Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to any (song) names/persons mentioned in this story. This is a fictitious representation of events. Uses are for entertainment purposes only.
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May 15th, 2020 - 3:43pm - 1109 E Bradshire Rd - Houston, Texas
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"There's a pile of dirty dishes in the sink."
I rolled my eyes as I walked through the front door, tossing my purse onto the sofa. It was a known fact that I could be away from the house for weeks at a time and still come back to a messy home. Shawn simply refused to leave the comfort of his recliner chair long enough to help out. How he survived on his own after all of these years? I will never know.
I kicked my red bottoms from my feet, shutting the door with my foot as I made my way into the house, brushing past him in a vague effort to coax him off his chair. I could feel his eyes following be into the kitchen, as if making sure I was following his warning. I refused to give in that easily, instead making my way to the refrigerator in a desperate search for a soda. I wasn't necessarily angry at the fact that I was the one to do everything in the house, but I wasn't exactly thrilled either. With that in mind, I muttered softly beneath my breath.
"If you want the damn dishes done, maybe you should get up off your ass and do them during the day..." I pulled the tab on the soda until the can opened, the soft sound of fizz catching my ear.
Apparently it was enough of a distraction to miss Shawn coming into the kitchen behind me, chuckling in sarcasm at the words he caught me saying beneath my breath.
"You seem to be forgetting, Beyoncé, that I provide for you in more ways than one."
I spun on my heels, my body jumping slightly. Enough to spill a bit of the newly opened soda on the white tile of the kitchen floor. I hadn't expected him to be in the kitchen, let alone standing nose-to-nose with me. His eyes catching a hold of mine, that big, cheesy grin stretched out across his face as he reminded me for the millionth time.
"Would you like a medal for being born rich? I know how hard it must be to have everything handed to you. I'm surprised someone hasn't honoured your hard work already..."
I let my words trail off, an obvious hint of sarcasm tainting them. I brought the can of soda to my lips, taking a small sip in an effort to hide the smirk I wore.
Shawn and I often involved ourselves in petty little arguments much like this. He'd get upset that I didn't do a chore to perfection; I'd get upset that he never helped out around the house. He would remind me that it's his money we're living off, while I bitched about him not having to work for it.
The thing about these little arguments was that they, in the end, were all in fun. We were never truly angry with each other, nor did we really mean any of the hateful things we said. The two of us separately were very independent, stubborn and selfish people. Together, we struggled to dominate the other for our own, sick amusement and personal enjoyment.
