I just couldn't understand her sometimes. She stood there, seething, looking at one of my shirts. Now, of course, there would be no reason that I would be unsurprised by this. She gave me a look as if she were a very pissed off carnivore ready for the kill. I never want to see that look again. The last time I saw that look, it was from an old girlfriend when I broke up with her after I told her I thought that I was gay. Not a nice look that one. My human instinct was to walk back slowly, but I chose the Jurassic Park method, stay still, she might not see me. I had nothing to hide of course, nothing I knew about. All I know is that that shirt wasn't something she liked.
"I CANNOT believe you!" She shouted, throwing the shirt on the ground angrily. I couldn't help but look at her, almost annoyed.
"What?"
"Oh you know!" She marched over to me and stuck a manicured finger in my face. "You know perfectly well." She was really serious about my shirt. I sighed and rolled my eyes.
"Angel cake, I have no idea what you're talking about." I told her, trying to act cool. I actually got tired of her when she was like this.
"You have no idea that you're a traitor, a cheating bastard?" Angel asked me, still steaming like the crazy train she must have come off of. I simply cocked an eyebrow.
"Baby, would you just tell me what's wrong?" I asked, now getting a bit annoyed. She huffed and walked back to our dresser and picked up my shirt. She walked back over and threw it at me. I took a look at the shirt, and I swear to God I could just fall to the floor and die. Or kill her. I would understand if there was lipstick, or something ridiculous like that. No, nothing like that here. The shirt was red, and had a number 27 on the back, Greg Harris above that. It was a jersey. Turning to the front, there were a pair of red socks, and the words Red Sox patched above. I looked at her. She was scowling at me, her red lips all pouted out Her arms were crossed against her chest, and she bare foot was tapping on the rug, not making any sound. She was adorable. I actually felt a little guilty owning a Boston team shirt, only because of that look. Then, I laughed, just thinking about what she had done.
"What?" She asked me in a pathetic voice, pretty defensive. I looked right at her, throwing the jersey down and took her by the arm, holding her close.
"You're a crazy bitch." I told her and kissed her, holding her as close as I could. I was ready for a smack, but of course, as expected, she just kissed me back.
Never saw that shirt again until I saw it ripped up under the sink. It was all dirty, and Angel told me that she was finally putting that damn thing to some use.
AN: Oh boy, it's been a time. I have written a lot since we last saw each other, but, nothing i finished, except this dumb thing. So, in the name of pre game season, or whatever, I give this to you. Maybe something more..intelligent.
Go RED SOX.