the park, was teaching her to play basketball, and constantly brought the young girl little surprise presents every so often.

            How could she pull the two apart, when they were so obviously attached?  Then Maggie remembered the other side of Lance, the side that had gotten her numerous black eyes, bloody lips, and trips to the hospital; too many that she had lost count long ago.  There was no way she was going to ever let her daughter be a witness to Lance’s wrath at any moment in time.

            “I’m scared of the storm daddy,” Molly quietly stated as she threw her arms around her daddy’s neck and squeezed tight.  Lance felt his heart melt.

            “Well how about I go read you a story and sit with you for awhile?” Lance suggested as he started back up the stairs, his wife completely forgotten, and his anger suddenly gone.

            “Okay,” the youngster happily agreed as Lance carried her back up the stairs to where her bedroom was.

            As soon as they were gone, Maggie tried to coax her body into movement and off the plush rug of the living room.  With any luck, there wouldn’t be any blood on the white carpet that she would have to spend the next day scrubbing out…

            But she wouldn’t be here the next day.  She had made up her mind that she was leaving and there was no way that she was going to back down now.  Blood stains on the carpet would now be Lance’s responsibility, as would taking care of everything around the house.  She was done being at his beck and call, as well as on the receiving end of his anger.

            Hopefully, he would just come back down from putting Molly back to bed, forget about their argument and head to the master bedroom they shared on the first floor.  If not, she wasn’t quite sure how to persuade him to let her leave when he was obviously so dead-set against the idea to begin with…

            Suddenly, an idea popped into her head.  She quickly rushed into the bedroom, slipped on her robe, found what she was looking for, and shoved it into her pocket before she went to leave the bedroom.  She took a quick glance in the mirror, taking note of the bruise marks around her neck, the bloody lip, and the quickly-blackening right eye.

            Well, this was the last time this broken image would stare back at her.

            She runs back down the hallway

            And through the bedroom door

            She reaches for the pistol

            Kept in the dresser drawer

 

            And tells the lady in the mirror

            He won’t do this again

            Cause tonight will be the last night

            She’ll wonder where he’s been

            “Maggie?” Lance called as he made his way back downstairs about twenty minutes later, Molly fast asleep in her bed once more, “Mags?”

            He was more than eager to take up their discussion again.  He wanted to be sure that on no grounds would she leave him as she had stated she was going to do.  He started to panic when she didn’t answer him.

            But he was able to breathe a sigh of relief when he noticed his wife, now wrapped in a robe the same color of her negligee, sitting curled up in a leather chair, a glass of wine in her hand.  He noted the damage he had already done, relieved that it would all fade in time.

            “Maggie?” he asked again as he took a seat on the couch across from her.  She raised her eyebrows in his direction, still silent as she sipped on her glass of wine.

            “Yes Lance?” she calmly questioned, not allowing him to see just how badly her hands were shaking.  She slipped her right hand into the pocket of her robe, tightly gripping the cool metal that would be her ticket to freedom.

            “I just want to be sure you won’t be leaving me,” he stated, his green eyes daring her to stare otherwise.  She stared straight back, unblinking, until he finally looked away.

            “No Lance, I will be leaving tomorrow and there is nothing you can do to stop me,” Maggie calmly replied as she set her wine glass on the table next to her left arm.

            “Maggie, you listen to me…” he began, as he stood up, intent on heading in her direction and teaching her another lesson in obedience to one’s husband.

            “No, you listen to me Lance Bass,” she snapped as she pulled out the pistol and pointed it in his direction, “I already told you that I’m leaving; now don’t make me hurt you.”  Lance froze, his eyes widening in shock.

            “Come on Mags, put the gun down and let’s talk this out,” Lance cajoled, his heart beating faster as he realized just how serious his wife was.  The gun never once wavered in her hands.

            He was stupid to keep the thing in the house.  He had only bought it for safety’s sake, when they had had an intruder months ago, and Maggie had almost been raped and kidnapped.  The gun should have been locked up, but of course, he was stupid and left it in an unlocked dresser drawer…

            “Get out of the house,” Maggie suddenly snapped, quickly bringing Lance’s attention back to the situation at hand.  He wasn’t sure if he had heard her correctly.

            “You’re kicking me out of my own home?” he hollered, his eyes emitting emerald fire in extreme anger.

            “You heard me the first time.  Get the hell out and don’t come back until tomorrow,” Maggie responded, cocking the pistol for effect.

            Lance took a hesitant step forward, wanting desperately to rid his wife of the gun so they could just talk things through.  He swore to himself that he wouldn’t lay a finger on her despite the white-hot anger that was coursing through his veins at that very moment.  He just wanted to talk to her, without the gun being a factor.

            “Maggie, come on, we can talk this through,” Lance gently stated as he inched his way in his wife’s direction again.  She didn’t seem to notice his slow advance.

            “No, I already told you, I’m done talking.  I want you out of this house.  You can come back tomorrow when Molly and I will be long gone,” Maggie responded, not budging an inch in her steely façade.

            “You can’t take my daughter away from me,” Lance stated in a low voice, creeping forward again, “I’m her father, and she deserves to have me in her life.”

            “You gave up that privilege the first time you laid a hand on me,” Maggie snapped, her eyes glowing with hurt, anger, and a well of unshed tears, “Now back up.”  Realizing that she had noticed him moving forward, Lance immediately lunged at his wife, his eyes on the gun, his only intent on wrestling it from her grasp.

            The roar of the gun shook the house at the precise moment a crack of thunder erupted and a branch of a tree finally shattered one of the front windows, sending glass in every direction.  Maggie screamed, dropping the gun to the floor and shooting out of the chair as Lance cried out in pain.

            Lance staggered around in pain, holding a hand to his stomach that felt like it was on fire.  He could feel blood, deep red and white-hot, pouring from his stomach and he felt like he was going to be sick.  His vision became blurry, and he vaguely noted Maggie cowering on the stairway which led up to their daughter’s room.

            He finally fell to the floor as the pain became unbearable, his thoughts a useless jumble in his hazy brain.  He was unaware of the broken glass and the tree leaves he lay on, only of the all-consuming pain in his abdomen.

            From her spot on the stairs, Maggie watched as Lance struggled for breath, unable to stop the blood he was losing.  She couldn’t move; she sat frozen to the spot on the stairs as this nightmare continued to unfold in front of her.  The glint of silver from the gun caught her eye from across the room and she shuddered as she stared at it.

            Oh what had she just done?

            Sirens began to wail through the house, red, white and blue lights flashing an eerie glow through the still-darkened home as the storm continued to blow on.  And on the floor, Lance Bass took one final breath, his eyes locking on the beautiful angel in red silk before death claimed him.

            The thunder rolls

            And the lightening strikes

            Another love grows cold

            On a sleepless night

           

            As the storm blows on

            Out of control

            Deep in her heart

            The thunder rolls…