Hers was in the kitchen, the top left drawer in the island. It was filled to the brim with loose playing cards and empty lighters, books of matches and half burned birthday candles. A collection that had taken years and had become so extensive she barely knew what it contained.
She rummaged through the contents, looking for some super glue, when she found the key. A solitary key on a plain key ring. It had been buried for so long she had forgotten it was even there. She was lost in thought, fingering the ring, before the sound of a branch hitting the window outside, brought her back to the present.
Still distracted, she threw the key on top of the pile of junk and closed the drawer.
A few days later, he entered the room, the keyring dangling off his ring finger.
"What's this?" he asked. She did not answer him, and he didn't need her to.
"I thought you got rid of this," he continued. "Did you use it?"
Slowly, she shook her head no.
"Are you sure? Because it was just laying on top of all the other junk in that drawer. I didn't even know it still existed! Let alone to be on top!"
He began to pace, and threw his hands up in frustration. "It's like you wanted me to find it."
Pausing, he turned and stared at her, the veins in his neck and forehead bulging, framing his ever reddening face. "If there's something you need to tell me, I suggest you do it now."
"No, there's nothing."
He snatched the key and walked out of the room. She turned her back to the door and let out a sigh, surprised to find she had been holding her breath the entire time.
Maybe she had wanted him to find it, she wasn't entirely sure. But she knew one thing for certain-the key was her way out, and now it was that much farther out of her reach.
This post is in response to a prompt at The Lightning and the Lightning Bug-write about a key, literal or figurative, memory or fiction