Chapter 6: The Last Meal

6

After showering, the house smelled faintly of last night’s takeout. Hannah had changed into the same dress as before. I ducked back into my room, dodging her open arms.

"Babe, I made your favorites. Come eat."

I sat at the table, the college football game murmuring on TV, and she twirled in front of me.

"Look! The dress you bought me. I love it. You’re the first to see it—happy?"

I bit my tongue, thinking of Mike Callahan and what he’d left on that dress. I picked at the eggs, barely tasting anything.

"Aren’t you going out?"

She sat across from me, eyes wide.

"No way. No one matters more than you. My whole body belongs to you alone."

The words made me gag, and I lurched up, rushing to the bathroom.

She hurried after, worry etched on her face.

"Babe, is it my cooking?"

I couldn’t take her lies anymore. I blamed it on the takeout, pushing her away. She looked shattered, tears slipping down her cheeks, but it didn’t move me. She was beautiful, but I couldn’t see her the same way.

She tried again.

"You work too hard. I’ll take care of you and nurse you back to health."

I said nothing, texting her some stock photos of abs from my alt account.

Her phone pinged. She glanced at it, blushing, her body language changing in a way that made my skin crawl.

"Hey babe, you’re so handsome. Your muscles are so hard... it makes me nervous."

She was flirting with another man, right in front of me. She caught herself, eyes darting, picking at her fingernails.

"Babe, my friend’s birthday is today. Can I go? I’ll be back before dark."

Under the table, my hands balled into fists, bitterness flooding me.

It was like watching a play on a crumbling set—her performance desperate, but I was done pretending. The curtain had dropped, and I was the only one left in the seats.