(You can MUST read Part I here.)

The day I was leaving, I spent a good amount of time packing up. Antonio had rented a hotel room by the week, and since I was only there six days, he was going to come back for his things after he’d gotten rid of me.

This, for some reason, made packing way harder for me. No, I don’t mean emotionally, though that was hard. It was harder because there was still STUFF all over the place. I’m used to packing in a hotel room and then scouring it inch-by-inch for left over items so I can SURE i haven’t forgotten anything.  (Like the lube that got tossed under the bed.)  But, since he had his things everywhere, I couldn’t do that this time.

*stress*

Anyway, after I was FINALLY satisfied with my packing in the bathroom, I left my all-packed-up toiletries bag in there because I wanted to brush my teeth once more before we left, and wanted to pack the toothbrush in there afterward. I told Antonio I was all clear in there and he went to take a shower.

I went about my packing in the main room, doing a lot of pacing, packing and unpacking and repacking, muttering to myself, and generally looking like a fool. 

I was finally feeling like I had everything together when he came out of the shower. I went to brush my teeth and grab my toiletries bag.

Instead I stood, gaping, at the bathroom. He was coming out, with a towel around his waist. (And while that’s a lovely sight, it’s not what caught my eye.) He looked behind himself, where I was staring, and said (almost as an afterthought), “I had to go through your stuff to get your shampoo.”

Apparently, totally unbeknownst to me, he had been using my shampoo and conditioner all week. Obviously, that’s fine. But he hadn’t mentioned it ALL week, so I didn’t KNOW he was doing it!  If I had known, I wouldn’t have packed everything up before he’d showered that morning.

Anyway, what left me slack-jawed was the state of the bathroom. He had taken EVERY goddamn thing out of my toiletries bag – shampoo, conditioner, body wash, razor, loofah, makeup-remover pads, razor blades, lotion, nail polish, manicure set, toe separators, etc. etc. etc.

Not only had he taken it all out, he had STREWN it across the floor. It was just… Everywhere.  Like he’d opened the bag, and shook it out on the floor while spinning in a circle or something.

I smiled a shell-shocked, crooked smile at him and said, “All my hard work, undone!” And he just said, “Yup.”

I smiled inwardly, too. Because. You know. It was just so HIM. So Boss-like. So dismissive of that chunk of my time and energy and sanity.

It’s not that I LOVE him dismissing my time and energy or sanity. It was just one of those reminder-moments.  Because as I was thinking how it was clearly easier for him to simply toss MY stuff around to get MY shampoo and conditioner that he had been using all week without even telling ME that I realized… It’s not “my” stuff. They aren’t “my” things.

I don’t get to bring things into this life and this relationship without them, immediately and intrinsically, becoming his. And as his, he can do with them as he pleases.

It is kind of awesome.  Even if it makes me insane(r).