The Regrets are Useless in My Mind {Sick of Me}

Regrets, everyone has them. No matter who you are, you are still going to have something in your life that you wished you could change. One thing that would have made your life completely different, and the thought that you would be so much happier if you had done it that way pops into your head until the day you die. Sometimes you even wish you would die, just to get that out of your mind so you wouldn't have to deal with your mistake for another minute.
I have several regrets. I regret not finishing school completely, so I wouldn't have been teased by my wife numerous times during our marriage for dropping out, or using the word "anyways". "It's anyway," she would say, and I'd roll my eyes and thank her for being so picky.
I regret not buying her precious soda on my way back from work the day she was home, sick with the flu. I had a pretty gnarly, fork-shaped gash on my forehead thanks to that mistake. Sometimes I think she liked the soda more than she liked me.
I regret mentioning how cute children were as we walked by a woman with a stroller. She kicked me really hard in the shin for that. I still wince when I think of her threatening me. "If you mention children one more time, no sex. Forever. And I also won't kick your shin next time."
I regret not giving her anything close to what she deserved. I regret not seeing how lucky I was to have her. I regret not showing her how much I loved her, respected her, and worshiped her, despite how opinionated, bossy, stubborn, and violent she was.
I regret never being anywhere on time. I regret not being there enough. I regret never taking anything seriously. I regret the millions of times I fucked up. Badly.
I regret taking my wife for granted. I regret getting too drunk to know right from wrong. I regret forgetting the ring on my finger promising I would love her forever and not betray her, hurt her.
I regret cheating on her.
But my biggest regret would forever be not checking the date on a soon-to-be horrible day that would haunt me for eternity.

I blinked as I tried to keep my eyes focused on the beer-covered counter. I felt as if I moved my eyes at all, I would fall right to the floor. It was about ten o'clock at night, and Mike, Tre, and I had decided to stop at the bar after a long and eventful and surprisingly productive day in the studio. So I was feeling pretty fucking good right then.
"Dudes, you know what? Yeah. Ooooh, I know! Let's have a party!" Tre squealed, his eyes wide as his hand waved around wildly, spilling his beer on Mike. "Yeah, we can have a party at Billie's!"
I groaned and coaxed myself to turn my head, feeling relieved that my face wasn't on the grimy bar floor, as was expected. "Tre man, we can't, remember? Kate went nuts last time," I said, rolling my eyes at his crestfallen expression as I sipped my own beer.
"But, Beej! Mike's isn't an option either! Uh... Whatsername was all, uhhh, 'Don't touch that garden hose, dumbass!'" Tre shifted on his barstool and blinked as he slowly slid off and onto the floor.
Mike grunted from beside me. "Damn it, Tre. How many times does it take for you to remember my wife's name?"
"I know it.... It's Kate!" he said, standing back up.
"Not her! The prettier one!"
"Thanks," I said sarcastically. Mike shrugged.
"Well, what is it, then?" Tre huffed.
"Henderson!"
"Yeah, Henderson! That's her name! Sorry, Mike... I'll remember next time, I promise. Yeah, party at Billie's. Kate won't mind, trust me. I am the master of persuasion. And I can use the hose at your house! Yay!"
"Whatever," I muttered with a sigh as Tre continued to plan his party. There was no point in arguing with him while he was drunk. Hopefully, he wouldn't remember our conversation anyway. And if he did, I was screwed because I knew Kate wasn't going to like it at all; although, I couldn't help giggling as Tre suggested that we have streamers and party hats. The man was insane.
"Anyway, speaking of Kate," Mike started, turning to me, "What'd you get her?"
I stared at him blankly and blinked several times, and he rolled his eyes. "What d'you mean...?"
"For her birthday, numbnuts," he said exasperatedly. After his words settled in my brain for a few seconds, I felt as if someone had just punched me as hard as they could in the stomach, and my heart suddenly had dropped into my shoes. My eyes shot open, wide and panicked, as I looked at Mike.
"What's the... what's the date today...?" I choked out hesitantly.
Mike's eyes widened almost as much as mine had. "Oh god, please tell me you're kidding." After seeing that my expression hadn't changed in the slightest, he continued slowly, "It's the 22nd of October. Your wife's birthday."
Next thing I knew, I was sprinting to my car, now feeling completely sober, my heart racing. I quickly unlocked the door, started the engine, and drove out of the parking lot, praying that I would think of something to make the situation better before I made it home.
Twenty minutes later I pulled up in front of my house, the cliche "I forgot something super important and hopefully these will make up for it" bouquet of flowers resting in the passenger seat of my car as I hastily shut off the engine and tore off my seatbelt.
My feet crunched on the grass as I walked towards the house, hoping she wouldn't yell too much.
"Okay, hunny, I'm really sorry. Please, please don't kill me," I muttered to myself, seconds before the front door opened and out stomped my gorgeous birthday girl... that I had probably pissed off so much that, come tomorrow, I would be in a lot of pain. She was carrying a box as she strode across the front of the house, towards the garage.
I tentatively followed her and stayed back as she placed the box in her car. I could hear her sobbing and I felt an agonizing pang in my chest. I took a step forward, the flowers out in front me, almost protectively, and she quickly turned towards me, the moonlight making her watery blue eyes and the tears running down her cheeks glisten.
"What the fuck are those?" she whispered hoarsely, glancing down at the flowers. "You really think those are going to help? Make me think you care about me in the least?"
I flinched at the coldness of her voice. "I--"
"You smell like Tre. You went out and got drunk instead of coming home, I assume?"
"Look, I'm so, so sorry, baby. It was a really long day in the studio... and--"
"That's what it always is. You always put that first. Well, Billie, I'm tired of it. I-I want to be first!" She pushed past me and walked back into the house.
Once again, I followed her and waited in the foyer, setting the flowers on the table next to me. I could hear rustling upstairs and sighed. Now I would have to convince her to stop packing again. She would usually come down, say she was packed and ready to go, and wait for me to open my mouth so she could yell for a half hour. I always ended up convincing her to stay in the end, and then I would spend the rest of the night helping her unpack. I was used to it though; I fucked up a lot.
She walked down the stairs, carrying two overstuffed suitcases with her and disappeared outside. When she returned and started up the stairs again, I groaned.
"Kate, I--"
"Don't want to hear it."
After about ten minutes of trying to get her attention while she continued to carry more of her bags down the stairs, I began to realize the seriousness of the situation.
Maybe she wasn't bluffing this time.
"Kate," I sighed, grabbing her shoulder. "Please stop. I told you I was sorry."
She scoffed, trying to conceal a sob as she shrugged my hand off and walked out the front door. "So? I'm sick of this, Billie. I'm sick of you."
Hearing her car start, I realized I had two options: I either had to run out there and beg her not to leave before she pulled out of the driveway, or I had to wait and give her some time to calm down before I went over to Mike's, where I was almost a hundred percent sure she was going, and then beg her to forgive me.
I bit my lip and sat down on the bottom of the stairs with my head in my hands as I heard her car leave, praying to God I hadn't made a huge mistake.

It was a huge mistake. I regret not going after her. If only I had known that as soon as she had turned the corner she would have gotten in a car accident, I would have done things differently.
I watched as everyone walked up to the casket, silently praying that my time to stand up would never come. I couldn't bear to look at her, to realize my mistake, to finally have to admit she was gone.
Mike had forced me to come, saying it would be good for me to see her, so I could get past what had happened. But I knew that would never happen; no matter what I did, that night-- that entire day-- would be stuck in my head, replaying over and over, torturing me, till the day I died.
I felt a hand on my shoulder and looked up at Mike, trying my hardest to keep the tears from slipping out of my eyes. He looked at me with nothing but sadness in his light-blue eyes. I heard hiccupping from behind him and knew it was Henderson. She was Kate's best friend, and I knew this was difficult for her too.
"Billie, it's your turn. Everyone has gone up already. I understand if you can't handle seeing her, but I just want you to consider it," Mike said softly as Henderson broke into a fit of tears and clung to his side.
I realized then that I didn't want to have my last memory of her be when she had walked out the door. I nodded and got to my feet, preparing myself to move forward. "I-I want to see h-her."
Before I had expected it, I had walked up to the casket and was staring down at her. She lay inside, her hands neatly placed on top of each other, an unnatural smile on her pale face and her eyes shut gently to make her look as peaceful as possible. Her dark-brown hair that usually fell forward and covered her face was pulled back behind her ears, the wavy curls lying on her shoulders. She was so pale, so lifeless, I could barely believe it was her.
I felt a sudden need to hold her, tell her I was sorry, tell her I loved her. I didn't want to admit she was gone, but seeing her like that proved it. My hand slowly reached down and covered hers, and I bit my lip, trying to contain the sob that had almost escaped after I felt the coldness of her skin.
"Good-bye." A few tears fell out of my eyes and onto her dress as my hand moved to her face. I touched her cheek and softly brushed my fingers past her lips, thinking of what she had last said to me as I turned and walked away.
You know, I think I'm sick of me too.


I know, I suck.