Jamie Brodie 02 - Hoarded to Death

roll.
    The first thing that happened was that Pete came upstairs into our bedroom while I had everything pulled out of the closet and lying in the floor. He walked into the room and said, "Good God. You're putting all of this back, right?"
    I stuck my head out of the closet (ha) and said sweetly, "Gee, no, I thought I'd leave it all here."
    Pete glared at me. He pulled off the sweatshirt he was wearing and said, "Well, then, let me help," and tossed it onto the pile of shoes and suitcases that was blocking his path to the bathroom.
    I muttered, "Smartass." Pete climbed over and around the pile, then stuck his hand back through the door and gave me the finger.
    The second thing that happened was after I'd put everything away in the closet and had just finished scrubbing down the master bathroom. It had never been that clean. As soon as I'd finished, Pete came upstairs again, and went into the bathroom. He must have been drinking a lot of Coke. He went to the toilet and unzipped his jeans, and I yelled, "No! I just cleaned that!"
    He looked at me like I'd grown a third eyeball. "It's not gonna stay clean forever, Alice. I've gotta take a leak."
    "Well, at least let it be clean for more than thirty seconds. Go leak in the guest bathroom. And who the hell is Alice?"
    "The maid on the Brady Bunch." He continued to prepare to pee.
    I grabbed his arm and started pulling on it, which is probably not the best thing to do to a guy who's in the process of pulling his dick out of his pants. "Not in here."
    " Ow! Hey!" He jerked his arm away from me. "What the fuck is the matter with you?"
    "I told you. I just cleaned that. And you've got bad aim. And I'm not your damn maid."
    "What!? I do not have bad aim! It's no worse than yours." He tucked himself back in and came back out of the bathroom. "I'm not letting you watch Clean My Hoard any more. You're turning obsessive."
    "I am not."
    "Are too." He left the room and went to the guest room.
    I yelled out the door after him. "Am not!"
    A faint shout from the guest bathroom. "Are too!"
    Yeah, I know, real mature.
    After I'd finished the master bedroom and bath, I headed for the guest room/office. I had to move the stuff off our desks to dust, so of course Pete came in again while I had everything that had been on his desk on the floor. That set him off. "What the hell are you doing?"
    "I'm dusting your desk."
    "You've messed everything up!" He bent over and started so rting through books and papers.
    "I have not. I took everything off the desk in order, and I was gonna put it back in the same order, but now you've messed it up yourself."
    "You should have asked before you started moving my stuff."
    "Oh, so now it's your stuff. I thought everything was our stuff. And really? I should have to ask permission to dust your desk?"
    "My work stuff isn't ours, you moron, any more than your work stuff is mine. I wouldn't go messing around on your desk without permission."
    "You could if you wanted to. There's nothing on my desk that you shouldn't see." I gestured at his books and papers. " You hiding something in there?"
    "What? No! That's not the point!"
    "Well then, what is the point? 'Cause I fail to see one. But then I am a moron , according to you."
    He straightened up and actually growled, then turned and stomped out of the room.
    "Ha! I knew it! There is no point!"
    He yelled back up the stairs. "Go fuck yourself!"
    And then I made the big mistake. "Well, I guess I'll have to since I'm not allowed to fuck you!"
    Silence.
    Uh-oh.
    I tiptoed to the door of the bedroom and looked out. Pete was frozen on the landing, his head down and his fists clenched. Shit . I said weakly, "Sorry, babe. Sorry."
    He turned around and looked up at me, and I was shocked at his expression. He wasn't angry. I'd never seen such pain on his face. I sucked in a breath. "Oh my God. I'm so sorry." I had no idea what I was apologizing for, but I'd obviously done something very bad.
    He didn't say anything. He turned and walked back into the kitchen. I heard him take a lid off a pot and start stirring something.
    I ran down the stairs and into the kitchen. "Pete..."
    He held out his hand, index finger up. Stop.
    I stopped.
    We spent the rest of the day in silence.
    When we lay down in bed that night, I tried to start the conversation. "Pete..."
    He said, "Is that what you really want?"
    It took me a second, but then I knew what he was talking about. "If I said no, it would be a lie. I'm used to a more equitable