But what else can I do, other than to plead with you like this? Other than to write down my story, our story, to show you that what you've done . . . to make you realize that what you did wasn't fair, wasn't right.

You're right, he's a killer," you said. "A rooster with some serious issues.

It didn't make me glow. I felt more like I was fading away, like the world had forgotten me.

Far, far away something made a single ghostly howl, like a banshee in the dark.

I looked down at my stomach. I grabbed at it, seeing how much fat I could lift up in a roll. "Don't worry," you said, one eye open again like a crocodile watching me. "You're beautiful." You tipped your head back. "Beautiful," you murmured. "Perfect.

But what else can I do, other than to plead with you like this? Other than to write down my story, our story, to show you that what you've done . . . to make you realize that what you did wasn't fair, wasn't right.

Your eyes were too intense to stare into for long.