Breakups To Make UpS(ex)

“Oh, so now you’re leaving?”

I glared at him and kept packing.

“I’m talking to you.”

“Yeah, well don’t. I don’t have anything to say to you.”

“Alright, well go ahead then. Don’t ‘accidentally’ leave with any of my stuff either. Matter of fact, lemme help you move this along quicker.”

I watched him walk over to the closet out of the corner of my eye and start pulling my stuff off of hangers; the red dress I had worn to the gallery opening, the t-shirt I had worn to the first game we went to, the jeans that made him slide his hands into the back pockets as he held me. My anger renewed, I spat the words at him like tobacco.

“Don’t touch my shit. I don’t want any of your raggedy ass clothes anyway. I can pack my own things without your help.”

“Oh? So were they raggedy when you were laying in them the other day or are they just raggedy all of a sudden?”

“Get out of my face.”