Pulling my clothes from hangers, I move to my empty suitcase and throw the pieces in without folding. Damn him and his hot and cold bullshit! Who in the fuck does he think he is? I stomp to the dresser and empty each drawer, one by one, into the luggage. Kneeling down, I yank out underwear, some jeans, socks, and a long-sleeved t-shirt. The pants and shirt are comfortable enough for the trip home tomorrow. Throwing them into a pile, I start shoving everything else down. This morning, he couldn't get off me quick enough, and now, in front of his mom and sister, he pulls that shit. Stupid overgrown hairball. With one last shove, I stand, and remember I didn't take out pajamas for tonight. "Ugh," I groan, loud. "What are you doing?" His voice surprises me, but it also inflames my anger. "What's it look like, genius?" I snap before leaning down and digging into the clothes to pull out shorts and a t-shirt.
