You've felt sick for days, your reflection seems to change a little by each time you look into the mirror. The pain inside you seems to grow, yet you ignore it passionately. He doesn't see you, he only sees what you bring to him. Long nights, short love, brief reliefs and endless aches.

You sit at the kitchen table, it is late already. Infront of you is placed a small plate, on top of it lays a perfectly cut bread, smeared with honey. The honey doesn't move, only when you pick it up it runs towards the edges to dip over into the abyss. If you don't interact with it, it seems lifeless, dead.
Such a sweet substance.

You hear foot steps and as you look up you recognize him. He had been showering and his hair is still wet and a bit messy, yet as he notices you observing him he begins to smile slightly.

"Hey, bunny."

You smile back, faintly.

"Hey."

Then the room is filled with silence again. He follows the sentence up with going over to the kitchen counter and searching together the materials to make himself a bread as well, yet he doesn't choose honey, he chooses to eat his bread raw. Your gaze lowers down onto your plate again, as you pick up your food and take a bite out of it. You can sense the sweetness of the honey in your mouth, laying down onto your tongue and filling up your senses. As you swallow the taste stays, like something you can't forget.

He sits infront of you and begins to eat as well, chuckling as he watches you eat the honey bread. You look at him confused. "Does it taste good?", he asks and you nod slowly.
"Of course, you know I like it." Your voice gets a little quieter as his smirk grows. You recognize this look and break eye contact immediately.

He reaches forward and lays his hand at your chin, holding your face up to force you to lay your eyes upon him again. Slowly his thumb runs over your lips, while you try to find something in his eyes that can give you hope for an end to this.

Why does he seem to enjoy this if this is just torture to me?

Eventually he stops, all you can do is look down again and lick away the honey he smeared near your lips. It's disgusting. You feel disgusted. All your hunger went away.

"Ah, bunny! You messed up. Look at what you have done to your honey!"

You look at your bread again. The chunky thick yellow liquid spilled all over the plate yet you just place the bread down and stand up to wash your hands.

Why again? Why?

You leave the room. He is left behind eating his bread, seeming satisfied with his actions. As you walk up the stairs and get into your bathroom, you close the door and stand infront of the sink. There is a mirror hanging over it and as you finish washing your hands you take a brief moment to look at yourself while you dry them off.

Bags under your eyes, the skin in your face lays tight to your bones and the unhappiness in your eyes is alarming. How long have you been looking this way? Have you been eating even a little bit?

You suddenly feel so guilty for everything. For looking this way, since he loves you and provides you with food. Shouldn't you be a better lover?

Right below your view that still captures that moment of failure you see in the mirror, right below that lies the worm in your flesh.

If you would've looked down you would've seen it eat up your arm into your shoulder, spreading like a fatal virus; which it is.

Yet all you could see is the failure you made yourself be.

The worm never stops feeding onto your angst.