Wicked

26 - July 2004

Based on 2 writing challenges:
Write 400 words (or more) with out dialogue
Write 400 words inspired by "What is wicked"

A mischievous grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, his eyes alight in anticipation. She looked at him, wary. She was well aware he was up to no good. She was just as aware that there was nothing she could do about it, so she shrugged and put down the bag of groceries on the counter. It was a brown bag; she never liked the noise that came along with plastic. Or the way they dug into her hands.

He let a soft chuckle escape. She started to unload the bag, deliberately turning her back on him. Not that it helped. She still felt his eyes on her. Watching. Waiting. Most of the groceries were on the counter. She reached in for the can of tomatoes when she felt him brush against her. A quick glance showed the cookies missing, and she turned to glare him as he shoveled a third into mouth. He gave half a shrug, and smiled at her around a mouth full of cookies. She rolled her eyes and picked up the container of ricotta and the cookie dough roll and headed for the fridge. She knew he'd not leave the sweets, and had bought extra for the company tomorrow.

He held up the paper, the local sports, as she turned back towards the grocery bag. Grabbing the tomatoes and a box of pasta, she opened the pantry. He watched over the top of the paper. The muscles on her back moved in a pleasing way as she put the can on the shelf above her head. He smiled, then raised the paper she turned back to fold the bag.

She sat down, and a few moments later sighed and leaned forward to take off her shoes. He knew she was exhausted from her day, and he knew she resented him for staying at home all day. He also knew she was tired of his 'games,' as she called them. That just made it all the more fun.

She stood and, shoes in hand, headed for the bedroom. He smiled at her as she passed, and she gave him a tight smile in return. The anticipation was getting to her.

Sometimes it is too easy. Simple transgressions could set her off. Where others saw humor, she's just sigh at his immaturity. She'd learned early on that complaining only encouraged him, and heaven forbid she shout. That brought out the worst of him. Or the best, depending on who you asked. She also learned to accept his pranks, as mean as they could sometimes be, and do her best to, if not ignore, then not react to them. She also knew that he derived some sort of twisted pleasure from watching her struggle to stay composed. He took it as a challenge to his wilder side, and tried all that much harder for it.

There had been a time, when they first got together, that she enjoyed his twisted sense of humor. Though the humor had worn off, for years she still found it endearing. Lately she just found it annoying.

There's also a time when he had earnestly tried to stop doing things to annoy her. It didn't work out very well, and it didn't last long. He watched as she passed out of the room and headed upstairs. She hated surprises. She was the type of person who liked to have all the details planned out, and a contingency plan in place before undertaking any major project. This included things as simple as going to get the car wash.

By nature he was more spontaneous, and this caused a fair number of conflicts. At first he apologized for his actions, but they both quickly learned that his apologies didn't do much good, so he give them up like a bad habit.

He listened as she climbed the stairs, judging the right time to follow her up. He wanted to be there when she found the envelope he had tucked inside her dresser.

She'd be surprised to say the least, and he idly wondered about what other emotions, dismay, anger, would try to occupy her face the same time.

Two steps before the top landing, and the squeaky stair he'd not gotten around to repairing, he followed her up.

He reached the top as she emerged with slippers from the closet, tying on a robe, having unbuttoned her shirt on the way upstairs.

He leaned on the doorframe, and she looked quizzically at him. He rewarded her effort with his best false innocent grin, and she stopped to look at him. After a few moments she tired of the game, and with a shrug, resumed her routine. She didn't bother challenging him or questioning him. Experience told her it wouldn't do any good.

She went to the dresser to put away the camisole she had been wearing and saw the envelope tucked in her underwear. She folded the silk garment, and put it away before acknowledging in the intrusive presence the envelope presented. She turned to face him, knowing now why he'd followed her up, and knowing that even if she turned her back he'd still be able to catch her expression in the mirror. Might as well give him the satisfaction of it face-to-face.

A little fearful of what she may find, she tore into the envelope. Delaying the task would only make it that much worse.

He watched as she scanned the documents inside, confusion, then shock taking over her face. She looked at them, trying to comprehend, and he held out two books in explanation.

One was small and blue, her passport. The other was a hard cover. She took it from him and flipped it over to see the back. Looking up at her was a smaller image of the man before her, the same smug smile on his face.

Laughing, she embraced him, clutching the book she didn't believe he'd been writing in one hand, and airline tickets to Rome in the other. He smiled. Even after all these years of not being used, her laugh was beautiful.