Secretary | muke [c]

Nine

"It's past eight o'clock." Jane barely waited for Michael to close the front door behind him before she stomped out of the kitchen, standing in front of her husband with her hands on her hips and her lips pushed into a thin line.

"I was at work, Jane." Michael sighed, giving her a stern look as he shrugged his blazer off. "Can I at least come into my house before getting called on for nothing?"

"I called the office and your secretary said you weren't there. Where the fuck were you, Michael?" The faux blond knew the tone well enough. He knew exactly what she meant by that question, but Michael wasn't sure if his stomach dropped to the pit of his stomach because Jane thought he was capable of that, or if it was because he actually was capable of that.

Michael walked past his wife, tossing his blazer onto the white couch before rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. He could feel Jane's heavy glare digging holes into the back of his head, and with every ticking second he felt like he was closer and closer to exploding. "Are you asking me if I'm having an affair?"

The red head scoffed. "You tell me, are you?"

He didn't even bother looking at her as he yanked the fridge open, taking one of the bottles of beer from inside and slamming the top of it against the white marble counter to get the top off. He knew Jane hated it when he did that, so he purposely made it visible for her. The sound of Jane huffing made him smile slightly, the satisfaction of knowing he was pushing her buttons flowing through him. "I'm a lawyer, Jane," Michael spoke calmly, knowing that also annoyed her. "I don't always work from the office. You know, we go to this place called a court? Where we win these things we call cases and that's where our money comes from."

"Stop talking to me like I'm a seven year old." She snapped, her dark brown eyes narrowing at her husband as he leaned his hip against the counter, masking his smirk by taking a swig of his beer. "And wipe that stupid smile off your face!"

"What smile?"

"You know what, Michael, I'm getting really fucking tired of this all the time. You need to grow up."

Michael would usually let Jane lash out on him. Not because he thought badly of himself, but because it simply wasn't worth the fight. But the way she had said it; her bossy tone and the disgusted look on her face drove him to his breaking point. "And you know what, Jane? You need to stop being a fucking bitch."

Michael expected a slap on the face, he expected screaming or maybe even another glass of wine being thrown his way. Instead, he got nothing. Jane was looking at him directly, but her expression was blank. He didn't know if he was supposed to feel relieved that he wasn't getting a beating for saying what he did, or if he felt sad that she didn't seem upset at all that he thought of her as a bitch. They stood still for a few minutes, neither of them wanting to make a move until Jane slowly lifted her hands to show Michael her middle fingers.

"You're an idiot. Fuck you."

Michael had no time to react before she was storming out of the kitchen, stomping up the stairs in her stilettos. Michael remained in the kitchen, hearing the distant sound of the bedroom door slamming shut at the end of the corridor and the muffled screams of his wife coming from inside. He didn't know what to do; if it had been five years prior, Michael would've gone running to her, apologising for saying what he did and begging for her forgiveness. Now, he honestly couldn't care less. Deep down, he was sort of glad he had said it.

Downing the remains of his beer, the faux blond slowly made his way up the stairs, knowing he wasn't even allowed in the master bedroom anymore as he entered the guest room. It was a rather empty looking room, nothing other than a bed, nightstand, chest of drawers and desk filling up the big room. Whenever Michael walked into his house, he wondered why Jane wanted such a big house for only the two of them. He was constantly feeling lonely in there, feeling like it was all just too much. The minimalist decoration didn't help either; to Michael, all of it just felt cold and intimidating.