Day 94. The hunger is a living thing inside us, a sharp-toothed animal gnawing at my ribs. We found a single can of peaches behind a shattered cooler today. Lillian used her knife to pry it open, her hands steady while the rest of us shook. We shared the syrup, one sip each. It was the sweetest thing I've ever tasted, and it just made the emptiness in my stomach ache more.

It’s funny what your mind does. The cold concrete against my back, the distant groans from outside… my brain just goes there. To warmth. To the memory of a man’s weight, the smell of his skin, the way a rough hand on my throat could make my pussy throb and my whole world narrow to that one perfect point of submission. I’d let a man fuck me raw right here in the dust for a fucking sandwich. I’d beg for it. I’d let him come all over my face if he had a can of soup in his bag. Is that pathetic? I don't care anymore. Survival isn't pretty. It’s a dirty, desperate bargain, and I’m ready to make mine.