This is a work of fantasy. It is not about real people, and if it is, it´s not what they would do. (not that you are likely to know them anyway). If you are under 18, go away, since I donít like to get in trouble. If you are turned off by perversion, what are you doing at ASSTR? In other words, go away. If none of this applies to you, great! Read on! Have fun! Let me know what you like!
Oh, and I work hard on my writing...so guess what? Itís mine. Thatís right boys and girls...itís copyrighted...so if you want it? Just ask...weíll talk.
She stepped into the living room dropping her keys on the table. She rolled her neck, working on getting out the strain. She tensed when she saw it.
Her bookshelves were gone. In their place was the large 50 gallon fish tank that they stored years earlier because of its unwieldy size. The lights were glaring against the stone strewn bottom and a new filter system was thrumming noisily. It was obviously just waiting for the addition of fish.
She heaved a deep sigh.
"What's with you?" he remarked sarcastically.
"What is THAT?"
"It's the fish tank. The one that's been sitting in the basement for 4 years?" He answered her with false calmness.
"Don't be facetious. You knew what I meant."
"Great something else to take up the damn room. Do I dare ask how much you spent putting it back together?" she glared at him. "Of course not, I can see it in your face. You have the gall to bitch at me over how much I spend and you go and do this? Did it even occur to you to ask what I
"Well, I've been thinking about it for some time. The fish calm me down after a long day. They're peaceful. You know I like it. "
"Yeah, like last time? You ended up flushing the fish down the toilet!"
"That isn't what happened. And even if I did, what do you care? They were mine anyway."
She took a deep breath. "It is what happened and you know it. You can lie to yourself, but don't lie to me. You always get things, let me get attached, then get rid of them when YOU'RE tired of them!"
"Fucking cunt." he muttered. She turned away attempting to ignore it, knowing he was trying to piss her off. She clenched and unclenched her fists in a desperate attempt to control her anger then stepped backward into the bedroom.
"That's right, just like always, go and fucking pout."
"Well, better to pout than try to talk sense into that Neanderthal rock you like to call your brain." she undertoned.
"What was that?!"
"Nothing." She sighed.
"Bullshit it was nothing. If you want to say something-say it."
"Oh, you mean like muttering 'fucking cunt' under your breath? Follow your own damn advice."
"Well, you heard it, didn't you?" He stepped closer putting his face in hers.
"Just go away. Talk to me when you can act like an adult." She turned to shut the bedroom door on
"Don't you fucking dismiss me in my own damn house!" he apoplexed.
"I stated what I had to say. If you can't deal with, shove off. You bitch and bitch about every little nickel and dime I spend on fucking necessities, then you go off and spend what? A hundred dollars?" a ghost of guilt crossed his face at this, "and yet you STILL manage to turn this around so it's MY fault?" She took a deep breath. "I'm not saying you couldn't've had it. I'm saying it would've been nice to have been consulted."
"Fine! I won't get the fucking fish! Is that what you want?" He stormed over to the fishtank.
"Jesus Christ! Aren't you listening to me?" she shook her head knowing the answer. "I'm not pissed over the fish...I'm pissed that you didn't bother talking to me about it. I live here too you know."
"Fuck this." With that he snatched his keys off the nearby table and stomped out the door.
"Where are you going?"
"None of your damn business!" he said as the door slammed shut.
She really didn't expect anything different. He'd come back later with all the fish he wanted. Never apologize and act as if nothing happened, no matter how much she glowered or begged him to apologize. Never thought about her. Never listened.
So much for the peace the fish tank would bring. Who needed it?
It was perfectly peaceful without him.
© Dryad (email@example.com) 2003