MARY AND THE CLOSET DOOR

There was only one rule: don’t open the door.

Or, at least, don't leave it open.

Mary never liked seeing her bedroom closet door open.

As a child she had hated it and would, even now, make sure she, or anyone she was with, kept it shut.

So much so she kept her clothes on those rolling garment racks or neatly folded and tucked away in dresser drawers.

But tonight, it was open.

Just a crack.

But it was open.

This wasn't the first time.

Jeremy, her live in boyfriend of six months had left it cracked open about a month and half ago.

"Could you close that?" Mary asked nervously from the bed.

"What?" Jeremy replied. "Oh. Must of forgot about that. Sorry, babe."

"It's okay," she bravely lied.

Jeremy pushed the closet door shut, got into bed, and kissed Mary goodnight before shutting off the bedside lamp.

A few weeks later, the door was cracked again.

"Could you close that?" Mary asked.

"Forgot," Jeremy borderline snickered and shut the door. "My bad."

He slid into bed and kissed a somewhat distraught Mary on the cheek.

"Goodnight," he said and turned off the bedside lamp.

A week later.

"Could you please shut that door?" Mary could barely hide how distraught she was.

"It's just a door," Jeremy condescended. "You really need to get over it."

"It's the only thing I ask," Mary retorted.

"Whatever."

Jeremy pushed the door closed, flopped into bed, and shut off the lamp.

Tonight, the closet door was cracked again.

"Please," Mary pleaded. "Shut the door!"

Jeremy silently walked past the door, got into bed and, back turned to Mary, turned off the light.

Mary sat, knees pulled to her chest, shaking and staring at the darkness seeping out before her.