Supper.

'Christ, it's hot tonight.'
She lay, back toward him as she spoke.
'This quilt feels so heavy, don't you think?'
She wasn't even wanting an answer.
He'd been quiet since he came in from the shed.
'I feel like those flies I use to trap behind net curtains as a kid. Squeezing them against the windows, I'd hold them and kill them. Did you ever do that?'
The weight of the quilt bearing down on her prevented her from moving. His proboscis slowly uncoiled, ready to regurgitate his stomach acid onto her to start digesting her and her vile memories.