It had started out pretty well, in fact, though over the years, their relationship had deteriorated. Or, rather, his relationship had deteriorated; her feelings hadn’t appeared to change a bit. To make things easier — she could be vicious in fights, even if she immediately apologized and tried to make up — he hadn’t let down his feeling-facade. Of course, this didn’t make it any less true that not only did he not love her anymore, he didn’t even particularly like her.
An outsider might wonder why they didn’t just get a divorce; that would be easier than living with someone you loathed. He considered it out of the question, but he couldn’t figure out why. He wasn’t a religious man, so there was no worries about being condemned to Hell or purgatory for falling out of love with someone. (He had to admit that in a perverse way, even the idea of an afterlife spent in misery or, at least, limbo, was at least somewhat comforting — more so than what he figured was the most likely scenario, mainly absolutely nothing.)
He was also an American, which also obviously removed any lack of societal pressures to stay together. After all, they were their only friends who actually had stayed together. If anything, there would be a silent rooting for them to break up as well, as to be one of the pack — though their friends, of course, weren’t actually cruel enough to have those thoughts, even silently. Even though, he found it slightly more cruel of them to encourage and admire their marriage’s length and endurance considering his predicament, but they couldn’t be blamed. No one knew or realized, after all.
One of the things that some people found odd — only those who thought of it, which wasn’t many — was that he never drove. She did all the driving. He could drive, and before they got together, he drove himself around quite often. It wasn’t out of a fear of driving like some people have; he’d never been in an accident before, not even a minor one. He just wasn’t particularly interested in driving. He saw it as merely a means of conveyance, where she actually seemed to enjoy the physical act of driving. As such, he was always more than happy to turn over the duties to her. It gave him time to think, concentrate on other things, and fiddle with the radio buttons.
A frequent subject of his thoughts was unwelcome. Welcomeness of thoughts, however, is, if anything, inversely proportional to the frequency of said thoughts. After time spent trying to chase them away, he gave up and let them in, hoping they didn’t break anything during their stay. The actual thoughts were of an event he’d never experienced; car crashes. He’d never cause one (at least, on purpose), but they barged in and wouldn’t leave. Get to know more about personal injury law here to learn how to protect youself.
On the rare occasions when he WOULD drive, the thoughts were typically kept at bay from the mere concentration of looking out for potential hazards. He often found himself out of practice behind the wheel, and so it was a more tense time than usual. However, it wasn’t a high level of stress — just enough worry to make him be extra alert. He often — later, after arriving at his destination — thought that it was amusing that the stress level had made him a better driver, which naturally should lower his stress level, which would in turn make him less alert and as such a slightly worse driver, which’d bring the stress level back up, ad infinitum. He also thought that in a way he was still thinking about car accidents, but in a much more abstract way than he did when she drove.
Naturally, he didn’t particularly want to experience a crash; oddly enough, they’d never struck him as being too fun to be in. But he sometimes wondered if that’d be the only way to exorcise the thoughts — either that, or ratchet up the obession. On one hand, when he was younger, he had wondered what it was like to break a bone and have a cast — that wonder went away when he actually did (not on purpose). On the other, barring some sort of freak accident where a broken rib pierces your heart, broken bones aren’t usually even potentially fatal. Perhaps it’d be best to get into a fender-bender, but, again, it wasn’t an event high on his list of Must-Dos-Before-He-Dies. After all, like broken bones, obsessions aren’t often fatal either.
But still, the obsession stuck, and he couldn’t stop thinking about it when riding with her. She had nothing to do with it — even though he didn’t typically talk much while riding, he could always think about other things than car accidents. There wasn’t any sort of death wish associated with the thoughts or anything. He’d never had any desire to commit suicide, homicide or any other cide. Although, he did enjoy eating meat, though cows and pigs very rarely drove, so that didn’t seem applicable.
On this outing, however, he had an idea. As they pulled into their driveway, they got out and she went in through the front door, he went into the tool shed, and grabbed his sledgehammer and went to the car. He figured he’d seen enough accidents on the side of the road that he’d known what they looked like. His first step was to open the car doors and swing at the windshield from the inside. First the driver side, then the passenger. Next, he swung the doors shut and smashed the bumper off, and set to work demolishing the front of the car, breaking off the grille, crumpling the hood and adding other damage to make it look as if it’d been in a serious wreck. When he finished the front, he decided that after the main impact, the car had been rear-ended as well and started in on the trunk. After the main damage was done, he got his electric sander to add other abrasions to make it look more like an actual accident instead of someone with a hammer.
Once he was satisfied that it looked like a real accident, he calmly put his tools away, and walked inside the house, satiated. He didn’t know if this would solve the problem, but it was worth a shot.