DON'T CHEAT ON ME!

CHAPTER 37: Eat

Jordan's POV:

I step out of the house, feeling the weight of the past two days in the pit of my stomach. It's been two days since I buried Dave's body—and the farmer's. I don’t know why I checked, but I had to. There’s a part of me that’s always looking over my shoulder, wondering if I’ve made a mistake, if someone’s going to find out, if they’re going to dig up what I buried in the cold, damp earth. But when I went back to the spot, their bodies were still there, untouched, and no one knows where they are. Not even Patricia. At least, not yet.

She’s in the house now, waiting for me, as I told her she would be. I trust her—or at least, I tell myself I do. If she tries anything, I’ll be ready for it. But for now, I leave her there, keeping an eye on her from a distance, making sure she doesn’t slip out or do anything stupid. I won’t give her the chance to escape, not yet.

I make my way back to the house, the air sharp and dry, almost brittle. The path feels longer than usual, every step echoing in my ears. Maybe it’s the silence. It’s been quiet lately. Too quiet.

When I walk through the door, I find her exactly where I expected her to be—cleaning the living room. I can hear the soft swish of a rag against the floor, the faint scent of cleaning solution in the air. She looks up when I enter, and there's a brief moment where our eyes meet. Her face softens, that fake warmth she always wears, and she greets me like nothing happened, like nothing's wrong.

“Hi, Babe,where have you been?”

She says, smiling like she always does, though I see the faintest flicker of something else in her eyes. Maybe it's fear, or maybe it's just the way she’s been conditioned to act. I can't tell anymore.

“Hello, Babe.. I'm just walking around”

I reply, my voice low, but steady.

“How’s the cleaning going?”

“Good. Just trying to make it feel a little more... normal in here”

She says, setting the rag down on the counter.

“It’s been a lot to take in, you know? But I’m trying.”

I nod, not trusting myself to speak too much. Her voice still has that edge to it, the one that makes my skin crawl, but I keep it together. She hasn’t tried anything. Not yet.

I walk into the kitchen, pulling out ingredients for lunch. The routine is something I need, something to keep my mind from wandering. I start chopping, the sound of the knife against the cutting board oddly soothing. There's something calming about the repetitive motions, the slice of the blade, the smell of food beginning to fill the air. It keeps my thoughts from drifting too far into the mess of it all.

“Are you hungry?”

I ask without looking up, my voice casual.

“I’m making lunch.”

She pauses for a moment before answering, and I can feel her hesitation. It's like she’s still unsure of what to expect from me—whether I'm going to be the man she once knew or something else entirely.

“Yeah, I’m starving.”

She says finally, her voice softer this time, a little more genuine. Maybe it’s the smell of the food, or maybe it’s just the way she’s trying to regain some control. But either way, it doesn’t matter. I’m not in the mood to play games today.

I keep cooking, the food sizzling on the stove, the scent of garlic and onions filling the air. It’s the kind of meal that should feel comforting—should feel like home—but all I can think about is what I did, what I buried. The bodies out there, and the one still in here with me.

“Can you set the table?”

I ask, trying to keep things as normal as possible.

“I’ll finish up here.”

She moves toward the table without saying anything, but I notice the way she pauses for a second, as if she’s trying to gather her thoughts before acting. It’s almost as if she’s wondering whether she should say something, whether now is the time to try to get out. But I don't let her. Not yet. Not while I’m in control.

Once the food is ready, I dish it out and bring the plates over to the table. She’s sitting there, her hands folded neatly in front of her, her posture straight, like she’s waiting for permission to do anything. It’s almost like she’s afraid. Or maybe she’s just putting on an act.

I sit down across from her, taking a bite of the food. It’s good, even though the taste is a little bitter in my mouth, like everything else around me.

“You should eat.”

I say, glancing at her over the edge of my plate. “We need to stay strong.”

She nods, picks up her fork, and takes a bite. For a moment, it’s silent between us, except for the soft clink of silverware against plates and the sound of her chewing. I watch her, trying to read the flicker of emotions behind her eyes. She doesn’t say anything, but I know she’s thinking. Maybe she’s wondering if she’s going to make it out of here alive, or maybe she’s just trying to figure out how to manipulate me.

I don’t know. But I won’t let her. Not now.

After a few minutes of eating, I can tell she’s starting to relax, her guard lowering, just a little bit. I need her to feel like she’s safe, to let her think that for a moment, because that's when she’ll slip up. That’s when I’ll catch her.

“I’m glad you’re still here.”

I say casually, breaking the silence.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

She looks up at me, startled, but I can see that it’s working. She’s unsure now, unsure whether this is a trick, unsure whether I’m playing some game with her. But it doesn’t matter. I’ll keep playing my part, make her think that everything is fine, that we can go back to how things were.

But I know the truth. Things will never be the same.

And in the end, she’ll realize that too.