Eaten Alive: A Love Story

Eaten Alive: A Love Story
or
Worship in a Burning Temple

Sometimes I make the ‘finger guns’ gesture with my hands and put them under my chin and pretend to pull the triggers, then put my fingers above my head and ‘flick’ them like its my brains blasting out of the top of my skull, complete with boosh and kerblam sounds from my mouth. Sometimes I’ll do this like two or three times in quick succession, hoping one of the times it will actually happen and I can leave my stupid brains splattered across the ceiling or wall and my body will fall and smash into a table or a counter edge and further ruin the room with the mess of my useless ugly body. No funeral. No casket. Dump me in a ditch and let the birds have at it.

I tell this to Gwen and she tells me it’s “probably normal” without even looking up from the cannibalism video she’s watching, and I’m pretty sure she didn’t even hear me, and if she did she’s a fucking sociopath (she is) and doesn’t care about my safety (she doesn’t). I guess that’s kind of the response I want, in some weird backwards way, but I have just enough dignity left to know I should be offended, so I choose to be offended. It’s all I have left anymore.

I put the beer down next to the other beers I’ve been putting down and walk out into the yard without pulling my shoes on. It’s the middle of December and the snow is deep enough to sink up to my ankles, soaking my socks instantly, and I can feel my feet rapidly numbing. I think about my feet going numb and then black and then falling off. “My feet are going numb, then they’ll turn black, then fall off,” I say to nobody, just to watch the steam escape my mouth. I quit smoking two years ago, and in this moment I wish I hadn’t, like really really wish I hadn’t.

I check my jacket pocket for a pack of smokes where I used to keep them, but obviously it’s empty. It’s always empty now. My left jean pocket is always full with my phone though, so I take it out and call up Jeremy.

Jeremy has been smoking since he was 12 years old, and he tells everyone when we go to the bars, like it’s a war story, like he’s proud of it, and he may as well be because that’s exactly the sort of personal detail Jeremy would be proud of. Jeremy is proud of the scar running down his lip and chin where a dog tried to eat his face off. Jeremy is proud of the time he fasted and drank nothing but whisky for a full week just to see if he could. He has the hospital discharge papers framed on his wall to prove it, right across from the front door so it’s the first thing you see when you walk into his apartment.

Jeremy answers on the first ring, and he’s clearly smoking because when he talks you can tell there’s something in his mouth, and it’s after 3pm so that could only be either a lit cigarette or a cigarette he hasn’t lit yet.

“Hello?”

“Hey.” I absently pick up a stick and throw it at the abandoned car in the lot next door. The one with no tires and the paint job that looks like it was done with a set of child’s finger paints.

“What do you want,” he asks, like I’m somehow wasting his time. I hear a glass clink in the background, but otherwise it’s completely silent.

“I don’t think Gwen loves me anymore.”

“She probably doesn’t.”

I take a breath and pretend it calms me down. “I didn’t even tell you what happened.”

Jeremy laughs. “Alright, big dog. Tell me what happened.”

I almost hang up, but don’t because I’m pathetic and lonely. And ugly. “I told her I pretend to kill myself sometimes and she said that was normal.”

“That is normal. Look, I’m doing it right now.” I hear clothing shuffle for a few seconds. “See?”

“We’re on the phone, dude. I can’t see what you’re doing.”

“You’ll just have to take my word for it.” He takes a long, audible drink, and exhales.

I listen to him breathe heavily on the receiver and throw another stick at the car, bigger this time. The hood dents with a satisfying donk.

“Is that all?”

“No, sorry. Want to go to Hops?” One of the bars in town is called The Hop Along but everyone just calls it Hops because brevity is the soul of reticence.

“I’m already there.”

“You are? I don’t hear anyone around you.”

“It’s like 3:45. The only people here are people who have nothing worth saying.”

I hang up without saying goodbye and go back inside. I lean into the living room to say goodbye to Gwen but she’s gone, her laptop open and the video paused on horrific violence. I yell something but nobody responds.

I grab my coat and force shoes on over my wet freezing socks, then walk. I could drive, but Hops is the perfect distance away where walking is too far and driving is too short, and also I plan to get absolutely fucking shitfaced (fervently) so I walk.

——

The walk is uneventful, and I meander because I’m not particularly excited. It takes me most of an hour. Things happen maybe but I don’t pay attention. Someone calls my name and I ignore it because I don’t really know anyone, so they probably weren’t talking to me anyway.

There’s no bouncer at the door to Hops yet because it’s early and the sun’s still up, so kids aren’t trying to sneak in. I open the door and get hit with a wave of nauseous deja vu, which sort of makes sense because I’ve been here ten billion times over the past several years, but this time feels different in that it feels excruciatingly familiar.

I see Jeremy sitting alone at a booth near the pool tables where a drunk man and an even drunker man are taking turns enthusiastically missing their shots. Jeremy is watching them with no discernable facial expression, flat-mouthed and browed, holding a bottle to his lips like it might breathe life back into his husk.

I approach with my hand lifted half-heartedly and say “hi” and his mouth forms shapes but no sound comes out. His eyes don’t move from where they’re fixed on the pool table. The drunker man is aiming at the eight ball even though there are both solids and stripes still on the table, and the drunk man starts laughing. I laugh too, taken by the mundane absurdity of the scene, and they both stop to lift their heads and look at me.

“Good luck with your shot,” I say, stupidly.

The drunker man opens his mouth like he’s going to respond and vomit dribbles onto his shoes. He coughs “oh shit” and “fuck” several times, dropping his pool cue to stitch a stuttering path in the general direction of the bathroom, pinballing off several tables in his haste, and the drunk man starts laughing again.

I slide into the booth across from Jeremy and I see Gwen is at the bar. I must have walked right past her. How did she get here before me?

“How did she get here before me,” I mutter.

“Who,” Jeremy manages.

“Gwen. She’s over at the bar. She was just at home. Or I think she was. Nobody was there when I left but I never saw her leave.”

“Crafty dames,” he says, eyes still glued to some spot on the pool table. He breathes heavily for a few moments, and I’m about to stand and, I don’t know, approach Gwen?, or something?, when he turns his head to me and says, “Everyone does it, you know.”

I shake my head for a moment and look back at him and sit back down, not realizing I had stood. “Does what?”

“Pretends to kill themselves. Look.” He then puts his hands together like he’s attempting to shoot a kamehameha like Goku from Dragon Ball, then bends his elbows and aims it under his chin up at his own face, his expression twisting in mock-agony as the ‘beam’ ‘shoots’ up through his head. He holds this pose, vibrating and shaking in place, for several seconds before his face returns to flat placidity and he settles back in the booth, his eyes sliding back to the table like they’ve clicked into position. “That’s what I did over the phone.”

I stare at him for a few seconds, unsure how to respond. “I see.”

“Yeah, you do now. So don’t be such a weirdo about it.” He takes a drink. “I can do it again, if you want.”

“No, uh, that’s okay.” I glance at Gwen again. She’s baring her fangs and standing, turning to the bathroom where the drunker man stumbled. “Oh, no. I think Gwen is going to do something.”

Jeremy’s eyes flick to the bar for a fraction of a second. The drunk man has sat down right where he was standing, pool cue still in hand, waiting for the drunker man to return. Jeremy coughs a laugh. “Hey big dog,” he says to the drunk man, “I don’t think your pool partner will be coming back.” He points a finger at Gwen, her tongue working the air like a snake. “Someone’s hungry.”

The drunk looks over his shoulder, checks his watch, and frowns. “Aw, man. I was winning, too.”

“No you weren’t.”

“I was about to be winning.”

“No. You weren’t.”

“Whatever, man.” The drunk man stands and goes to the bar, taking Gwen’s empty seat, and immediately hits on a short girl sitting in a stool beside him. She rolls her eyes and turns her whole body away from him, and the drunk man looks sad.

“Did you know that guy? The one that threw up.”

“No.”

“Did he say anything bad? Like, political or anything?

“He called the other guy a hobo, I think.”

“Huh. Should I, uh,” I say, realizing my hands and mouth are empty in a building full of alcohol. “Should I follow her?”

“Why would you follow her?”

Good question. “She usually asks me before she…” I swallow. “Sometimes she gets messy. It’s been a couple days since she left the apartment, I think, and she was just watching food porn.”

“Food porn, huh?”

“I think it was a red room video or something.”

“So you’re saying she’s horny.”

“That guy looked really drunk.”

“He threw up all over himself. He probably tastes like shit.”

“No, he just ejected all the bad-tasting stuff.”

“True.”

“I’m going to follow her.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“You wouldn’t do anything.”

“True.”

I stand up and start to move to the bathroom, but change my mind and go to the bar instead. I stand in front of where the short girl has turned and order a grateful dead. She’s ignoring me and I think about how often women ignore me. I look at the drunk man and he’s looking at the beer bottle in his hands, frowning. “That guy give you trouble?”

She sighs and says, “Two guys are giving me trouble now.”

“Sorry, I just…” I stop the thought. No point. “Did that girl who was sitting here before say where she was going?”

“The vampire?”

I don’t think Gwen is a vampire, but I don’t really know what she is. Vampires only feed on the gender they were attracted to in life, though, and I’ve only ever seen Gwen eat men. But they’re also supposed to be really weak during the day. I don’t know. Maybe she is a vampire. I don’t know. I don’t like to think about it.

“She’s not a vampire. She’s… well, nevermind. I don’t know.” 

“Whatever.”

“That guy looked really drunk. I think she’s hungry.”

“Sucks for him.”

“Sucks for her. Blehh,” I say with a grin, and hold my fingers in front of my mouth like fangs. “Get it? Cause…”

There aren’t many vampires anymore, but there’s still other things. I met a werewolf once but it was the new moon and he was just, like, a guy. He may have been lying. Sometimes people do that. To seem cool, I think, or more interesting, but it’s a difficult lie to maintain. Eventually people are like ‘why aren’t you turning’ and ‘you scratched me but the moon didn’t do shit’ and ‘I gave you a silver cup and you’re still alive you fucking liar.’ Fights break out. Actual things get involved, and then someone really does become a werewolf. Or something worse.

You’d think small towns would be safer, but these sorts of things tend to happen in the quiet places. Cities just create more problems for them since that’s where Hunters tend to organize, and someone’s always screaming about something. 

“Yeah, I get it,” she says, rolling her eyes but smiling a little. She didn’t turn away or leave, I think hopefully, then immediately feel disgusted with myself. For a couple reasons.

I wish I had a cigarette. Gwen says smokers taste awful. Why did I quit?

“What are you drinking?”

She holds up the glass as if seeing it for the first time. “Alcohol.”

“You’re funny.”

“You’re annoying.”

I tell her my name. “I’m that other girl’s boyfriend.” Then, “I’m not hitting on you.”

“She must be very proud.”

“Listen, I just wanted to know if she said anything. I think she might eat that guy and I’d rather not, I don’t know, have her get home and stain the couch. She doesn’t always clean up well.”

The short girl finally looks at me. “She told me to hold her seat. Said she’d be right back.”

“Oh, so you were talking?”

“Kind of. She asked me what time it was. Then she asked me if I ate food or people.”

Pretty blunt, even for Gwen. “Woah. That didn’t freak you out?”

“Yeah a bit, but being afraid doesn’t usually help. And the sun’s still up.”

“She’s not a vampire.”

“If you say so.”

The bartender hands me my drink and I give him my card. “So what did you tell her?”

“I told her I wasn’t hungry. Nice drink. Very colorful. Does it come with crayons and a bib?”

“It’s good! Wanna try a sip?”

“Nice try.”

I shrug and decide this isn’t going anywhere. “Well, it was nice meeting you, whatever your name is. I’m going t—”

“Monique.”

“Monique. Nice to meet you. I’m going to go make sure my girlfriend is alright.”

It’s at this moment that Garret decides to walk into the bar, and we instantly lock eyes.

I haven’t seen Garret for 6 years. He left without saying goodbye to anyone. He disappeared.

We were at a housewarming party for some couple I didn’t know but they knew Garret, and him and I were sitting on the front porch avoiding the rest of the guests (like we do), drinking wine coolers and laughing about how this new house smelled so strongly of wet dog (they did not own a dog), when he checked his watch, said he’d be right back, and just walked away. I’d said “alright” and he kind of smiled down at the grass as he stood, and he stepped off the porch and went up the sidewalk and around the corner and then he just never came back. I stayed at the party for another hour and a half, waiting for him to return, playing the ‘don’t tell anyone my name’ game (my favorite game) and consuming as much free alcohol and food as I could before finally giving up and leaving.

Garret doesn’t have a phone or a car or a permanent address, so I assumed he died or was eaten by something.

I had mourned him. For years.

“What the actual fuck.”

“Oh, hey man. Long time no see. I saw you walking and called to you, but you didn’t look. I was worried you didn’t wan—”

I run—actually run—over to him and throw my arms around him, nearly knocking us both to the floor. I don’t say anything, choking back a sob I refuse to acknowledge, and just breathe into the bulk of his shoulder for a while. He lets me do it.

Eventually, “Where did you go,” muffled by his coat.

He hesitates. “Something came up.” His voice is quiet, soft.

“I thought you died.”

Hesitation. Clears his throat. A small laugh. “Well.”

I pull away from his shoulder and step back. I look at him. He’s pale. Grey. His eyes are raccooned; a spiderweb of veins, dark and needle-thin, spreading faintly outward across his face. “Oh. My god.”

“Yeah. I’m, uh,” he lowers his voice to nearly a whisper. “I’m a ghoul now. Sorry.”

I don’t know why he’s apologizing to me. He looks ashamed. I’ve never met a ghoul before. I don’t know how to react, or what to think, or how much danger I’m in. “Are you… am… is it…what are you…”

“I’m not here to do anything bad.”

“You—”

“I wanted to see my best friend again.”

The sob finally comes out and I’m crying now, standing there like a child, snot dripping and hiccuping and tears are rolling down my face, and he gives me that look, that sympathetic fatherly look he’s so good at, like he knows and he wants me to know he’s here and it’s okay, but he’s grey and tired and dead, and I’m crying in public and I want to hug him but I’m afraid. I’m afraid.

He approaches me slowly and turns me around and puts his arm around my shoulder, walking me back to the bar. “Let’s get a drink. Oh look, Jeremy is here.”

“Yeah,” I say between hiccups, “He’ll be happy to see you.” Jeremy hasn’t looked up from the pool table yet.

“I’m glad you two are still friends.”

“‘Friend’ is a strong word,” I say, trying to smile.

There’s a sudden, violent burst of a shriek from the bathroom, cut off clean and short like a guillotine, and the bar goes silent again as though nothing even happened. Garret whips his head over, his nostrils dilating and his pupils constricting as he senses something I can’t imagine. “What was that,” he asks. “I smell…”

I groan and my shoulders drop. “That’s Gwen. Um… my girlfriend.”

His face lights up in a smile, and he almost looks like his old self. When he was alive. “A girlfriend? Hey man, nice job!” He pats me on the chest, and his hand lingers over my heart. I definitely notice. “After Becca, I wasn’t sure you’d ever recover.”

“She’s uh…”

Garret’s pupils constrict again, he huffs the air, and he gets it. “Oh shit. Dude. Are you okay?”

“Me? Yeah, I’m fine. I mean, she’s never done anything to me or anything.”

“What…” he sniffs hard, then again, his brow furrowed into a question mark. “What is she?”

I shrug.

“Is she…”

“Eating, yeah.”

“Here? Right now?”

“She knows what she’s doing.”

“Doesn’t really answer my question, bud.”

I shrug again. “Things have been weird since you left. In a lot of ways.”

He shrinks a little. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to leave. Something, uh…”

“Came up, yeah. You said.”

“I’ll tell you about it over a drink.” He looks down at my leg. “My treat. Come on.”

I follow his gaze and realize my grateful dead is empty, poured all down the side of my pants. I didn’t even feel it happen.

He drags me to the bar, that old energy returned to him, and he gets us a couple beers, and we walk back to the booth where Jeremy sits statue-still and unblinking.

“Jeremy! What’s up, my guy?”

Jeremy doesn’t move. “Garret.”

“He’s back, dude. Aren’t you going to, like, say something else?”

“I see you’ve died. Congratulations.” He lifts his beer in a mock-toast and drains the rest of it, still not looking at anything in particular.

Garret looks at me and makes a face. “Yeah. Ghoul. It’s… it could be worse,” he lies.

“Sure.”

I sit down across from Jeremy and Garret slides in next to me, and I vaguely realize I’m blocked from leaving by a thing. An inhuman. A monster. My friend. My best friend is an inhuman now. Ghouls eat humans. I am surrounded by death and I have to act like it’s okay.

That nauseous deja vu returns and I feel something thick and cold rise in my throat, but I force it down, angrily. I try to feel angry. If I feel anything else I might lose it. I wipe the snot from my face.

We’re all quiet for a long moment. Garret sips his beer, and Jeremy peels at the label on his bottle. The drunk man has left, and the bar is basically empty except for the three of us and Monique, who is making a display of not paying attention to us. And Gwen, I guess. The bartender is busying himself with something. I don’t know what’s happening in the bathroom. It’s very, very quiet.

“So,” Garret says, and I jump. “I imagine you’d like to know what happened. To me, I mean.”

“No,” Jeremy says.

“I would like to know,” I say quietly. “If you’re okay talking about it. You don’t have to.”

Garret smiles and rolls the bottle between his hands. “I am. I owe you that, at the very least.”

“I thought you died,” I say, immediately regretting it. “Well—”

“I did.”

“Yeah.”

Garret takes another long drink and talks. He says it happened almost immediately after he left that housewarming party. Says he was really, truly going to be right back, and just wanted to find a phonebooth. He needed to make a call to his mom, who was in the hospital at the time—nothing serious, just a broken leg from a bad fall—but the sun was setting and he was walking alone in an unfamiliar neighborhood.

“Why didn’t you use the phone in the house,” I ask.

“I don’t know. I didn’t get along with my mom. I didn’t want to get angry in front of everyone.”

He says he’d walked for about ten minutes before he realized how quiet everything was. “The kind of quiet where you know it’s not supposed to be that quiet,” he says with a face like he’s reliving it in real time. He says a car drove past, like right by him on the road, and he couldn’t hear it, like his ears had been stuffed with cotton. “I knew I was fucked,” he says, matter-of-fact. “That was it. I’d heard stories, but I didn’t think it could happen in a town like ours.” He drinks his beer. “Fucking stupid.”

He says he felt a pull, like a magnet—no, like gravity; a pull he couldn’t resist, even though he’d wanted to—towards an alley between a bus station and a closed gas station. Then he saw the eyes, like kaleidoscopes. The thing, he didn’t know what it was but he knew it was an inhuman, stood stooped and thin, rail-thin, and he knew whatever it was had been very hungry. “It told me so,” he says, and takes another drink. “Not, like, with words, but it put the thought into my head. I knew it was really goddamn hungry but it wasn’t personal or anything. I think maybe it felt bad.” He says it was standing under a light above the gas station’s back door but it cast no shadow. “I don’t cast a shadow anymore either,” he says heavily, and I realize he’s right. The lighting in here is dim, but Jeremy and I are somehow lit more clearly than him, like he’s standing under an umbrella. He bounces his leg under the table.

He says he walked right up to it and it put its hand on his shoulder. He had a moment to take in the details, like how the thing looked like a sad old man. Grey skin, trimmed white beard, full head of combed white hair. Its clothes were clean and ironed, which surprised him, and it had a suitcase with it. Like a normal travel bag, with wheels and a handle and everything. Green. They stared at each other for a long moment and he fell into its eyes. “I don’t know how else to describe it,” he says. There was a storm of fractured color and geometry, then absolute darkness, and he felt pain first in his chest, then it erupted across his whole body, and he couldn’t scream or run or flail or do anything. He says it felt like it lasted for years, and he experienced every single excruciating second of those years, more than experienced, like it was etched into his DNA with a dull chisel, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on, for an eternity, and eternity, and then it just stopped. “Stopped dead,” he says, and almost laughs. He says everything was cold. It was a July evening, but it was so cold. Frigid. “It’s still cold,” he says, “but not as bad as at first. I’ve gotten used to it, maybe. I don’t shiver anymore, at least.”

He’s quiet after this. Jeremy is looking at him now, still expressionless, the label peeled to shreds.

I’m quiet too. But I have to ask. Timidly, “Then what?”

“Well,” he says, and finishes his beer. “The thing was still there. Looking down over me. Once I could move, it held out its hand and helped me up. I wasn’t afraid anymore. I checked my watch and the first thing I noticed was it had been maybe five minutes. That eternity of pain… compressed to just five minutes. Jesus.” He winces. “Then I noticed the color of my skin. I felt something, or maybe the lack of something, like I should have been surprised or afraid or angry, but I just sort of… registered it. I was dead now. It turned me. It said as much, in my head again. I don’t know why it didn’t eat me.

“I told it my name and it looked sad and turned away and went into the bus station. I followed it. It bought a ticket to somewhere in New Jersey, and I bought one too, and I just followed it.

“It said things to me on that bus ride. Sort of… put the experiences in my head, not clearly but clear enough that I knew what to do now. How to move, what I could and couldn’t do, what life would be like now.” He chuckles. “Not ‘life.’ You know what I mean.”

Jeremy still says nothing.

I drink my beer a couple times and finally ask, “Why didn’t you tell us?”

He gives me a look. “Tell you what? That I was a thing now? ‘Hey dude, I died, don’t worry, I’m super fucking hungry, like all the time, and you smell so goddamn good right now, but don’t worry, I’m pretty sure I won’t eat my buddy.” He laughs harder. “What a stupid question.”

A shiver lights up my spine. His nostrils flare, and he shakes his head.

“I’m sorry. That was fucked. I won’t—I… I won’t. I swear on anything and everything, if that means anything to you. I won’t. I won’t.” He stands and takes his and Jeremy’s bottle. Clears his throat. “I’m gonna grab another one. You boys want anything?”

Jeremy holds up his index finger.

“Still working on mine,” I say.

“You got it,” he says, that fatherly smile back on his face, and turns to the bar. I watch him approach Monique, and she says something to him, and he responds. She smirks.

Jeremy’s eyes slide to me. “He said you smell good,” he says with a shitty grin.

“Shut up.”

“If it’s any consolation, he’d definitely eat me first.”

“He said he wouldn’t.”

“He was talking to you.”

I shake my head and slide out of the booth while I have the chance. “I’m going to go check on Gwen. She’s been in there for a long time.”

“Good luuuuck,” he says in a flat sing-song.

——

The bathroom is unisex, which I guess makes me feel a little better than if I was barging into a women’s bathroom. There’s nobody here, but still.

I open the bathroom door and am hit with the smell before the sight.

Gwen is down on all fours, facing away from me, licking the floor where a small pool of blood has gathered where the tiles are missing. Her head twists and she’s got blood all over her face, her eyes are wild and enormous, bulging, black with little white pin pricks where her pupils should be. Fangs. She scans me up and down in an instant, then returns to lapping up the blood.

I wait for her to finish, as much from my fear paralysis as for my concern for what happened. Besides the rapidly shrinking puddle, the rest of the bathroom is untouched. The stall door is wide open, but there is no body anywhere. A shirt hangs over the rim of the trash can. The drunker man’s shirt.

She stands and wipes her mouth, still facing away from me, and breathes a deep, satisfied sigh.

“Gwen…”

“Who’s that with you,” she asks, licking her fingers, still facing away.

I turn slightly and Garret is at my shoulder, two beers in his hands, and I yelp.

“You must be the girlfriend,” he says, unfazed, and Gwen turns to face us. Blood is smeared across her face. I watch the white flood back to her sclera, and her eyes shrink to their normal size.

She looks only at me. “Who is this,” she says, more a demand than a question.

Shiver. “This is, uh, Garret. My best friend. Maybe you remember me telling you about him. He disappeared a few years ago, before we met. He’s, um… he’s back.”

“I thought Jeremy was your best friend.”

I laugh, despite myself. She looks annoyed.

“No, uh, Jeremy is cool but we’re mostly bar buddies.”

“You’re always talking to him.”

“He’s… kind of my only friend.” I look back at Garret. “Was my only friend.”

He smiles at me. His teeth are sharp. “I’d blush if I could.”

“This is very sweet,” she says, moving to the sink, “but why are you in here?”

“Did you eat that guy?”

She rinses her hands off. “Yes.”

“How’d he taste,” Garret asks, his pupils constricted and vibrating.

Gwen turns to consider him fully, and a smile slides up the side of her face before she turns back to the sink. Her reflection in the mirror is smeared, like a hand wiped across a fresh painting. “Good. Better than expected. This one,” she points at me, “doesn’t want me eating just anyone, so I’ve readjusted my palate.”

Garret grins at me, juggles the beers to one hand, and pats me on the shoulder. “He’s a good one.”

I flush and feel faint, horridly conflicted about how to feel about this. Did she know that guy?

Gwen glances up in the mirror at something, then back to cleaning her hands and face. “It’s a damn party in here.”

I turn and Monique is standing at my other shoulder, and I yelp again.

Garret laughs. “You alright, dude?”

“Yeah, I just… it’s been a weird day. Hi, Monique.”

“So you were telling the truth,” Monique says, arms crossed.

“About what?”

“Her being your girlfriend.”

“Why would I… why would I lie about that?”

She shrugs. “To seem dangerous.”

I laugh and gesture up and down my body. “Do I look like the kind of person who wants to be perceived as dangerous?”

She shrugs again. “You look like the kind of guy who needs constant reassurance.”

Jesus. What’s with this girl? Garret looks offended on my behalf, and I think Gwen wants to laugh—that twitch at the corner of her mouth—but she keeps a straight face.

“You seem fun.” She finishes washing up. “You’re lucky I’m straight.”

Monique makes a face and pulls her head back. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’m fat and happy. Come on. I need a drink.” She belches and it smells like metal and vomit, then pushes past the three of us and makes for the bar. The bartender, nonplussed, stands at the ready. Nobody fucks with bartenders because everyone likes to drink, especially inhumans, and especially very old inhumans. Bartending is one of the safest professions, as far as getting eaten goes, and I briefly consider renewing my license.

“You used to be a bartender, right babe?” she smiles, pulling out her card.

That was weird. But she does that sometimes.

“Yeah, for a year or so, before we met. I wasn’t really social enough for it, though. It stressed me out. I don’t think customers liked me much.”

“You don’t think anyone likes you much.”

“They don’t.”

She looks annoyed again. “I like you. Garret here seems to like you.”

He squeezes my shoulder too hard and it hurts. I wince.

“Oop, sorry,” he says quietly, and takes his hand back.

Monique is staring at me. I can’t read her expression.

“No, I know, I just stress about stuff. Can’t be in the moment. That seems important for bartending.”

Gwen takes her drink from the bartender, who is definitely listening but is pretending not to, and turns to me. “This guy over here doesn’t seem too concerned about that stuff. He’s just doing his job.”

I check my phone. “It’s 5:30 on a Tuesday. His ‘job’ hasn’t started yet.”

The bartender turns to me at this and smiles, but kind of an angry smile. “Sir, I take this job seriously whether it’s Tuesday afternoon or Saturday night.” He looks at Gwen and adds, “Do I need to call a cleaner for the bathroom?”

“No,” she says.

“Will I need to call the cops?”

Half the cops in this country are things. “No.”

He seems satisfied, but breathes hard out his nose. “Don’t eat my customers. That guy was a regular, and he didn’t pay his tab, so it’s yours now. With interest.”

“Understood.”

He nods to her, then to us, and goes back to busying himself with cleaning.

Garret bumps me and leans to my ear. “He called you ‘Sir.’”

—-

A few hours pass, and Gwen, Garret, and Monique have gotten chummy.

Monique reveals she’s a law student, and she wants to be a prosecutor, specifically for the benefit of families of monster attack victims. “Sorry, ‘monsters’ is insensitive. The ‘humanely deficient.’ Or whatever,” she slurs, four whiskey gingers deep. Monique is kind of racist but with inhumans, whatever the word for that is, and isn’t trying very hard to hide it. She’s fascinated that Gwen is dating me, but in the way a far-right politician is fascinated by queer couples.

I’m having a hard time not getting offended, but Garret and Gwen are just as fascinated by her. In the way a cat is fascinated by a defiant mouse.

Jeremy is being Jeremy.

“So do you two have sex?” she finally asks, taking the first sip of her fifth whiskey ginger. “Can you have sex?” she asks, pointedly at Gwen.

Jeremy laughs harder than he needs to. “They definitely can. I was sleeping on their couch the first time they did it, and holy shit, I thought she was eating him. He was screeee-miiiing.”

“She did try to eat me the first time!”

Gwen snorts and waves a hand. “No I didn’t, you big fucking baby. You made me cum and I let my fangs out for, like, a second.”

“You did that thing with your eyes! The wavy, spinny thing. I felt my soul leave my body.”

“That was just you cumming. I have that effect.”

“What do you even see in him,” Monique asks, like I’m not even here.

Gwen’s laughter subsides and she runs a finger around the edge of her glass, a wistful smile on her lips. “He’s… sweet. He cared for me, even after he saw what I was. He saw what I did to those people but he wanted to make sure I was okay.”

“He’s a good one,” Garret says for the hundredth time tonight.

“He thinks you don’t love him anymore,” Jeremy says, like the biggest asshole on the planet. “He told me today.”

“What the fuck, Jeremy!?”

Garret’s posture goes stiff. Gwen looks at me and her expression goes… something. Challenged.

“Why do you think that?”

I stutter for a while. “I–you–m–well–it–”

“Tell me why you think that.”

Oh my god. “Do we need to have this conversation right here? Right now?”

She gestures around the table with a flick of her wrist, not breaking eye contact with me. “We’re all friends here.”

Jeremy’s face is red, but he grins anyway. Garret looks like he’d be sweating if he could. Monique is leaning forward, eyebrows raised as she sips away at her drink.

“Well, you just… you’ve been distant. We haven’t really, you know… talked recently. About anything. More than recently; for months now. We don’t go for drives like we used to, which I thought you loved, or go to our spot at the cliffs and look at the stars. You don’t ask my opinions about your… meal choices. I say hello when I get home from work you don’t even acknowledge me. Fuck, earlier today I told you I sometimes pretend to kill myself, and you said that it was normal, like I didn’t just tell you something deeply personal and upsetting, like I didn’t just reach out to you for reassurance.”

“Called it,” Monique says to no one in particular.

I ignore her. “You gave me nothing. Then you show up here and eat that guy and we just hang out like everything’s fine, like we’re all good? Why? For Garret and this fucking cunt?” I decide I’m not ignoring her anymore. “Fuck you, Monique, by the way, you bigot.”

She explodes like she was just waiting for any excuse. “Hey, fuck you right back you enabling piece of shit! You turn a blind eye when this fucking thing eats people! PEOPLE! With hopes and dreams and loved ones and lives! You’re complicit with murder! Give me two more years and I’ll have your sorry ass thrown in prison to rot right along with all the other freaks! You know, at first I thought you were just a creep, then I thought you were a chaser, and now I see you for what you really are: a pitiful little bitch hiding behind his pet monster. Absolutely fucking pathetic.” She lifts her chin and tips her glass back to gulp the rest of her drink, and Gwen stabs her fingers into the soft of Monique’s throat with a guttural pop and tears out her esophagus. Blood and alcohol spray across the table and all over Garret, who is still sitting stock-still, and Monique has time to look surprised and gurgle something before her head flops to the side and she falls out of the booth, dead. Her glass shatters as it hits the ground, mixing with the spreading pool of blood and other fluids.

I don’t know how to comprehend what’s just happened. Even Jeremy looks confused. My mouth is open and I can taste her blood. My head spins. My vision vignettes. I vomit all over the table and collapse against the wall, nearly fainting.

Gwen licks her hand. “Pazuzu’s Law states, in any public location, between 5pm and 5am local time, an inhuman can act upon its natural instincts on any human who is not actively engaged with employment, within the state or municipality’s tolerance for unpremeditated murder, for the explicit purpose of feeding, provided there is no damage to public or private property, accidental or intentional. And the Pale Man Act of 1983 states any inhuman is exempt from lawful consequence if provoked into action without rightful cause. She didn’t know that guy. She had no cause to provoke.”

“Holy shit,” Jeremy says, and takes a drink from his beer.

“Oh, and sorry!” Gwen shouts to the bartender, who is shaking his head and dialing the phone.

Garret clears his throat, his eyes wide and darting between Gwen and Monique’s corpse. “You, uh… you gonna eat that?”

“We should probably go. Carry my boyfriend, would you?”

—

It doesn’t take long for the police to show up. The officer who pulls Gwen aside is another thing, the metal tag pinned to his uniform proudly displaying “INCUBUS” and “SOMNIUM DIVISION” below his name. Human officers talk to me, Garret, and Jeremy, all looking as bored and inconvenienced as if we’d called in a missing dog.

I tell the truth about what happened, as does everyone else, which we agreed we would. Gwen is confident that nothing illegal has happened, and she’s right, or at least right enough that the police don’t care to arrest any of us.

“You‘ve reached your allotted feedings for the month,” the incubus tells her. “We’ll be keeping an ear out. Understand?”

“Yes, officer.”

He shoots her a smile that could melt glass. “Alright, you folks have a great rest of your night. And get your friend cleaned up. He’ll scare the humies,” he adds, pointing to Garret, whose clothes are still splattered with Monique’s blood.

“Absolutely, sir,” I say, feeling an unbelievable weight lift despite the casual slur. “We were just going home.”

The incubus waves and the officers get back in their squad cars and leave, and the night is calm again. There are people milling about now, but nobody pays any particular attention to us. I take a deep breath and turn to Garret and Jeremy. “You guys wanna stay over tonight?”

“And listen to her eat you alive again? No thanks. I need a drink,” Jeremy says, stamps out his cigarette, and immediately walks into another bar two doors down.

“I’ll stay over,” Garret says. “I’d like that. Not like I have anywhere else to go.” He looks down at himself. “Do you have any clothes I can borrow? And a shower? I’m not very liquid right now. No pun intended.” He grins and wrings out a fistful of his shirt, dripping blood on the sidewalk.

I look at Gwen. “That alright with you?”

“Yeah, sure. But Garret, I’m warning you now: he’s mine. You eat him and I’ll eat you.”

Very reassuring. I laugh nervously but Gwen’s face is stone.

Garret shows his palms. “Hey now, nothing to worry about. I already told him, but I’ll say it again. I would never do anything. He’s my best friend; these six years haven’t changed that for me, and I hope they haven’t changed it for him, either.” He looks at me, and he looks like his old self, and I feel safe, despite everything. “I came back different and you hugged me. That’s not… you don’t throw that away for the world.”

I feel like I’m going to cry again. Six years. Goddammit. “It hasn’t changed for me,” I say, proud of myself for not choking up.

“Very sweet,” Gwen says. “Let’s go before he starts crying.”

Goddammit.

——

Back at the house, I pick out some of my baggier clothes for Garret, get him a towel, and show him to the bathroom. I put his bloody clothes in the washer, and collapse onto the couch.

Gwen sits next to me, tucks her legs under herself. Leans her head on my shoulder.

Sounds of water splashing in the other room lull me into a calm, and I finally relax. My eyelids get heavier and heavier, the comfortable weight of Gwen on my arm, but then I remember.

“We never finished our conversation.”

She sighs.

So do I.

“I may have overreacted a little.” I think for a moment, and she lets me. “But things have changed with you. I feel like I’m still trying, and you… um…”

I’m not sure how to say this next part without pissing her off.

“I’m worried, uh, that what Monique said was right, but… in reverse. I’m worried you see me more as… a pet.”

Without lifting from my shoulder, she tilts her head to look at me. No expression. She still doesn’t say anything.

“You eat humans. I’m a human. You didn’t… well, from my perspective, you didn’t have many scruples about which humans you ate before I started, uh, requesting you narrow your search to people with, you know, harmful habits and no families and stuff. I don’t know who that guy you ate today was. Did you? Did you, like, know that he was an abuser or something? And why there, at the bar, while I was there too? Why did you eat him, specifically? I don’t even know who you ate last month. You don’t talk to me anymore.”

I sigh again. My stomach hurts. I don’t want to say this, but I’ve been thinking it for a while.

“If you love me, is it… as an equal? Or am I just food with sentimental value?”

No response. Her eyes are searching mine, but I can feel that she’s choosing her words very carefully.

My stomach hurts.

Slowly, she pulls away from me, her hair falling across her face, hiding her expression. “I—”

“Dude, you have good taste! I look gooood.” Garret walks out of the bathroom in the outfit I chose for him and, despite the conversation, I can’t help but agree he fills out those clothes better than I do. “Oh, shit. I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

Gwen cuts me off before I can respond. “No.” She looks out the window. “You guys should catch up. I was about to go for a walk anyway.”

She stands and I don’t try to stop her. She moves to the front door and starts to step out, barefoot (as she does), and turns to me. I cannot read her face.

Pushing hair behind an ear, she says, “Don’t wait up,” softly closes the door, and is gone.

The house creaks gently as the wind picks up, then dies to silence.

Garret lingers in the bathroom doorway for a moment before making his way to the couch beside me.

He breathes for a moment—I wonder whether ghouls need to breathe or if he’s doing it for my benefit—and says, quietly, “We don’t have to talk about anything, if you don’t want.”

“I don’t know if she loves me.”

“Dude, she definitely loves you.”

“I don’t know if she’s in love with me.”

Quiet.

“I asked her if she saw me as an equal or as a pet… or as food.”

“Whoa, dude.”

“Do you see me as food?”

He shifts a little. “Do you see cows as food? Do you see every chicken as food?”

“I… fuck.” Fuck. “I see your point.”

“It’s kind of a fucked up question to ask someone who cares about you.”

“Well, I can’t unsay it now.” I put my face in my hands. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I know you didn’t choose to be…”

Garret thinks for a moment. “How long have you two been together?”

“It was two years in October.”

“Pretty long. How did you meet?”

I rub my face. I don’t really like reliving this, but he told me his story, so here we go.

“Back before I’d really had any interaction with any things—inhumans, sorry, I’m still working on that.”

“It’s fine. Go on.”

“Yeah, uh, so I was walking home from work. It was early afternoon I remember, because I was working part-time at this library—”

“Oh, that’s cool.”

“I don’t work there anymore. Lots of kids came in and I just couldn’t face them anymore, knowing—well, I’m getting ahead of myself. Anyway, I was walking home by Glenn Bailey Park. Do you know where that is?”

“Kinda. Up by the river, past the middle school? I haven’t been there much.”

“Yeah. It’s out of the way unless you live in the apartments by the dam. Anyway, I was walking by the park and I heard shouting, like really angry shouting, and something hard hitting something soft. I’d never seen a real fight before but I could tell something very, very bad was happening. A girl screamed and men yelled, and I don’t know what came over me, but I… I thought maybe I could help.”

Garret laughs. “That’s a bit, uh…”

“Out of character, I know.”

“No offense.”

“No, you’re totally right. I don’t know what I was thinking, but I couldn’t just walk away from those sounds, those screams. It was… So, uh, I ran into the park and followed the sounds and I found…” I swallow and shake my head. I don’t like thinking about this. “There were three guys, holding a woman—Gwen—to the ground, and two of them were on top of her with knives and the third one had a bat, and he was…”

My heart rate is elevating. I can feel myself getting upset. I breathe. Garret’s nostril’s flare, but he listens, that gentle look on his face.

“You don’t have to—”

“No, I… it’s okay.” I swallow again. “He was breaking her legs, swinging that bat down on her over and over. The guys with the knives were… carving her. Face, arms. Chest. Cutting pieces off.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“I didn’t know she was an inhuman. I thought she… I threw my bag off and I ran at them and started screaming. I don’t remember what I said, but it got all three of them to look at me, and I guess that was all Gwen needed to, you know, regain control.

“The third guy pointed his bat at me and started to say something when Gwen rolled over and bit off one of the knife guys’ hands. Like, all the way in her mouth, bite-chew-swallow. And that was it. She got her arm free and grabbed the other knife guy by the face and, uh, crushed it. Finished off the first guy. Lunged at bat guy and dragged him down with her teeth. Did things to him, his legs.”

“You watched?”

“I couldn’t move. When all three guys stopped moving, she looked at me and her eyes were black and her teeth were out and I thought for sure I was next. But she looked terrified. She stared for a moment—it felt like minutes but it was probably only a couple seconds—then her face went back to normal and she went limp in the grass. She was mutilated and I ran to her and I held her. Blood everywhere, theirs and hers, and… I can still see the look on her face. Like she wasn’t sure what I was going to do and she wasn’t sure she could do anything about it.

“I’d never seen an inhuman in person before, and I thought she was a vampire, but she wasn’t as pale as I’d heard, and her eyes and teeth were different, and I felt… I don’t know. I wanted to help her. I asked her if she was okay, so stupid, and she gave me this look like, ‘what the hell?’ and she laughed.”

Garret smiles. “You wanted to help someone in need.”

“Her body was fucked. I didn’t think she’d ever walk again, if she’d even survive. I took my phone out and my hands were shaking so hard and I got blood all over the keys, but she put her hand over mine, and she said, ‘No.’ I looked at her, and her eyes did… something… and I felt calmer. She told me to put her on top of the crushed-face guy, so I did, and she started eating. I can still hear the, um… sounds of it. It’s the only time I’ve ever seen her feed. I don’t like to watch.”

I listen to the pops and snaps in my memory, the grinding and the slurping and the snarling.

Garret waits. Clears his throat. “Do you need a drink?”

“Yeah, um… just water. Thanks. Glasses are over the sink.”

Garret goes into the kitchen and fills a glass for me, brings it back. I drink and he sits patiently.

After a moment, “So what happened next?”

“The healing started after she ate the first guy. Her bones slid back under the skin and her knees popped back into place. Then she crawled over to the other two and ate them, too, and her gouges filled. Fingers regrew. Her teeth can do this thing where they, like, suck all the blood and liquids from fabric and stuff, so when she was done, all that was left was three very dried-out outfits. And she was whole again, though her dress was ruined. Her hair was chopped to a bird’s nest.

“I thought, again, ‘Welp, I’m a witness, so she’s going to kill me now,’ but she started gathering up the clothes and folding them, and asked me if I could fit any in my bag. I cooperated, obviously, until my bag was bursting, and she carried the rest like fresh laundry. I gave her my jacket so she could cover herself a little.

“She asked me if I had a place, so I brought her here, to the apartment. It was before most people got out of work, so I don’t think anyone saw us, and we put the clothes down, and I—ugh, god—I still had some of Becca’s clothes because I’m a fucking psychopath, and they were about the right size, so she changed. She asked if she could stay for a few days, and I said okay because I wasn’t about to argue with a vampire.”

“You said she’s not a vampire.”

“I don’t know what she is. But I wasn’t going to argue with her after what I saw. She knew it. I knew she knew that I knew it, so her asking felt more like a courtesy.

“She wouldn’t leave the apartment. Kept the shades drawn, even at night. She’d be there when I left for work, watching TV or reading something from my shelves, and she’d be there when I got home. Didn’t eat, took short showers; my budget didn’t change much. I let her take the bedroom and I slept on the couch for a while, but after about a week she invited me back to my own bed. I figured we would switch, but she climbed in right beside me. Three days of that and she cuddled me. About made my heart stop. Then, somewhere along the way, we became a couple.”

“Did you… want to be?”

“I don’t know. I mean… she didn’t talk that much, but she was polite and she asked me questions about my life and stuff, and she listened. She’s really pretty, when she’s not… you know. I didn’t know what to think, not really, until she kissed me the first time, and even then I couldn’t enjoy it because I thought for sure I’d feel teeth bite down. She told me smokers taste bad. I think she was trying to be reassuring.”

“You smoked?”

“For a few years, after you disappeared… things weren’t great.”

He shrinks. “I’m sorry, dude.”

“Please stop apologizing. But, anyway, she’s never done anything to hurt me, not once, not even like normal accidents like stubbing my toe with a door or anything.”

“Well, that’s really—wait, the guys who attacked her. What came of that? What did you do with the clothes?”

I shrug. “I don’t know who they were. I made a point to not check the news or anything because I was already paranoid enough with an inhuman living with me. Gwen said they were Hunters, but they were just wearing flannels and jeans, no identifying uniforms or badges or anything. I chose to trust her.

“And she had the idea for how to ditch the clothes: every day or two, I’d take one article of clothing and put it in a different donation box, never too close to home, always after dark, and with a hat and facemask on and other stuff, just in case. Since she’d fed before the legal hour, and more than was allowed, we had to be careful. I wondered if she’d done it before.”

Garret leans back into the couch and puffs his cheeks, makes a whoof sound. “Wow, my man. That’s quite the meet-cute.”

“Tell me about it.”

“You saved her life.”

“Yeah, sure,” I snort. “All I did was the one thing I never do.”

“Be brave?”

“N–no, raise my voice,” I say. Then, “That was mean.”

“Just joking, just joking,” he says, palms up, grinning. Sharp teeth.

We sit in comfortable silence for another moment and I drink the rest of my water. Garret clears his throat and says, “Listen, I know this is a weird time to ask this, but do you have anything to eat? Raw meat. Ground beef, chicken breast, anything?”

“Yeah actually, I have some chicken thighs and bacon in the fridge.”

“Is it fresh?”

“Just bought it yesterday from the butcher.”

“Can I have some?”

“Yeah dude, have at it. I’ll be right back.” I get up and grab the meat from the fridge, and when I return I’m about to ask him to eat in the bathroom, but he’s salivating, vibrating, and rips it out of my hands.

His fingers sharpen—not the nails, but the fingers—and he tears open the plastic on the chicken as his jaw distends, puts the whole thigh in his mouth, bone and all, and chews. His eyes glaze over and his pupils constrict to pinpricks, swallowing the entire pound of chicken in seconds, then the bacon.

As the last strip slides down his throat, he drops the plastic on the floor and looks at me, and he’s feral. He huffs the air and his eyes close, and when they open they’re bloodshot with grey and black, and he licks the grease from his lips.

His mouth opens, wide, wide, and bares his teeth, and I am certain, for the nth time in my life, that I am going to be eaten by someone who claims to care about me.

Then he dips his head and his black tongue sticks out and he vomits up the bones onto the floor. His teeth retract and he covers his mouth with a hand, and looks at me almost sheepishly.

“I almost choked that time,” he says, like it’s funny. “Can I have a paper towel? Sorry about your carpet; it doesn’t usually come back up that fast.”

I’m paralyzed, and I’ve pissed myself.

“You okay?”

I don’t

“What’s wrong?”

I

“Did you pee your pants?” Then he realizes. “Oh fuck, oh my god. Oh my god.” He stands up and backs away, giving me space. “I didn’t give you any warning what it would look like. It’s not pretty. It’s never pretty.”

aa a

“Oh my god. Dude. I’m so sorry. I can’t really help the faces I make.”

a

“I was in control though, I swear. I was just, you know, trying to swallow it.”

“A—”

Shock. His eyes are wide, but not wild or feral. Almost human. “I would never—I swore I would never… Never! Dude. Please. Please say something.”

I find my voice, somewhere far away and small and hidden, and I manage, “I told you I don’t like to watch.”

“I know, I know. I should have… I’m so stupid. I didn’t even think about it, it’s just been a while since I’ve eaten and I don’t—I don’t like to eat people! That’s why I eat animal meat! That wasn’t, like, a show I was putting on for you. I’m… I’m trying to be good.”

I stare, mouth dry. I can’t blink. My face is numb.

“I’m just hungry. All the time.”

“Is that… supposed to make me feel better?”

“It’s supposed to show you how much control I have. It’s taken me a long time to be in control. That’s another reason I couldn’t come back, not until I was sure.”

“Because you would have eaten me.”

He shrugs and makes a face. “Yeah? Maybe? I don’t know! That’s why I couldn’t risk it!” He moves closer to me, past the couch, and puts his hands on my shoulders. My stomach lurches. “But I’m in control. I’m not a danger to you, dude, I swear to god.”

I scramble back from him, out of his grip, tripping, and put my back to the wall. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.

“Dude… dude, please.”

“Today has been a lot. I’m not used to this.”

It hurts.

“You’ve been dating an inhuman for two years.”

“And I’ve only seen her feed once! Sometimes she’s got blood on her, but… I can compartmentalize it… at least…”

“But I…”

“At least, I could, until tonight. In just the past couple hours I’ve seen her finish up a guy, kill a girl right in front of me, and now you come back and you’re dead and you look like that and your face does that shit when you eat, and I just… I just…”

Garret deflates, eyes averted. “I’m sorry.”

I’m empty. I don’t know what else to say. I sink to the floor.

“I should probably go, huh?”

I don’t want him to go, but I don’t want him to stay. I want to say something but I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t

He’s out the door, gone.

And I am alone.

****

Garret is utterly aimless when he leaves the house. The sun has set and the streetlights are on but, even though it’s a weeknight, a college town like this is always thick and pumping with human movement. The moon is a waning crescent and there’s not much natural light but, historically, people react poorly when you don’t throw off a shadow under a streetlight.

Hunger.

He hungers. Endless. Ravenous. Stomach-shreddingly excruciating nauseous agony. The raw chicken and pork tastes like shit in the back of his throat, like hot rubber and boiled fish leather and half-smoked cigar butts, and it’s not enough, not even close, a thimble of salt on a burning cosmos, but it’s worth it. He tells himself it’s worth it. No human meat. It keeps him feeling human, and his best friend is human, and he spent the better part of a decade finding ways to scrape together enough semblance of humanity so he could see his best friend again and feel good about it.

But he doesn’t feel good about it. He feels… well, he doesn’t feel anything. He can’t feel anything, not really, not in the same ways, because he’s dead, but he remembers what feeling things felt like, so he tells himself he feels. And he feels bad.

Six years isn’t much in the lifespan of a ghoul, but it’s long enough for Garret to have formed and reformed his view of the world. The old man who turned him—his mentor, if you could stretch the word thin and tight enough to encompass it—showed him the ‘life’ in New Jersey, 300 miles safely removed from his hometown, his friends, any mistakes that would have mattered.

He went through the five stages of grief, or as close to it as a corpse can:

Denial. The hunger began on the bus ride south, and he knew instinctually what he craved, but he refused the urge. At a scheduled stop, a bag of beef jerky was inhaled and promptly projectiled onto the sidewalk. Then the true pain began in earnest.

Anger. He hated the old man but he needed him, needed a guiding hand, and the old man could only offer sympathy in the way a ghoul offers sympathy. There was nothing left to rebel against. A chained dog barking at a semi. A child throwing fists at the sun.

Bargaining. Can a ghoul revert to humanhood? ‘No,’ the old man put in his head. A ghoul is dead, and the dead can rise but they cannot blossom.

Depression. And oh, the ache. The ache.

Acceptance. It is what it is, Garret said. It could be worse, he lied. At least he had his health, he sang from the depths of delirium, mouthful after mouthful of sweetest red candy.

And he ate. He ate and ate and ate. He tore through communities until communities swarmed to tear through him, and then he moved on and ate again. For a year, he did little more than eat and move. Eat and move.

But there comes a time in every undead’s unlife when it is certain that a boundary has been fully crossed, but a boundary can be uncrossed if one is determined, and Garret sank knuckle-deep into the wet pulp of his memory and found the vision of his old life, his old town, his old friends, his best friend, and he forced one beaten, broken, brutalized step backwards after another until he shattered the boundary, and he stood on that precipice, and he howled in victory. He found reason and he grew strong, not in ghoul strength but in real strength, human strength, and he felt his branches bud. His petals would not, could not unfurl, not anymore, not ever, but the buds were there and they held the promise of life and that was a beauty more vivid than he had ever hoped possible.

And then he killed the old man.

It was not a battle as much as it was a funeral dance, a dirge, a betrayal of sorts, from a certain perspective, but not a betrayal to himself. A rebirth. A reclamation.

In the dead of night, with love in his black and withered heart, he removed the old man’s head. And although the old man had not been human for a very very long time, it was the last human flesh Garret ever ate.

Then Garret came home.

You know the rest of the story.

Now he is walking the streets of this town, unsure where he stands, when he smells the girl thing. Gwen.

His pupils constrict and his nostrils flare, and he drops into his terrible new senses. He knows he’s never smell-feel-tasted anything like her before. Ghouls, werewolves, vampires and dhampir, devils, incubi and succubi, changelings and mimics, zombies, even a kitsune once; all have imprinted in his catalogue, but this… was something else. It coursed through him. Like being excavated from the ice just to be thawed in a burning building.

No, that’s not quite right.

Like a lifetime of blindness, then granted sight in the blast wave of a nuclear explosion.

There are other distractions. Bars and pool halls. Dance clubs. Blood flowing, hearts pumping, pumping, pumping. Jeremy is still out—he can sense the man if he focuses—but Jeremy might ask questions, and Jeremy kind of sucks now. Maybe he could go to a smoke shop and pretend to enjoy a hookah, but that’s all it would be—pretend. His lungs are performative now.

So he goes to find Gwen. A mosquito bite on the forefront of his brain. Unignorable.

He isn’t afraid of her, not necessarily. As her boyfriend’s best friend, the chance of conflict is significantly reduced, but he’s learned enough to know that any confrontation between two inhumans after sunset is hot potato with a loaded gun. She gave the impression that she likes him well enough, he thought, and this allows him the luxury of relaxing his guard. Lower his defences from a wall to, let’s say, a wrought iron fence. You can see through a fence.

Something still bothers him, though; when Gwen left, she said she was going for a walk, but Garret felt her do something else. Ghouls like himself can move and climb swiftly, and some devils can become swarms of flies, but one glance at Gwen could confirm, even to a human, that she is neither. Old Blood vampires can take the form of bats, and the truly ancient ones could even dissolve into mist, but that wasn’t what happened either. He feels the spectre of fear ride up his spine, but suppresses it. He just wants to talk, but feels deeply that she would not see him as a threat, or an equal, to an insulting degree. A Kshatriya lowering herself to indulge an Untouchable.

Being an inhuman fucking sucks.

It’s easy to follow the smell-taste tonight, windless, which is odd for a town positioned on a hill above a lake, but you don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Garret had eaten horse, once, in desperation.

It leads him away from the downtown area, to his great relief.

Around this corner.

Down this street.

Up the hill.

Through this yard.

Over this fence.

Down this other street.

Past this school.

Across the river.

Down this road.

Around that corner.

Back over the river?

Into this park.

Down this path.

Past the trees.

Into this field.

And the smell is gone. Right in the center, it stops.

Garrett looks around. Sees a sign, reads the name of the park.

Ah.

And Gwen appears before him. Not in an instant or in a dramatic descent, no heavy landing, no screech of bats or peal of thunder, but as though she were always there, right where he was looking, where there had been nothing.

She’s got her hands in her pockets, kicking absently at the snow. “Did he send you?”

He pretends not to be surprised. “No, actually. I’m… giving him space.”

She snorts, eyes flicking to him, but her face remains blank. “Oh yeah? What did he do?”

“Nothing. He gave me some meat and I ate it.”

She stares.

“In front of him.”

She lifts her chin and smiles, eyes narrowing. “He doesn’t—”

“Doesn’t like to watch, yeah, I know.”

“Did he piss his pants?”

Garret suppresses a sneer. “Listen, I’m sorry that I interrupted you two. Seemed like it was a conversation that needed to be had.”

Shrug. “Eventually. Inevitably. But I’m kind of glad you did, to be honest. I’m not good with those kinds of conversations.”

“Personal ones?”

“Ones about feelings.”

“Oh. Do you want to, like…” He clears his throat, feels like a buffoon. “Want to talk about it? We’ve known each other since second grade, me and him, so maybe I can, you know, offer insight.”

“Insight? On what, exactly?”

“On… him, I guess? Only seems fair. He told me all about how you met.” He motions vaguely with his hands. “At this park. Do you come here a lot?”

“Sometimes.”

Garret smiles. “Together?”

“No.”

“Oh. Why not?”

“Bad memory.”

“But it’s where you met.”

“If he told you the story correctly, you should understand why.”

“No, yeah, you’re right.”

They stand in silence, distance between them, pressure, for a long minute.

“So do you?”

She groans, but takes the bait anyway. “Do I what.”

“Love him.”

“Sure, I like him. He’s cute.”

“Not what I asked.”

Hesitation. Garret counts the seconds.

“I don’t know how to answer that question.”

A drop in his guts. “Did you ever?”

“That’s… complicated.”

“Love usually is.”

“That word doesn’t quite mean the same thing.”

“For people like you and me, you mean.”

She smiles again. “So you still consider yourself ‘people,’ huh?”

He ignores it. “When did you stop trying?”

“Now that’s a loaded question.”

“He deserves better than that. You know it, or at least you should.”

“He doesn’t know what he wants. You think you do?”

“I know he wants stability. Companionship. Someone who can be there. Someone who actually lets him in. Most people do.”

“There’s that word again.”

“Are you always like this?”

“Why don’t you go ask him? Oh, wait, you can’t.”

Garret can feel his muscles pulse, his fingers narrowing around the bones.

“You’re awful.”

Gwen’s eyes widen. Open-mouth smile. Fangs. “Oh my god.” Fake little gasp. “You love him.” Hand to her mouth. “You do, don’t you?”

He knows this is the part where he’d get red hot if he could, sweat and flush, heart fluttering, feeling light-headed and fidgety and cornered. But he’s dead, so instead he stares.

“He’s my best friend.”

“Oh, come off it. You do. I can smell it on you. It’s fucking desperate.” She starts counting on her fingers. “You’ve been close forever. You left because you were afraid you’d hurt him. You spent years hiding, trying to bury your urges. You wouldn’t eat anyone who looked even a little like him, and then you only ate people who looked like him. Pretty sick, honestly. You even killed your master to tie up any loose ends—”

“How—”

“And then you finally come back and the very first thing you do is look for him. Not your mom, not your other friends, not other inhumans. Him. Like a fly to shit.”

“How could you possibly know all that?”

Gwen picks at her fingernails. “I know lots of things. In every sense.”

“So you know how hard it’s been for me.”

“You don’t have the slightest fucking iota of a clue what hard means. You’re a baby crying for a bottle out of your reach.”

“First I’m a fly, now I’m a baby. Which is it?”

“There may have been a chance, you know. For you and him. But then you died. How Shakespearean.”

Fists so tight, he punctures his palms. Teeth grinding. “You’re awful.”

“You’re pathetic.”

Garret constricts his pupils, and the world lights up in heatmapped color and thumping soundwaves, but he is bowled over, stumbling back from the sheer luminosity of Gwen. She is bright, overwhelmingly bright, colors of horrific intensity, a million suns, a trillion, exploding and collapsing simultaneously, flash-frying his retinas, and he is blind.

He rubs his eyes, blinks, stupidly, and knows he is blind. He is blind.

He roars and bears his teeth and gnashes and swings his arms at the empty air, at nothing, but then she is on him and forcing him to the ground, hard, crushing, her hands piercing through his chest up to her wrists, pinning him, a butterfly in a display case, the impossible weight of her, and he cannot move.

He can feel her breath over his face. The wet, fleshy hiss of her fangs extending.

He has to ask. Before he dies, he has to know.

“What are you?”

She laughs.

****

It takes me a long time to stop hyperventilating and get off the floor. I can smell Garret’s vomit soaking into the carpet (ruined), and feel my way along the wall to the bedroom to escape it, but it doesn’t help. I fall face-down on the bed and bury my face in a pillow and think about not breathing anymore, letting myself be smothered, just letting it end. But it’s not that easy, and I’m a coward.

Once I decide he’s not coming back, I claw my way out from the depths of my cushioned grave and pull up Jeremy’s number on my phone.

He picks up on the first ring.

“Hello?”

“Is Garret there?”

“I thought he was with you.”

Shit.

“No. He, uh… he left.”

A long pull off a cigarette. Slow exhale. “He get hungry?”

That face flashes in my mind. Eyes. Jaws. Teeth. “No. I gave him some chicken, but he kinda…”

Jeremy laughs. “Lemme guess, he ate gross and it freaked you out.”

“I thought he was gonna eat me, too.”

“He said he wouldn’t.” I can hear him grinning. “Don’t you trust him?”

I don’t answer for a moment.

“Is that all?”

“No, um…” I feel like such a child. “Can you come over?”

Another drag. “I’m in the middle of a darts game.”

“Can you come over after you’re done?”

“I’m winning, big dog. Gotta stay on the bracket.”

“Jeremy, please.”

He groans, takes another drag. Exhale. Then another. “Alright, fine.”

“Thank you, dude.”

“It might be a bit.”

“That’s fine.”

“Don’t call again. I have to focus.”

Then he hangs up. Jeremy can be an asshole but he’s not a liar, so I feel a little better, I guess, knowing he’ll come over.

I should probably clean up the puke.

It takes me a long moment to find the courage to open the bedroom door, then another to approach the vomit. Bones and black stuff. Fuck. This is never going to come out.

Finding rubber gloves and some other things, I start cleaning the mess. The bones have softened, which reignites my fear response in a way I can’t quite describe, but once they’re in the trash I can focus on the stain. I pretend it’s ink. Ink that smells like rot.

I’m on the third round of spraying and scrubbing, making little difference, when there’s a knock on the door. Pretty quick, all things considered. He must have lost.

Pulling the gloves off, I open the door. “Hey man, thanks f—”

It’s Gwen.

“Oh! Uh… hey.”

“Hey,” she says flatly, no expression. She looks tired. Her hands are dirty.

“How was your walk?”

She pushes past me, gently, walks past the stain and into the bedroom. I follow.

“Is everything okay?”

She digs through the closet and pulls out a backpack. Takes some clothes, rolls them up, fills the bag.

“What are you doing?”

Packs her laptop, starts wrapping the cord.

I put my hand on her arm. “Hey, what’s going on?”

She pulls away. Won’t look at me.

“Gwen, what’s going on?”

“I’m leaving.”

“You… what?”

“I’m leaving you.”

Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. I breathe.

“You’re… leaving me?”

“Yes, that’s what I said.”

I breathe. “Why?”

She stops and her shoulders sag and rolls her head back, eyes closed. Works her jaw. “Because this isn’t working anymore.”

“We can work on it. We can—”

“Isn’t working for me anymore.”

Oh.

Keep breathing.

“I can’t be who you want me to be.” She still isn’t looking at me. “I’ve changed so much about myself… and it still never feels like enough for you.”

“I don’t… is this about… the feeding thing?”

“It’s about everything.” She sucks a breath in, exhales. Says my name. “I’m not human. I can’t be human. Not for you, not for anyone. I… understand how you must feel, but you act like if you push me hard enough I’ll somehow meet this impossible standard that no inhuman could ever reach. It’s not possible. It’s just not.”

Breathe.

“So… um… you’re just leaving, then? It’s over?” I don’t want to cry, goddammit. I tell myself I knew this was coming.

“It’s been fun but, yes. The fling is over.”

“The ‘fling?’ You saw this as a ‘fling?’”

“Well, what would you call it?”

“A–a relationship! Is two years nothing to you? I know we’re not kids anymore, but two years is still a decent chunk of our lives. It’s not a fling!”

Sad little smile. She looks at me over her shoulder, side-eye. Almost laughs. “Tell me, how old do you think I am?”

“What?”

“How old. Do you think. I am?”

Is this a trick? My mind races; no grey in her hair, no wrinkles, color on her skin, good posture. Stylish clothes. Good taste in music. Knows how to use technology.

But I realize, just now, for the first time in over two years, she’s never once mentioned her birthday. I don’t talk about mine either, but that’s because I don’t really care about my birthday. It’s just a way of measuring time. I guess I assumed she felt the same way.

“I don’t know. About my age? You get into bars, so I never really thought about it.”

She says my name a few times, shakes her head, the smile less sad now. Condescending. She turns to look at me.

“We are not the same age.”

“What does that mean, exactly?”

“It means you’re a child, and I’m done babysitting. It’s over.”

“You… why are you being like this?”

She laughs now. “Being like what.”

“Mean! That was mean.”

“Oh my god, grow up. This is what I’m talking about.”

“I don’t understand what’s happening.”

She turns back to her bag, zips it closed. “Garret’s dead, by the way.”

What?

“What…?”

What? …What?

“He’s dead. He came for me and I killed him. He’s dead. Like, actually dead. Dead dead.”

What!? “Y–you—”

“Does that make you sad?”

What?

“He loved you, you know.”

What?

“His last words were about you. Told me not to eat you. I suppose I’ll honor his dying wish. Heh, look at me. I’m such a sucker for romance.”

Collapse. My knees give out and I’m a heap on the floor. Numb. My best friend. He loved me, too? He’s…

She swings the bag over her shoulder and steps over me. Walks through the living room and opens the door. Doesn’t give me a glance.

Then she closes the door and is gone.

Then she knocks on the door again.

I don’t know why she’s knocking.

Why is she knocking?

The door opens but it’s Jeremy who comes in. “Hey man, I—oh. Are you okay?”

“Did—” I swallow hard. “Did you see Gwen outside?”

“Huh? No, I just got here.”

“She left… just now.”

“There was nobody out there.”

I start crying and Jeremy, for once in his stupid fucking life, attempts to comfort me.

—–

It’s been three days since Gwen took Garret from me and walked out of my life, and I haven’t left the apartment. I haven’t eaten. I haven’t slept. Drank all the alcohol. Found a stale, crushed pack of cigarettes in the back of the closet while looking for any of her belongings she may have forgotten. I keep hoping she’ll come back. Why? Why? Because I am pathetic and stupid and lonely (and ugly (and pathetic)).

I can’t think about Garret. I can’t. I think about him anyway and I crumble. I crumble to dust and a light breeze carries me away, and I’m on the floor again.

Jeremy is mourning Garret, for the second time, in his own way. When he came over that night, I told him everything Gwen told me, and he actually opened up a little. Told me he knew Garret loved me, that he’d known for a long time. I wish he’d clued me in. I think he regrets the way he’s been acting for the past several years, but I don’t know. I can never tell with him.

He calls me several times a day now but I don’t pick up. He leaves voicemails telling me what he’s doing. Sleeping around. Living at the bars and clubs. The usual. But mostly he’s trying to get me to come out.

I keep the TV on so it feels like someone else is here. The news says a human was eaten on the night Gwen left. Initial reports said it was a feeding performed within the terms of the law, but forensics found the victim’s blood inside a car a block away, with detectives speculating he was pulled from the driver’s seat, so now they’re classifying it as a murder. They cut to a police officer—a young devil clearly not trained on media etiquette—who describes the feeding as “hurried, sloppy, and, frankly, amateurish.”

A parting gift from Gwen, I assume. An assurance that she can’t return.

On the fourth day Jeremy calls me and, for reasons I can’t specify, I pick up.

He tells me to come to Hops right now.

I tell him I don’t want to.

He tells me to come anyway. Says it’ll be totally worth it.

I ask him what he’s so fucking happy about.

He says show up, big dog, and find out.

Fine. I hang up. Fuck pants, keep the crusty pajamas. Coat. Shoes. No socks. Light up one of these fuckass cigarettes and go.

Drag my feet on the long walk there. A dozen times I turn around to go back home, but something changes my mind every time. The tone of his voice. I wonder what he could possibly be happy about.

I get to Hops and the bouncer is out front. Check my phone. It’s only 2pm. I ask him what’s up and he says the whole town is freaked out by the botched feeding. Says they keep a list of any inhumans that come in now, and warn any human customers before they enter. Says there’s one in there right now.

“It’s behaving, but use your discretion,” he says, checking my ID.

“What is it,” I ask, thinking for the thirteenth time I should go home. Worrying that Jeremy went and caught vampirism.

“Ghoul.”

My stomach jumps. No.

I go inside. I can’t help myself.

And there, in the back, by the pool tables, is Jeremy.

And next to Jeremy, beer in his hand, smile on his face,

is Garret.

I shout, just a noise, loud and raw, and the handful of people there stop what they’re doing and look. Garret looks, too. He sits up straight, his expression tentative, and half-raises a hand to wave.

I run—actually run—to him, and I throw my arms around him. I kiss him. I kiss him on his cheek, and his head, and his mouth, and he kisses me back, and I’m not afraid, and I’m crying. I’m a child, crying and laughing and crying and squeezing him, and he’s laughing and squeezing me back, and I spill his beer but he doesn’t care because he’s here, and I’m here, and I love him.

And this goes on for a while.

Jeremy finally tells me to settle down. “You’re making a scene,” he says, his annoyance betrayed by the smile splitting his face.

I sit and don’t know what to say. Garret meets my gaze and we just sort of look at each other. He doesn’t look any deader than the last time I saw him.

Jeremy stands, says he’s getting another drink. “I’ll give you kids a moment,” he says.

Finally, I say, “She said she killed you.”

He grins and bobs his head. “Yeah, well, she nearly did.” And then he tells me what happened, from the moment he left my apartment, to the park, their conversation, and her attack. How she blinded him. Drilled holes through him.

“She had her fangs on my neck, and I could feel the pressure. She was biting down, literally about to tear my throat out, but then… I don’t know. I couldn’t see her face, but she pulled away and said…” He clears his throat.

I lean in. “She said what?”

He sighs. “She said, ‘Only a fool remains to worship in a burning temple.’”

He’s quiet, and I consider it for a moment. “What do you think she meant?”

“I’m not really sure, but it’s quite an image.”

I guess I agree with him. “She did say she was a romantic. Maybe she just has bad taste in poetry.”

He laughs and takes a drink, and suddenly I’ve connected two dots. I’m afraid to ask. However, like all men standing on the precipice of terrible knowledge, I ask anyway.

“It was you who ate that guy, wasn’t it? The one on the news.”

He chokes on his drink, spits on himself, wipes his mouth. “Uh—”

I have my answer.

“Why? Why did you do it?”

“Well,” he sighs, long and slow, “as you may have noticed, I’m not blind anymore.” He gently takes my hand and puts it on his chest. “No holes, either.”

I’m going to regret asking this, but again. Terrible knowledge. “Why that guy? You broke the law. He suffered, Garret.”

He shakes his head. Clears his throat. “I was really hurt. Blind. Desperate. In bad form. And he had the misfortune to drive past.” Takes a long drink. “I need you to understand that I’m not proud of what happened.”

“Will you promise me you won’t do it again?” Gwen’s parting words flare in my mind. I’m doing it again. Asking for the impossible. My stomach balls up like a fist, like a dead bug, but I watch him expectantly.

He looks me in the eye. “I promise,” he says, and I decide to believe him, and he sets me up for inevitable disappointment. But despite everything, I still choose to believe him.

One day, he may eat me alive and vomit out my softened bones, digest my flesh to heal some grievous wound, or to momentarily moisten the bottomless dry well within him, and feel no regret, feel nothing. But right now? Four days ago an innocent man died terribly, but right now I am happy because the man before me was also innocent when he died terribly, and he’s here now with me, and I’m here now with him, and here, now, he wants me to be happy. And that’s all I could ask for.

“You know what still bothers me, though? I never figured out what she was. I’d ask, but she’d always find a way to change the subject.”

“I asked her, too,” Garret slips, and his face goes flat, realizing his mistake.

“Did she tell you?”

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and closes his eyes, shivers. Shrugs. Forces a smile.

“She wouldn’t say,” he lies.

End.