Taking out the Trash Ray Barr
The room was suddenly silent. She backed away from him, but she couldn’t look elsewhere. Her gaze fixed on his eyes. His eyes that were still looking at the door. His eyes that held her in silence.
She broke the silence with a laugh.
He didn’t react, of course. His face remained the unchanged stoic model. She had never won before, but it didn’t feel as glorious as she’d imagined. He ruined her satisfaction. The one time she ever hoped for joy, he managed to spoil that, too. How could she expect anything different from him? There is no way in hell he would gratify her by actually emoting for once.
She breathed a sigh while moving into the bedroom. He stayed.
She tossed her belt down in the middle of the floor and went to his closet. When she opened the door her anger redoubled; her closet could have fit in his three times over. “Relax,” she breathed, It’s my closet now. She started on the shirts, but it didn’t really matter the order. After the shirts, she moved on to the ties. So many fucking ties. Who needs five green ties? She could almost picture him holding up two of them, trying to decide if it was an emerald or shamrock day. 48
