"Fuck!" he yells and sits up. "Are you alright?" I ask softly and her covers his face with his hands. "Yeah, I'm fine." "Does that happen often?" "I...said I'm fine, darlin', but thank you," he says and kisses my forehead. He slides passed me and off the bed and heads into the bathroom. I wonder if it was about the shooting, but I realize I probably shouldn't ask. We sit at the table eating quietly, neither one of us really talking. Once we're done, I put the dishes into the dishwasher and grab. I am deeply indebted to Juicy Starchild for her critique, editing and generally making my story a better read * It was 7.45am on a Friday and I could hear people outside, putting out their bins ready for the rubbish collection. I sat up, swung my legs over the side of the bed and was about to get up when I felt her hand on my arm. ‘Where are you going?’ she asked. ‘To put the bins out, it’s recycling day.’ ‘The bin men come more often than I do around here. Come back to bed.’ Something was. More

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