Chapter 4

He stared at his vacant hand, his expression gradually hardening. As I approached the table and noticed a cake adorned with candles, I suddenly realized the phone conversation wasn't imaginary. I had mentioned wanting cake, and Wesley had purchased one. Was this his attempt at reconciliation? But I'm nearing death. I have no need for cake, nor do I need Wesley anymore.

I seized the cake and discarded it in the garbage. Wesley clenched his jaw, pushing me against the wall. He angrily spat, "Phoebe, are you toying with me?"

I chuckled, confessing, "Wesley, yes, I am toying with you. So what? I expressed a desire for cake, and you bought it. Why are you still as pitiful as before?"

He extinguished his cigarette forcefully and pulled me into the bedroom, tossing me onto the bed. Wesley appeared to have lost control; like a feral animal, he violently ripped my nightgown. I became frantic, my fists striking him, "Wesley, you brute! Don't touch me! You repulse me!"

He restrained my legs, stopping my resistance, then bit my neck, eliciting a pained cry from me.

He whispered harshly in my ear, "Phoebe, would it truly be so terrible to yield to me?"

"Do you realize how long I've yearned for your solace? How many years have I waited?"

"Do you know how elated I was when you mentioned wanting cake?"

"And then you turn around and make me look like an idiot?"

He raised his head, his eyes bloodshot, glaring at me. I fought back tears and returned his gaze defiantly.

In the dimly lit room, a tense silence hung between us, neither willing to relent.

Wesley leaned in closer, about to kiss me when his phone rang.

It was Cora Miller.

Wesley hesitated but answered.

I overheard Cora's tearful voice, "Mr. Miller, are you really abandoning me for Sister Mabel? It's obvious you have feelings for me."

"I'm at a bar, I've had too much to drink, and some guy is harassing me..."

"I'm frightened. Can you come get me?"

Wesley didn't reply immediately; he just looked at me, then smirked coldly, whispering, "Phoebe, plead with me."

"Beg me to stay. If you do, I won't leave."

He seemed to have forgotten.

Long ago, I swallowed my pride and implored, "Wesley, can we have a calm discussion for once?"

"Can we stop quarreling?"

"Can we just be together properly?"

"Can you treat me a bit better?"

Back then, Wesley just gave me a cold stare and laughed, "Phoebe, you're not worthy."

Those words have been a painful memory ever since.

Today, I finally had the chance to reciprocate.

I grasped his collar, articulating clearly, "Wesley, you're not worthy."

Wesley was quiet for a moment, then laughed at himself.

He put the phone back to his ear and told Cora, "I'll come get you."

Without another look at me, he rose, slammed the door, and departed.