WIFE by Devon Miller

She asked me what I thought about food, and I told her I didn’t. I couldn’t remember if I had eaten or not: food was splitting my brain in half. I was sweating through the paper gown, and I wrapped my arms around each other to stop from shivering. I was listening her talk about melatonin in a way that complimented the dance of heart machines from the next room over. But in my head, I was back on that carpeted basement floor where we had met, being passed a bottle of Jack Daniels with his tongue saying pick...

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