Shapes [DISCONTINUED]

03 | Scraping

I was left blinking up at the ceiling in silence, completely in shock replaying what had just happened a few moments ago.

Okay so kind of a so-so argument with my husband occurred, we ended up having sex, lots of big, very big warning signs and changes in his actions occurred.

And then he had just left the room without so much as a second glance.

I blinked again, letting that process.

"Oh hell no." I said to myself, and it was as if some sort of alarm in my head rang 'get your man back in check' began to flash before my eyes as I sat myself up, quickly putting my clothes back on and angrily tying my robe closed as I rushed outside in a mad dash.

"Oh hell no, no, absolutely not." I muttered to myself in rage, entering our main bedroom thinking he had gone back to go and rest ever getting some, only to find it empty.

I was seething, like puffs of steam were coming out from my nostrils before I heard noise from the kitchen downstair, making me freeze at the doorway of our room before full on charging down the flight of stairs, my small legs most definitely a blur underneath my long robe.

"We most definitely need to talk Heath. You cannot just climb into bed with me then give me the best, rough, sex ever- allah forgive," I paused my rant to look up at the ceiling before returning back to my lecture.

"And then just leave like that thinking it will solve everything. No, we are talking about your emotions and what's going on and we are talking about them right- what are you doing?" I stopped in my tracks when I saw Heath violently rummaging through the kitchen cabinet and pantries, leaving the small doors open as he urgently opened each and everyone of them, searching for something.

"Heath?" My soft, cautious voice carried through the room as I wrapped my arms around myself, slowly nearing his bent form as he desperately searched through pantry, my eyes widening as I quickly ducked when he carelessly tossed a box of crackers behind him.

I looked over my shoulder at the discarded package of food with an offended frown.

"Hey- hey I like those crackers. What are- what are you doing." I demanded, turning back and trying to approach him only to stumble away at the unfamiliar, foreign tone and accent of his voice as he moved his haywire attention back to the open fridge.

"Jesus Christ lady, what kind of shit food do you keep in here." Heath ridiculed in an American accent, his voice deeper and raspier than usual, face hidden inside the fridge.

I scrunched my face.

Did he just call me lady?

His well built frame suddenly straightened.

"Oh now we're talkin'," He celebrated with a throaty chuckle of triumph, taking out a can of cheese whiz before grabbing an arm load of junk food and snacks from the pantry as I watched my delirious husband raid our own kitchen, boxes of poptarts and bags of chips slipping from his grasp which he chose to ignore before splaying them across the counter with wide, excited blue eyes as he licked his lips.