Page 8 of Peak Cruelty

It’s clean.

Predictable.

And that’s what makes it possible.

I’m not here for her today.I’m here to see who else might fit.

I don’t get nervous.Not about this.The last time I waited this long, I made the mistake of hoping she’d stop herself.That she’d post something honest.Break the pattern.Walk away.

She didn’t.

This one won’t either.

She’s in too deep.Too practiced.Too sure no one sees her.

But I do.

I see all of it.Every curated caption.Every selective crop.Every post designed to generate empathy without accountability.

She doesn’t want a diagnosis.She wants devotion.

She wants to be the story.

Tomorrow, she’ll get what she wants.

I don’t mind giving her a better ending.

I glance down at the last frame.Her lips are parted, as though she’s about to say something important.But the words never come.They don’t have to.

She’s already told me everything I need to know.

By noon, the spotlight will still be on her.She just won’t like the angle.

4

Marlowe

Ipour myself another cup of coffee.The first one’s cold.The second’s not much better.That’s the rhythm here—starts soft, ends sour.I think about warming it, but I don’t have the energy.

The house is still quiet.I like it that way.Quiet doesn’t ask questions.

I move through the kitchen, making mental notes.The cabinets are stocked.The fridge is full of things I don’t need, things I keep on autopilot for a version of myself that’s still trying to pretend everything’s fine.

The smell of burnt toast lingers from breakfast.I barely ate.I can’t stomach anything right now.

When I step into the living room, there he is, sitting at the dining table, eyes glued to his phone.

I try not to think about the puppy.How he pried it from my arms, sent it away to die.

I can’t care.I can’tnotcare.It gnaws at me—like a loose tooth I keep tonguing, even knowing it’ll bleed.Cruelty always finds a way to feel familiar.

The part of me that could fix it is asleep with the dog.Maybe that’s the kindest thing he ever did—put it down first.

I sobbed in the closet.Briefly.Then I shook it off, put on a smile, and let it slide.Because what else is there to do?

I tell myself he’s not wrong.I do have a lot on my plate.I just need to get through the day.

Still, he’s waiting for me to say something.I know that.

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