Chapter 78-Regret and resentment

Chapter 78: 78-Regret and resentment

"Yes, you are, Dylan," Sarah insisted.

Her voice rose above the damaged ship’s groaning. She planted her hands on her hips, glaring at Dylan through dust, grime, and exhaustion.

If she lowered her voice, she feared he would hear the tremor beneath it. If he stopped obeying her, what exactly did she have left?

"Don’t you love me?"

The question landed less like a plea than a bill. She hated that she had to ask, and hated even more that she had to tell him that love has to come with services attached.

Sarah stepped closer. "You always said you could do anything for me. You promised that if I wanted the stars, you’d gather them from the sky."

She pointed toward the ruined kitchen. "I don’t want the stars. I want you to cook."

Dylan stared at her. He remembered making grand promises in restaurants and hotel rooms, where money could disguise ignorance.

He had liked being admired as the man who could provide everything. He had never considered what would happen when providing required skill instead of money.

Now every demand sounded like a test he was certain to fail, and every failure threatened the identity he had built around being indispensable.

"And if you meant any of it, you’ll do it without another word."

"No," he blatantly refused her.

Her mouth fell open. "Why not?"

"Because I don’t know how to and I won’t force myself just because you want proof of my love for you."

The admission embarrassed him. It felt like confessing that the man she had trusted was an illusion.

"Then learn, Dylan."

Dylan who felt the task belonged to a woman didn’t give in. "You learn."

"I don’t want to."

"Well, neither do I."

Their voices rose until the kitchen became a battlefield. Cabinets rattled. Broken dishes glittered beneath the emergency lamps.

"You’re the one who said you loved me!"

"And loving you doesn’t magically teach me how to cook, Sarah!" He argued.

"Then what good are your promises?"

"What good are yours?" He countered, meeting her head on.

"You promised you’d stay with me through everything!"

"I am still here!"

"What good is your presence if it can’t help us survive. You won’t even cook for me when I am so hungry!"

"Because I’m exhausted!" Dylan said. He sighed heavily. "I told you I don’t know how to cook so why do you insist that I do?"

"Figure it out if you don’t know. That’s what a real man would do!"

"Then as of this moment, Sarah, think of me as a woman. I am too tired for this," his hands fell weakly to his sides.

"..."

The argument spread to cleaning, supplies, damaged rooms, fuel, food, and the leaking pipe. Every task became an accusation between them.

Sarah resented being asked to touch anything beneath her. Dylan resented that she still expected him to solve problems because he had once paid to make them disappear. Neither wanted the work; both wanted proof that the other still valued them enough to do it.

The apocalypse had stripped away their wealth, servants, routines, and excuses. Their love had been built around comfort, not partnership.

Sarah’s stomach twisted. She pressed a hand against it. She was starving.

Dylan was hungry too but neither would surrender. Hunger frightened Sarah because it was a need she could not purchase away. It made her feel small, helpless, and dangerously dependent.

It frightened Dylan because every growl reminded him that his confidence had always depended on someone else knowing what to do. If he could not provide food, what was he providing at all?

"You’re supposed to take care of me," Sarah said.

Dylan stared at her. "And you’re supposed to take care of me."

Silence fell once again. They were both waiting for the other to save them, and neither knew how to do it. Each had mistaken being rescued for being loved, and now both were furious that love did not come with instructions in the end times.

Dylan rubbed his aching shoulder. "I’ve been working all day. My hands hurt, my back is killing me and I nearly got crushed when that section collapsed," he claimed, recalling his condition.

Sarah took it as a personal attack on herself. "And I am not tired or injured?"

"I could have died, Sarah. This isn’t a contest so stop competing with me!"

"I was hurt too. Stop making it look like your body is the only one that can feel pain."

Dylan stared at her. He had held the beam because the thought of watching it crush her terrified him. Hearing her dismiss it made something inside him twist. He wanted gratitude, but asking for it felt like admitting he needed her approval to justify the risk.

"Do you hear yourself?" he asked.

Sarah’s eyes narrowed. "Do you?"

She heard the accusation beneath his question and felt panic harden into anger. If she admitted he had saved her, she might have to admit how completely she needed him. She could not bear the thought of being that vulnerable.

They stood several feet apart, breathing heavily. Once, they had called themselves lovers. Now they looked like enemies trapped in the same shelter, each wondering who would abandon the other first.

"I don’t have the strength for this anymore. Think whatever you want." 𝒻𝘳ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝒷𝘯ℴ𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝑐ℴ𝑚

In the end, hunger won.

With no one willing to cook and neither of them possessing the slightest idea how to turn the raw ingredients into an actual meal, Sarah and Dylan reluctantly settled for eating whatever they could manage without preparation.

The food was cold, bland, and utterly tasteless. Tough meat dragged against their teeth, raw vegetables were difficult to chew, and every swallow felt like forcing down something that was never meant to be eaten that way.

More than once, Sarah coughed violently after nearly choking, while Dylan grimaced and reached for water to wash down another stubborn mouthful. Yet neither complained. At this point, even an unpleasant meal was better than an empty stomach.

They ate in complete silence. The argument from earlier had drained whatever patience they had left, leaving behind a heavy, bitter quiet.

Sarah sat at one end of the table, staring blankly at her food, while Dylan remained at the opposite end, his expression equally grim. Neither looked at the other, apologized or attempted to restart the conversation.

The only sounds filling the damaged dining area were the scrape of utensils against plates, their occasional coughs, and the distant groaning of the battered ship. They had once been lovers who couldn’t bear to be apart. Now they couldn’t even bear to speak to each other.

Beneath their resentment, the same thought quietly surfaced in both their minds. How is Aymara doing right now?

They wondered whether she was struggling as badly as they were, whether she was hungry, frightened, or desperately trying to survive with whatever little she had managed to take with her. The thought was strangely comforting. Perhaps she was suffering too and knowing that would make their own situation feel less unfair.

But deep down, neither of them truly believed it. They knew Aymara too well or at least they thought they did. She had always been capable, prepared, and annoyingly good at taking care of everything. If anyone could find a way to survive comfortably in the middle of an apocalypse, it was her.

Sarah’s fingers tightened around her fork at the thought, while Dylan’s jaw clenched. Neither wanted to admit it, but the truth was becoming impossible to ignore: while they were sitting in a damaged ship struggling to swallow raw food, Aymara was almost certainly somewhere out there living far better than they were.

"Why does she get to live better than me? I am the reborn main character!" She mumbled.

At the end of the table, Dylan thought back to Aymara’s call and thought. "I should be there with her being taken care of."