she leaned into the stove, blowing the smoke up into the vent, so that the kitchen would remain pristine.
that thin grey stream carried her anger, her hurt, her wish that he'd die in some huge crash, leaving her a wealthy woman. for a few mill, she could look tragic and forlorn.
pulling air into her lungs, she huffed out a huge breath, cleaning all those little sacs out, or so she told herself. done, she turned to the garbage disposal, flipping it on to destroy the evidence of her secret cigarette addiction. it remained the thing she needed more than sex, more than food, more than being happy.
it was her drug of choice.. well, that and hating him deep in her heart.
meh. not my best.