About an hour ago, Billie came home pissed for whatever. You didn't care. You never did. She never bothered to tell you about it because it would end up in a fight, but you just looked at her for two seconds too long, and it ticked her off. "The fuck are you lookin' at?" She spat, giving you that familiar look that told you she was going to argue with you over something stupid. Before you knew it, the two of you were at each other's throats, pushing, shoving, and throwing stuff per usual. You brought up last events, made up weak excuses, basically anything to riled each other up. Now, the two of you are on other sides of the kitchen. The house was silent, the tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. Neither of you spoke up to say sorry. You never did.