She moves in to kiss me. It isn’t that I don’t want to kiss her back, it’s that I can solely focus on the stench of her breath. It isn’t necessarily a bad stench, as we had gone to a nicer restaurant, one she picked out and I paid for, and we both steered away from garlicky flavors. She ordered a Caprese salad, dressing on the side, with extra croutons. I ordered the lobster.

I couldn’t hear him scream. I think that’s the worst part—the idea that his pleas for help went unnoticed by the world.