breakfast in bed and perfume lingering in the stuffy air
stiff bones, the smell of bacon traveling into my bedroom
the hoarse lungs of his gagging and coughing in the other room
slamming bottles down in the kitchen, mumbling to himself
tears might be trapped inside his eyeballs, but he flicks them off before they spill down his regretful face
i lay in the half made/half messy bedsheets, almost motionless, sunken into the duvet
piles of vintage clothes laid all over the carpet, distraught and in a panic
my breathing slowed by the adrenaline rush of last night, heart beat skipping
he stumbles and grips the doorframe tightly, observing if i am asleep or not
my eyes pulled shut, tight as an opening to a safe, trying to calm my breathing in fits of trepidation
his hands—cold and clammy—graze my arms and he sets the tray down roughly
“eat,” he demands
i leap out of my pretend slumber, panting in worry, but too exhausted to fight it

so i eat.