#Chapter 93: Survival Instinct

Hannah “Eat.” Noah held the steaming plate of casserole in front of me, thrusting it a little closer into my face. I narrowed my eyes at him and leaned away, shooting him a wary look. “I’m not hungry.” “Yes, you are. You have to eat something.” Dammit. Noah was right; I was starving. But I wasn’t about to eat that, and especially not in front of him. Not when the comb he used when he spent the night with another woman was sitting just a few feet away from me. Turning my head, I waved him away. “I’m fine. I’ll eat later.” Noah sighed and circled around the couch, coming to sit next to me. “I know you have been starving yourself again,” he said. “You need calories to survive, Hannah. You know that, right?” I swallowed, thinking back on the night when I had died—the night that he still didn’t know about. If only he knew. If only he knew that I had firsthand experience of that. But even then, that little eating disorder voice was strong