she just couldn’t handle it anymore, the whining, the begging, the something or the other that always plagued him about her. she was restless, he wanted control. it all used to come easy to him, one deal after another landing on his lap, there was never a question of how things were supposed to go. and when the difficulties arose in the outline of her skin, he found himself wondering how to fit her into his pocket, into his wallet, yet another token of how good his credit was. he sucked at life the way a baby does a breast and when she wrestled out from under his weight, he didn’t know what to do. he threatened and promised, cajoled and stalked, which just drove her even madder, in both senses of the word. she had paid a high price in her life to make it her own: she knew what she wanted and had a rough idea about how to get there and she wouldn’t be derailed from it. not for him, not for anyone, not for everything he promised her, not for millions.