We're back bitches
Grace's eyes flashed as she regarded her disgustingly annoying monogamist with searing alienation. The alienation she felt could not be equalled by any other feeling she had ever comprehended before.
Even hankering.
"Trip," she said through gritted teeth, injecting palatableness into her words to hide her utter disdain, "I think it is about time we had a bound and determined, cold and sober, no laughing matter talk."
Trip flounced out of the pocket-sized, uninhabitable room that served as the duel kitchen/bathroom and sighed dramatically, alerting Grace to the fact that he was in, what the kids would say, a blue funk. "A talk, Grace? How boring."
Grace patted the empty spot on the lounge beside her, a false smile plastered on her face, as the flamboyant man bounced out the miniature door. Trip, suddenly highly on the qui vive, sat as far away from the feminine human as he could without getting psychologically, mentally, emotionally and verbally abused. Again. For the third time that day.
"What did you want to talk about, significant other?" he chose the words carefully, as he was used to doing when around that devil woman.
"You know exactly what we have to confabulate about!" though the words were shouted, Trip felt as if she didn't really feel angry, that she was just wanting to vent for what seemed to be the millionth time. How wrong he was.
"Grace, darling," he began, carefully extracting a speck of lint from his velvet maroon suit jacket. He had to get the bottom of what the poor creature was in such a stir about – undoubtedly, some petty matter that he had absolutely no involvement in, but...
Grace's glare silenced the fumbling man-child. "Trip. I heard you last night."
He laughed awkwardly. "Uh-"
"You invited Adam over, didn't you?"
Trip tergiversated, frozen in complete terror, "...What?"
"I know you did! Don't lie to me!" Grace growled and looked away in a huff, sulking, "I thought that we'd discussed having that person over before!"
Trip blinked rapidly, hands shifting to his jacket pocket, where he stuffed them. "Um...darling...he's...well...I mean...we..."
"No." Grace became vertical – she had finally had the right amount, "This is it. The overextension point." With a hyperborean glare, Grace convoked her hat and handbag and swept out the entrance, never to be seen again.