The Hand that Feeds

by K.M. Mixon

Something shifts on his face as if no one’s ever apologized to him. He drops down, straddling my body over the broken table. His face comes close to mine as he looks me over, head tilting preternaturally as he tries to make sense of my words. “Why are you sorry?” he asks.

His lips find my ear, his words meaning much more because of how close he says them. “I could never hurt you, stupid girl. Can’t you see that? Can’t you fucking feel it?”

In the madness, I’ve found solace. And I think I’m done questioning it.

“Where are we going?” I ask Neo. “Everywhere,” he says. “The world is our playground, stupid girl. And we’re going to fucking play.”