Drive

What is it that drives people to do the various things that they do? That is a question that I can only answer for myself, not for anyone else. Sure they could give me an answer to the question, and I could even believe them. Or could I? I mean, they could have this secret agenda or even darker motives behind what they do. Would you really want to know what motivates someone if the answer to that question would make you wonder about the core of humanity?

So, again, I ask the question, what drives people to do the things they do?

Let me give some background on why I ask that question. I was a happily married man. A loving wife, two great kids, house in suburbia, family dog, mini-van, you know, the whole ball of wax.

My wife’s name was Mariah, she was something to look at, that’s for sure. Long, dark hair falling down her back, big brown eyes, full wet lips, and what an ass she had. I’d always thought she was the sexiest woman I’d ever laid eyes on way back in college and even to this day think that.

I still remember our first date, it was just the usual thing, you know what I mean. Dinner and a movie, predictable and fun. That’s always been the biggest complaint that I had from Mariah that I was predictable, if she only knew the truth about how predictable I was.

Enough about that though, things began to change with Mariah about two months ago. She had always been able to handle me working late with my work. Well, I guess I could be wrong on that one, but we’ll get to that part soon enough. Two months ago she began to act strange, looking at me across the dinner table our of the corner of her eyes, a little too long with the silence in the bedroom, not adding that little bit extra of starch I like on my clothes. Simple things she’s been doing for years that seem to have stopped.

Then a bombshell dropped about three weeks ago. I come home and find her in a fury over something. When I walk through the door, china flies by my head and shatters on the wall next to me.

“You son of a bitch.” She screamed that at the top of her lungs.

“How could you do this to me? How long have you been sleeping with the slut? How long has it been since you didn’t want me anymore?” she yelled with tears in her eyes.

I didn’t say a word to her at that point. I just thought I’d let her scream it out and be done with it.

“I know you’re seeing someone else,” she continued, “who is she, how long has it been?”

I didn’t offer up any answer at all to her. I hadn’t broken my vows to her, but saying that would have been worthless to say. Since I hadn’t done anything wrong, I just walked right by her towards our bedroom.

“Fuck you, you son of a bitch.” That was the last thing I heard from Mariah that night.

Over the next several weeks, it remained the same with her. Constant cursing and breaking dishes became the norm. The kids went to stay with her folks since mine were in another state. On and on she kept yammering at me about a non-existent girlfriend.

It all came to a head last night when I had to go out and do some work. I got my toolkit together and put it in the car and then headed downtown, where it seemed my work always took me. Always the voices said will you find work there.

It was dark by the time I got there. Finding my next project took me less than 10 minutes. It was almost as if she was volunteering.

She flagged me down as I rounded a corner and pushed her head into open window. “Wanna date, honey?” she asked like she had done this thousands of times. I nodded my head and in she climbed.

As she opened the door, the light came on and I could see her up close. She was better looking than the average whore that worked downtown, not by much, but still noticeable. She had shoulder length blonde hair and was heavily made up. Her tits were what I noticed most though. They were huge, poking out over a pot-belly. She would do.

We settled on a price and went to find somewhere we could be alone to conclude our business arrangement. As she began to undress, I reached and pulled my tool kit out. As her shirt came over head, my hands shot out and wrapped a piece of knotted rope around her arms while her head was still hidden by her shirt. As it went around her arms, I pulled it tight and had her helpless in one move.

She began to yell, but a few punches to her head left her senseless and laying across the passenger seat…just the way I wanted her. I reached into my tool kit again and withdrew the most important tool of all, my knife. The handle was worn from use, for I had put it to work many times. The blade reflected in the light and it still had a razor edge to it. I admired it for a few seconds and then heard the whore starting to come to.

I put my hands over her mouth to keep her from her yelling or making any more noises as I began to cut her. I got carried away and lost in my work and didn’t notice the figure approaching.

As my arm was upraised for another stab, a light was suddenly in face.

“I caught you, you son of…” Mariah never finished the sentence, she just stared at me as I brought the knife down into the whore’s chest several more times.

I opened the door and climbed out over the whore and walked toward Mariah. The knife dripped blood on the ground as I moved towards her. Not a word did I say to her. Never had I cheated on her, I just wanted to do my work and now she had disturbed that.

Now my own wife would become my next project. Mariah was frozen in place as I came up to her. Never did she make any kind of alarm. Her eyes just stared at me. Not even the knife penetrating her flesh made her eyes leave mine, no sound came from her lips till finally she gave her last breath and slipped from this world.

All of this has led me back to the question I originally asked. What makes people do the things they do? Mariah was my wife, my lover, the mother of my children, yet she had to know what made me do my work. Ask yourself, do you really want to know what makes the person laying next to you in bed do the things they do.