The Ring

"What are you doing, Axe?" I ask as I watch him unpack the dirty jeans he woke up in this afternoon.

"A ring," Axe replies as he digs deep into his pants pocket.

Axe chuckles when he doesn't find what he's looking for. He laid the pants roughly on the mattress, then bent at the waist like he was thinking about something.

"What ring are you looking for?"

"The ring you gave me back."

Axe spoke without looking me in the eye. He even bent down to look for the ring under the bed. Seriously, if the little thing was kept in his pants pocket. The ring wouldn't be lost considering Axe wore jeans while waiting for me for six days and five nights.

Besides, why would he suddenly think of a ring. I just left him downstairs for a while to clean up his vomit.

Speaking of rings. I can't help but think of that horrible night, the night Axe held a knife to cut off my fingers. All the problems stemmed from there, about my status in his eyes. And what is this? Axe was talki