5.
Keiji liked sneaking things. He liked sneaking things into buildings. He was like a reverse burglar.
First he would break the lock. Even though he knew he could pick it and make it look perfectly normal, he liked watching people's jaws drop when they saw the mangled metal. Next he would throw some papers or furniture around and pull lots of drawers out. He liked making them think he was looking for something, and it gave the room a chaotic look. It was nice.
Then he would go into his own bag and find something that would look completely out of place in the room. For example, a empty beer bottle in a child's room. This was his favorite part. He would select an item, find a corner, and hide it in this corner for them to find. He always made sure they wouldn't find it until years and years later, when it was covered in dust.
Finally--he chuckled to himself--they would find it and scratch their heads over where it came from.
'Oh honey, did you buy this?'
'No, dear. I think your aunt must have given it to us. She likes those sort of things.'
'I don't think so--it looks too old to belong to my aunt. Are you sure you didn't buy this?'
It was genius! He laughed quietly into the still office as he turned a drawer up-side-down. He chuckled ominously when he opened the closet door and threw a spare coat hidden there on the floor. He stifled a guffaw as he placed a Barbie key chain near the bottom right-hand corner of the desk.
They would never find it--not these big company heads!
It wasn't bad being married to Sasuke. He didn't make her cook dinner very often. They went out to the highest-class restaurants almost every night; she was fine with this. No longer needing to work, she picked up painting. She was horrible at it, she admitted, but it was something to pass the time. She had an entire closet full of landscapes of the view of the city from outside her window. Sasuke was supportive, although he was supportive only to her face. She could feel him rolling her eyes occasionally at her from across the room.
At this she would merely laugh and flick paint from her brush onto him, which he would brush off gently with a napkin and the game would start again.
She didn't even mind when he got stuck-up-prissy about things. He would pace about the house and glare darkly at his surroundings: the walls, the table, the bed, the occasional vase of flowers she put out, the window, sometimes even her. When this happened she would stroke his arm and coo at him to tell her until he gave up and muttered about it being nothing.
The only downside was that he still didn't trust her. She could smell it on him, like a musky cloud that wafted over her every second he was near. Ever since that burglar had broken into his office. They hadn't even taken anything. She'd helped him check for any signs of missing papers or objects, and nothing had been taken.
The thought of it made her grind her teeth.
But, she decided, he could hold on to it until death did they part. She didn't even care. Why should she care? Well, she thought, 'until death do us part' is about to come much sooner then he thinks.
She smiled as she scrubbed bacon grease off a breakfast plate.
Note: I'm sorry to add the beginning--I thought I should tie up some lose ends from the last chapter before finishing up the last chapter--which should be either the next or the one after that.
Also, I'd like to apologize for the length of this chapter. Then next one should be much longer, and I wanted to get this out, like I said, to explain the last one or two things.