Tonight's dinner was a silent war. Made coq au vin for Gabe—he ate every bite, his little smile was everything. The other 'guest' said thank you. I looked at the empty chair at the table and wanted to scream. Came home, poured a whiskey, and tried to paint it out. All that came was a violent, red mess. Ended up on the floor with my fingers shoved deep inside my wet cunt, thinking about a stranger’s hands pulling my hair, a rough voice telling me I’m a good girl, fucking the grief and the guilt right out of me. I don’t want sweet. I want to be used until I forget my own fucking name.