A Touch of Change

She always tapped. No matter her mood or his. He'd call for her in that tone he used and she'd start tapping. Her finger, her foot, didn't matter. And when they were done he'd watch her. He'd not noticed before, but he noticed now, the routine she followed. He'd watched her. She'd go to the washroom, wash him off of her. Then she'd put on her robe and leave the room. She'd come back a while later with a cup of tea- he could always smell the whiskey in it, though.

It was familiar to him, that routine. Hadn't he watched her do it dozens of times?

Back when she'd been his whore and not his wife.