Page 41 of Burn Bag
I shoved open my door and hopped out, snatching a cart from the return. Right now, I needed to get as far away from my new husband as possible before I blew a gasket and punched him in front of witnesses. That probably wouldn’t be good for when I decided to divorce his ass.
Shoving the cart inside, I stormed my way to the far side of the grocery store and found the biggest bag of litter I could. When I tried to tug it from the shelf, I grunted in frustration to find it snagged between two bags. No matter how hard I pulled, the damn thing wouldn’t come loose.
“Would you step aside and let me help you?”
Like I needed his help. He was only here because he drove, and after the way he called me insane, I absolutely would not accept help from him. Sticking my foot against a lower shelf, I grunted as I heaved with all my might.
“You know, you could do something silly like move one of the other bags out of the way.”
I slowly turned and glared at him. I was well aware of what needed to be done, but I was angry enough right now that the last thing I wanted to do was be logical. He held out his hands and stepped back, giving me space. After another two minutes of struggling, I decided to give up and search for an even bigger bag of litter.
Sweating and already out of energy, I found an equally large bag just two brands down. With shaky arms, I grabbed the bag and hefted it up on my shoulder, then marched down the aisle to the cart, wondering why I hadn’t brought the cart with me.
As for my dear husband, he waited most dutifully for me to return, smirking at me the whole time. I hoisted the bag off my shoulder and into the cart, sending it rolling away from the motion. Snatching the handle, I veered in the direction of the food, ignoring hubby’s footsteps behind me.
As for my choices in kitten food, there were so many. I didn’t reallyhave the money to spoil the kittens, but on the other hand, I wanted them to have the best. Did I go with wet food or dry food? After the trauma of being in that horrible clinic, I wanted them to taste really good food. Ideally, that would be fresh chicken every day, but somehow, I didn’t think training them to eat people food was the way to go.
“Good God, how fucking long does it take to pick out food?”
“I have to get something good,” I snapped.
“Then go with this one,” he pointed to the cheapest brand. “I see it on TV all the time.”
“That is full of crap,” I hissed. “I’m not giving them that garbage.”
“Then get this one! It’s the most expensive.” He started grabbing a bag that I most assuredly could not afford for them to get hooked on.
“That’s too expensive. I can’t afford that.”
“Is it the stuff you want?” he sighed.
I studied the label and compared it to others. The whole time, his foot tapped on the ground in annoyance. In the end, I settled on a mix between wet food for dinner and dry food for the rest of the day. As I started to load up the cart, his eyebrows shot in the air.
“Just how many kittens are you feeding?”
“I’m just stocking up,” I answered, completely lying to him. He would kill me soon enough, but not before I had enough food for my kittens.
When I grabbed the dry food, he sighed heavily, “Let me. You’re gonna give yourself a hernia.”
“I am not!”
“You lift with your arms. Everyone knows you’re supposed to lift with your knees.”
“Well, I’m not everyone. And it’s just a bag of cat food.”
“It’s just twenty-five pounds of shit that will tear your back apart if you don’t learn how to lift it the right way,” he argued as he grabbed the bag and tossed it in the cart like it weighed nothing. “Now, can we go?”
“I need a litter box or two.”
“Daph, there are only three kittens. I hardly think we need more than one litter box.”
Oh, how little he knew. I rounded the corner and picked up three, along with the appropriate mats to make sure the litter didn’t spread everywhere. By the time I got to the checkout lane, I had mentally tallied everything in my head and decided I could afford it for now, but would have to find a job soon enough.
I pulled out my wallet and was about to hand over my card when the hulking man I called my husband stepped forward and handed over his card.
“I can take care of it.”
“It’s fine,” he said dismissively.
