Married To A Sex Freak
I was a prop, a piece of forgotten furniture in the corner of the room, a ghost at the feast.
A deep, hollow growl echoed from my stomach, a betrayal of my quiet stillness. It was a guttural plea, a hungry beast stirring from its slumber. The sound, stark and real, was the only way to puncture the thick, invisible wall that separated me from them. It was a cry for more than just food; it was a desperate signal, a flare shot into the sky, demanding to be seen, to be heard, to be acknowledged as a living, breathing person in the room.