The ticking of the kitchen clock was deafening, each second dragging longer than the last as Vincent stared at his hands. They were trembling. Not from fear, not from nerves-he was beyond that now. No, they trembled from the sheer weight of everything he had lost, of the emptiness that had swallowed him whole.
He couldn’t remember the last time he felt alive.
It hadn’t always been like this. There was a time when he had hope, when his life had meant something. When he had dreams. He had been so young back then-just a kid starting college, eager to make something of himself, to become someone important. He had friends who loved him, professors who saw potential in him. He was going places.
Then he met Rody.
Vincent wasn’t even sure how it had happened. One minute, Rody was just this older guy who seemed to have it all together. He had confidence, charm, a steady job. He was everything Vincent wasn’t, everything Vincent thought he needed. And when Rody smiled at him, when he showed him that attention, Vincent had been helpless. He fell, hard and fast, without even realizing it.
Looking back, it felt like falling into a trap.
Rody had swept him up, told him he didn’t need college, didn’t need his friends, didn’t need anyone else but him. And like a fool, Vincent had believed him. He moved in with Rody, cut off his friends, dropped out of school. Every time Rody told him to do something, he did it, convinced that this was love, that this was how relationships were supposed to work.
But love wasn’t supposed to feel like a prison.
Rody had stripped everything away from him. And by the time Vincent realized what had happened, it was too late. He was trapped, dependent on Rody for everything. His life, his future, even his identity-it all belonged to Rody now.
And now, after everything, Rody was cheating on him.
Vincent gritted his teeth, his hands balling into fists on the table. He had found out by accident-just a few texts he had seen on Rody’s phone. Little things at first, nothing too obvious. But then there had been more. Late-night calls, strange absences, the smell of another person on Rody’s clothes when he came home. And the name-**Manon.**
Vincent had known something was wrong. Rody’s friends had always looked at him strangely, like they knew something he didn’t. He should’ve seen it coming, should’ve done something. But he hadn’t. He had let it happen. Just like he had let everything else in his life fall apart.
He was pathetic.
Vincent wiped a hand over his face, trying to push back the burning anger, the frustration that gnawed at him day and night. He had given up everything for Rody, and for what? To be discarded like this? To be cheated on by the man who had promised to love him?
The thought made him sick.
For days, Vincent had stewed in his own misery, letting the knowledge of Rody’s betrayal eat away at him. He had tried to confront him once, but Rody had brushed it off, smiled that same smile that used to make Vincent’s heart race but now made his skin crawl.
And that was when he knew. He knew he had to do something. He couldn’t live like this anymore-couldn’t stand the thought of waking up every day in this house, knowing Rody was out there with her.
But what could he do? He had no money, no job, no one to turn to. Divorce wasn’t an option-he couldn’t survive on his own. Rody had made sure of that.
Vincent let out a shaky breath, the darkness of the thought curling around his mind. There was only one way to end this. Only one way to make sure Rody never hurt him again, never left him.
He knew it was wrong. Knew it would destroy him. But at this point, he didn’t care.
The next day, Vincent moved through the motions as if in a trance. He prepared Rody’s lunch, his hands steady even though his heart was pounding. A sandwich, carefully cut into triangles, a side of fruit, a glass of iced tea. The sleeping pills dissolved easily into the drink, invisible, tasteless. Rody wouldn’t notice a thing.
When Rody came home that evening, late as usual, Vincent greeted him with a smile that felt like a mask. He hated himself for it, for how easily he could pretend everything was fine. But Rody didn’t even notice. He never did.
“Hey, babe,” Rody said, throwing his jacket over the back of the chair. “What’s for lunch?”
Vincent forced his lips to move. “It’s already on the table.”
Rody barely glanced at him before sitting down, digging into the food without a second thought. Vincent watched him eat, the way his jaw worked, the way he chewed without even tasting the effort Vincent put into every meal. He always ate like this-quick, thoughtless. Vincent had once found it endearing. Now it made him feel hollow.
Minutes passed, and Rody began to slow. His movements grew sluggish, his eyelids drooping as he struggled to keep his head up.
“Man, I’m tired,” he muttered, his voice thick. “Must’ve been a long day…”
Vincent didn’t respond, his gaze cold and unreadable as he watched Rody slump forward onto the table, unconscious.
He stood up slowly, his legs heavy beneath him, and walked over to Rody’s phone, still lying on the counter where he had left it. Unlocking it was easy-Vincent had memorized the password months ago. His fingers moved over the screen, typing the message with a strange sense of calm.
*”Vincent’s not home. Come over.”*
Manon responded almost immediately. She would be here soon.
Vincent set the phone down, his heart hammering in his chest as he walked to the kitchen. He had already prepared everything he would need-the knives, the plastic sheeting, the buckets. He didn’t allow himself to think too much about what he was about to do. If he thought too much, he might stop.
He couldn’t stop now.
When Manon arrived, she was smiling. That smile faded the moment she saw Vincent standing there, alone in the dimly lit living room. Confusion flickered across her face, followed by a flicker of fear as she realized something was very, very wrong.
“Where’s Rody?” she asked, her voice tight with uncertainty.
Vincent didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. The knife in his hand spoke for him.
The next few hours blurred together in a haze of red. Vincent worked in silence, his hands moving mechanically as he cut, as he cleaned, as he erased any trace of the woman who had taken Rody away from him. By the time he was finished, there was nothing left of her-nothing but the meat he had carved so carefully, so meticulously.
The kitchen smelled like a feast.
The next morning, Vincent prepared breakfast as usual, plating the meat with a flourish. Rody stumbled into the kitchen, groggy from the pills, rubbing his eyes as he sat down at the table.
“Smells amazing,” he mumbled, blinking sleepily. “What’s the occasion?”
Vincent didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Not without letting the truth spill out of him like poison.
Rody took a bite, chewing slowly, his face lighting up with a smile. “Damn, Vince. This is incredible. What’s in it?”
Vincent stared at him, his chest tight, his heart pounding in his ears.
“Just something new I’ve been working on,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of Rody’s chewing.
Rody smiled, oblivious to the weight of the moment, to the horror of what he had just consumed. He had no idea. And he never would.
Vincent turned away, his hands shaking as he gripped the counter. He had done it. He had taken back control. But instead of relief, all he felt was emptiness.
Because in the end, he had become just as hollow as Rody’s promises.
Just as hollow as the life he had sacrificed everything for.
The days blurred together, suffocating in their monotony. Vincent watched silently as Rody fell deeper into his own world, increasingly distant, yet trying to maintain the illusion of normalcy. He saw the way Rody’s eyes flicked to his phone whenever he thought Vincent wasn’t looking, how he would disappear into another room to try and make hushed calls to her when he thought Vincent was occupied.
The truth was, Rody had become careless.
Vincent pretended not to notice. Every time Rody would glance at his phone or disappear for a late-night “errand,” Vincent played his role perfectly. He was the quiet, dutiful spouse-the one who always had dinner ready, the one who stayed out of Rody’s business. The one who turned a blind eye.
But Vincent wasn’t blind. He knew everything. He knew Rody was going to her apartment to look for her.
Each meal he prepared for Rody was laced with a deeper bitterness. The meat he used, the very flesh of Manon, had been carved with precision, mixed with ingredients chosen for their subtlety. Rody had no idea. He had no idea that he was devouring the woman he had chosen over his husband. The woman he thought Vincent had no clue about.
Rody never said a word about her to Vincent-of course, he wouldn’t. Why would he bring up his affair to the man he had betrayed? He kept his secrets, though he wasn’t as skilled at hiding them as he believed. Vincent watched, his anger festering silently, as Rody made poor attempts to act as though nothing was wrong.
One evening, Rody sat at the dinner table, poking listlessly at the plate in front of him. He hadn’t eaten much lately, too distracted by his mounting anxiety. His phone sat face-down beside his glass, the screen dark, no new messages lighting it up. He hadn’t heard from Manon in days, and it was driving him mad.
Vincent watched from the kitchen, silent as he cleaned up. He could see the tension in Rody’s shoulders, the way his fingers twitched toward his phone as if expecting something-anything-from her.
But there would be no messages. No calls.
Rody shifted uncomfortably in his seat, picking at the meal without much enthusiasm. Vincent knew why. It wasn’t just the absence of Manon that was eating at him-it was the guilt. It was the weight of the secret he was hiding, the knowledge that he had betrayed the one person who had given him everything.
But Vincent no longer felt the sting of that betrayal. His love for Rody had long since turned to ash. What remained was something cold, something far darker than he ever thought himself capable of. Rody didn’t deserve his love anymore. He didn’t deserve anything.
Not after what he had done.
As Rody set down his fork and pushed the plate away, Vincent finally broke the silence. “You’ve barely touched your food,” he said quietly, his voice devoid of emotion. “Something wrong?”
Rody tensed, his eyes darting up to meet Vincent’s. There was a flicker of something-guilt, perhaps, or fear-but it vanished just as quickly. “I’m not that hungry,” Rody muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Work’s been rough.”
Vincent didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. The silence that followed was oppressive, and Rody shifted uncomfortably in his seat, avoiding Vincent’s gaze. He used to be great at lying-always had been. But now, with the weight of his affair and Manon’s disappearance hanging over him, he’d gotten worse.
Vincent watched him with cold, detached eyes, taking in every subtle movement, every nervous twitch. You’re a coward, Vincent thought. You won’t even admit what you’ve done.
But Rody didn’t have to admit anything. Vincent already knew.
After a long, tense silence, Rody stood up, his movements stiff and awkward. “I’m gonna head to bed early,” he mumbled, not looking at Vincent. “I’ve got an early shift tomorrow.”
Vincent nodded, watching him retreat down the hallway without a word. As soon as Rody disappeared into the bedroom, Vincent turned back to the kitchen counter, his hands gripping the edge of the sink. His knuckles were white, his fingers trembling as the weight of his emotions crashed down on him.
He had already destroyed everything Rody had with Manon, wiped her from their lives, and yet… it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.
The man he had once loved was still here, still walking through the motions of their broken marriage as if nothing had changed. But everything had changed. Vincent was no longer the same person, no longer the devoted husband who had given up everything for Rody.
He had become something far worse.
That night, as Rody slept beside him, Vincent lay awake, staring at the ceiling. The weight of his secret pressed down on him, but it no longer felt like a burden. It felt like a shield, something that kept him distant from the man who had betrayed him. Rody had no idea what Vincent had done, no idea that his lies were unraveling with every passing day.
But soon, he would know.
And when he did, Vincent would be ready.
Rody slept fitfully that night, his breathing shallow, limbs occasionally twitching as if he was running from something even in his dreams. Vincent lay motionless beside him, staring into the darkness. He no longer found comfort in Rody’s presence-only a dull, suffocating weight pressing down on his chest. The silence between them had grown unbearable, yet Vincent found a grim satisfaction in it.
Rody was restless for a reason. Whether it was guilt or the growing awareness that something was horribly wrong, Vincent didn’t care. He had sown the seeds of doubt in Rody’s mind, and now he was watching them take root.
As the night dragged on, Rody stirred. His eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, he seemed disoriented. Vincent watched him in silence, his expression cold and unreadable, as Rody rubbed at his face and groaned.
“Can’t sleep?” Vincent asked softly, his voice devoid of warmth.
Rody didn’t answer right away, just sighed and glanced at his phone on the nightstand. There were no messages, no missed calls. It was just as silent and empty as it had been for days now. Manon hadn’t responded to him since that last message.
And deep down, Rody felt something gnawing at him-a horrible, nagging feeling that something had happened.
“I dunno,” Rody finally muttered, still not looking at Vincent. “I’ve been… stressed, I guess.” He sat up in bed, running a hand through his hair, his back turned to Vincent. “Work’s been a lot. Haven’t heard from Manon either.”
The name slipped out of his mouth before he could stop it.
Vincent’s entire body went still. A chill passed through him, but outwardly, he remained composed. He had known this moment would come eventually-that Rody, in his selfish stupidity, would dare to bring her up.
“Manon?” Vincent asked, his voice deceptively calm.
Rody stiffened, realizing his mistake. He had never meant to say her name out loud, never intended to let Vincent know she was missing. But now it was too late to take it back.
“Yeah, uh…my coworker” Rody fumbled, scratching the back of his neck nervously. “I haven’t heard from her in a while. It’s… weird, you know?”
Vincent’s grip on the blanket tightened beneath the sheets. His mind raced, thinking about how to twist this, how to turn the knife deeper.
“Maybe she’s just busy,” Vincent said, his tone carefully neutral. He leaned back into his pillow, feigning disinterest, though his heart was pounding in his chest. “People lose touch all the time. Maybe it’s nothing.”
Rody nodded, but Vincent could see the doubt written all over his face. He was worried, more worried than he was letting on. “Yeah, maybe,” Rody murmured. “I just… I dunno. I’ve got this bad feeling.”
Vincent wanted to laugh at how pathetic it was. How stupid and clueless Rody really was, sitting here, talking about his affair partner like he had a right to feel concerned. Like Vincent didn’t know everything. Like he hadn’t cooked and fed her to him.
The darkness of the bedroom pressed in around them, thick and oppressive. Rody shifted uncomfortably in the bed, lying down once more but not looking at Vincent.
“Don’t worry about it,” Vincent whispered, his voice almost soothing. “I’m sure she’s fine.”
Rody made a noncommittal noise, but it was clear his thoughts were elsewhere. His mind was too tangled up in guilt and worry to see what was right in front of him. He didn’t know the truth, couldn’t even begin to comprehend it.
But Vincent knew.
And that knowledge gave him power.
As the days dragged on, Rody became more distant. He stopped talking about Manon, though Vincent could tell she was never far from his mind. He would glance at his phone more often, frowning at the lack of messages. He started making calls-first to her phone, then to mutual friends, asking if anyone had seen or heard from her. But of course, no one had.
She was gone.
One night, about a week after that first conversation, Rody came home from work looking pale and shaken. He barely greeted Vincent as he kicked off his shoes and slumped down on the couch, burying his face in his hands.
Vincent watched him from the kitchen, silently observing the unraveling. “Rough day?” he asked, knowing full well that Rody’s distress had nothing to do with work.
Rody didn’t respond right away. He sat there, hands pressed to his face, as if trying to hide from the reality of the situation. Finally, he let out a low, broken sigh. “Manon’s missing.”
Vincent raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. “Missing?” he echoed, stepping closer. “Are you sure?”
Rody nodded, his voice thick with anxiety. “Her friends haven’t heard from her. No one has. She hasn’t been to work, hasn’t answered her phone. It’s like she just… vanished.”
Vincent’s heart thudded in his chest, but outwardly, he remained composed. He crouched down in front of Rody, resting a hand on his knee. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, his voice dripping with false concern. “That must be hard.”
Rody swallowed hard, his eyes flicking to Vincent for a moment, searching his face for any sign of suspicion. But Vincent’s expression remained calm, neutral. Reassuring.
“I just don’t know what to do,” Rody muttered, his voice cracking slightly. “I… I don’t want to think the worst, but it’s been so long.”
Vincent squeezed his knee gently. “Maybe she just needed some space. People disappear for all sorts of reasons.”
Rody nodded, but the fear in his eyes didn’t diminish. He was falling apart, slowly crumbling under the weight of his guilt and confusion. Vincent could see it-could feel it-and yet, he felt nothing. No pity, no compassion. Only cold satisfaction.
He had done this.
And he wasn’t done yet.
—
Rody spent the next few days in a haze, torn between his growing panic over Manon’s disappearance and his attempts to keep his life with Vincent intact. He didn’t know where she was, didn’t know why she had cut him off. But somewhere in his gut, he knew something was wrong.
But Vincent? Vincent had never seemed more at ease.
He carried on with their routine, preparing meals, cleaning the house, playing the role of the perfect, supportive husband. And Rody-too distracted by his own spiraling thoughts-didn’t notice how much colder Vincent had become. How empty the love between them had truly grown.
One night, as they sat down for dinner, Rody finally broke. He picked at his food, barely able to stomach it, and when Vincent looked up from his plate, he could see the strain in Rody’s expression.
“I can’t stop thinking about her,” Rody admitted, his voice raw with emotion. “It’s like she’s just… gone. No one knows where she is.”
Vincent took a slow, deliberate bite of his meal. He chewed carefully, savoring the moment, before setting down his fork. He looked Rody in the eye, his expression unreadable.
“She’s gone,” Vincent said quietly. His voice was steady, calm. “And she’s never coming back.”
Rody’s breath caught in his throat. “What?”
Vincent leaned forward, his eyes dark and cold. “She’s gone, Rody. You won’t find her. No one will.”
Rody stared at him, horror dawning in his eyes. “What… what are you saying?”
Vincent smiled, a cruel, hollow smile. “I think you know exactly what I’m saying.”
And in that moment, Rody’s world came crashing down around him. The truth hit him like a freight train, his stomach turning as he realized what Vincent had done-what he had been eating all this time.
The truth was too much to bear.
And Vincent had known all along.
A/N
The Rody bot randomly died me while I was writing this ðŸ˜
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