Intermittent Fasting

"It's not what it looks like," is what I wanted to tell you, but that would mean this moment was open to interpretation.

You looked at me with mouth agape and brows furrowed, grocery bags long since abandoned to scatter across the floor like a battlefield. Broken eggs laid with entrails leaking from their shells. The milk gushed from the carton and formed a chasm between us.

"You're gonna have to clean the carpet," I stated.

"Is that Cedric from 2A?"

I looked down at the body wrapped in my arms, or rather, what was left of it. The gaping hole of his neck was still leaking from earlier, coloring my white shirt in soft carmine and my hands in bold crimson. The taste was still fresh on my tongue from my last bite, though the iron seemed more prominent this time around. I always knew he was going to be bitter.

"He wanted to return your Tupperware from the Christmas party." I gestured to the table where Cedric last stood, how he kept his back turned for way too long, making him easy prey.

You followed my hand and swallowed hard, shaky breaths seeping from your open mouth.

"How–" You began, voice already breaking. "When...did this start?"

Cedric's body was cold in my hands and his stench was teetering towards the territory of too ripe. I needed to finish him quick otherwise the smell would get trapped into the furniture.

"Can we talk about this in the morning?" My voice strained while pleading and I cringed at how pathetic I sounded.

"You expect me to just sleep on this?!" You shrieked. "You think I can just look the other way and have a nice chat about it the next day? You've been...in our home!"

I wanted you to say it so we could be honest with each other. I wanted you to look me in the eyes and call me by name, wanted you to make a mess of me on your floor. Our floor.

"It wasn't always here," I explained. "Sometimes I'd go to hotels or motels. Some people even took me home to do it. I wasn't picky."

The distraught on your face was mortifying to witness but I needed it. I needed you enraged and craving, hungry enough to eat me alive. I needed you to consume me the way I wanted to consume you for so long. But then your eyes started to water and your knees gave out. You did not fall all at once, didn't topple down in a heap of yourself. You knelt in the pool of spilled milk until it formed a dark blue wound on your jeans. You steadied your body using your hands and gripped the liquid like it could sustain you. As if it could nourish you the way I could.

"I had no idea..." You muttered. "Had no clue that you were...like this."

In our first years of dating, we promised to tell each other everything. A vow under an oak tree in the dog days of summer, a cliche romance. We swore with pinkies, as expected of two stupid kids, and sealed it further by pressing thumbs together–a signed contract. I told myself that it was only natural to break childish promises when becoming an adult. It was becoming increasingly evident that you had yet to grow up.

"If you hate me, then do something about it."

The challenge hung in the air and fumigated it. You looked up with fear in your eyes.

"What?"

"You heard me," I continued, allowing Cedric's body to fall to the ground. I ripped myself from the floor and stalked towards you.

"You think I'm disgusting, right? Think I'm a monster? Think I'm some form of freak? Then do something about it! Show me how you really feel! Show me your true self!" My words were relentless and shrill, endlessly gushing from my mouth in waves. The more I screamed, the more I could taste the carnage on my tongue. The sweet nectar of blood and sweat mixed with my saliva and frothed at my mouth in ruby bubbles. I felt the drool rolling off my chin, reactivating the crusted blood that dressed my lips.

You looked up at me and that was the catalyst of your consumption. Your eyes swallowed me whole, devouring every inch of my exposed form. You ate me slowly, starting from the my feet before slipping past my blood stained clothes and looking into my eyes that were dilated with pleasure and hunger.

When you stood up from the ground, I prepared myself for divine justice. I prepared to feel your hands around my neck or the harsh pain of a knife stabbing into my stomach. I prepared for you to punish me for being the worst version of myself. But you were too scared of that, too scared of losing me I suppose. Because your hands cupped my cheeks instead of my neck, rubbing against my skin and attempting to remove the filth. You moved as much as you could, let your palms turn the same ruddy color as mine, and kissed me. My immediate reaction was to retract, to push away and denounce the love you gave me. But your body was so warm and your taste so familiar that I could not deny you, couldn't deny instinct.

Your tongue gently entered my mouth and tasted the massacre that rested within, let the blood stain your tongue and poison your mouth. There were moments where your body jerked and I could feel acid taint your tongue, but you managed to swallow it each time it came, releasing a pained groan as you did. Your hands were trembling by the end of it, both knees finally giving out and leaving you to kneel before me in a helpless heap. And I fell with you, allowing myself to join the mass of bodies on the ground surrounded by our mess. I let one hand be held by you and the other reached for Cedric. We looked at each other for a moment, breath ragged and unable to be satiated. For the first time since I met you, I finally saw the space inside of you made perfectly for me.

"Don't leave me," You whispered in between breaths. "Promise?"

I pressed my head against yours and took my rightful place in your arms.

"Promise."