I sat at the worn down island in the worn down kitchen in Tyler’s horrid worn down house. I wish I could decorate it with IKEA products. What dining set defines Tyler as a person? Maybe a janky one, filled with used condoms and covered in those slutty clothes he wears. Tyler’s in the kitchen too. Making soap at the dining table. I can smell the chemicals. I can smell my searing flesh from the lye kiss last night. I glance down at my bandaged hand. Tyler was cruel. God was cruel.