Kneads

She began to knead the dough, counting under her breath with every cycle.

"3, 4..."

He walked in, and crossed his arms.

"We need to talk."

She continued to knead.

"7, 8..."

"I am sick of having to carry the load in this relationship."

"12, 13..."

"I'm always making apologies for you, always keeping appointments, I'm sick of doing all the work."

"17, 18..."

"For god's sake, can you at least pay attention now?"

"24, 25..."

"Fuck it, I'm done, I'll be back in the morning for my things."

He left, slamming the door.

"30.

There, just what I kneaded."