The bastard!

“Babe, baby, honey, c’mon.” The pig begged, on his knees behind you as if he was praying to a saint as you angrily packed a bag to go stay anywhere but this house. This dirty assholes stupid fancy, perfect house.

“C’mon, it was once. I-I just missed you so much, and she had just got the new job, and— and—” Pete was scrambling for more excuses, none which would have any effect because what he had done was irreversible.

Fucking cheating. One of the most disgusting, heinous, evil things a person could do. Just yesterday you would’ve never linked the word evil to Pete Mitchell. This felt like some sick reality. Some horrible dream sent up by the king of hell himself just to see how you’d deal with torture.

“Baby, please, just listen!” He begged, his arms reaching up to wrap around your hips. “You— You know Charlie. You know she wouldn’t— we wouldn’t— it was just—..” He stammered, blubbering as he sobbed into the small of your back.

“Fuck, I was so stupid baby. Please. I’m the dumbest. The fucking stupidest. Please, it was a fucking mistake. I’m so sorry.” He pleaded. If Pete was honest with himself, he truly felt nothing towards the woman… anymore. He seriously doesn’t know how he let this happen. He felt taken advantage of— one moment he’s ranting and babbling about how much he missed his pretty little wife, and the next Charlie has her lips pressed against his, and it just reminded him so much of you.

A stupid reason for a stupid man, truly.

Plus, what would Goose say? What would happen if you left him and his surrogate brother was to ask why Pete had gotten a divorce with who seemed to be the perfect woman? He’d get the dirtiest, disapproving look. He couldn’t handle that.

“Please,” he croaked, his eyes squeezing shut. “Please, god, please. Don’t leave. Please— I, I’ll sleep on the couch. On the floor. On the fucking porch. Whatever you want, just don’t leave.” He bawled, wishing he had never even left.