A/N: I'm insanely busy, but I promise I'm super pumped about new Lethe chapters and chapter 20 is already 5,000 words underway. I can't wait until I can write more.
Meanwhile, chew on this tidbit? It's from Leech, when Marx killed and ate that poor little servant girl. Given the content, and the fact it's from Marx's PoV, please do approach with great caution, and if you're sensitive about blood, or other similar things, I advise turning back now. If you've stumbled here and are not / have not read Leech or Lethe, do also turn back.
I wouldn't consider this an exact canon sequence of events.
She's So Coy
I invited her over. I invited her in. I could smell her from the door, I heard her cross the outside floor. It's all ready for her. I'm all ready for her.
She smiles and it's so sweet this town is so full of beautiful idiots, beautiful beautiful beautiful idiots I'm in love.
The irony isn't lost. The server becomes the meal, it isn't – I haven't missed the irony. She's perfect. I think I could crush one wrist in my fist.
About nothing, really.
She's relaxed and leaning on the frame and I smile; those smiles, her smiles -
I want to strangle her more than I've ever wanted anything. My tongue touches the inside of my teeth and I say, come in, come in.
I won't do it, though, I think. Because I'll get caught. I need freedom and they'll learn, he'll learn. But the town is full of beautiful idiots. She crosses the threshold, welcome home welcome home friend.
I close the door.
Welcome home. Goodbye. Welcome.
Click goes the lock.
It occurs to me that I'll do it after all, isn't that nice, isn't that good? It's just great, I could dance - but she looks nervous because maybe that wasn't the right time to laugh.
It isn't a big hallway. It's narrow. I'm close and there's no exit for her.
I wrap around her in an intimate embrace, my hot breath fluttering her bangs our heat entwining and my fingers lovingly comb through her hair, there's a protest at her lips, she moves as if to step away, her eyes flick left and right she touches her wrist she's scared she looks at the door she wants to escape she's gonna flinch away -
My muscles tighten. Something in my veins like a gunshot it howls and I'm all motion.
I'm. All. Motion.
I've got her hair fisted tight and her skull smashes against the wall
The poweradrenaline hits her, too, and wowee she's screaming and clawing up my hands, my skin tears and sticks under her fingernails.
I gotta throw my whole body into it this time, and her skull crunches on the wall, that isn't a good noise. I had bad aim, and I see her nose is shattered. She sounds all nasally now, broken, wet, thick and whiny.
Something forces itself from my throat – maybe a laugh, maybe a cough.
I rock back and throw in all my weight. Crack, crack, crack.
She gets heavy real quick, real sudden, my fingers slip, and she thuds to the floor, I'm off balance, stagger, shake my head dizzy something's in me – something up in my skin I feel it crawling up my throat.
She isn't as much fun this way, her eyes are white, expression lax, and I'm mad, mad, mad! Because she isn't afraid and now it's no fun why
Can't she stay awake?
Is that too much to - ?
Pretty soon there's a knife in my fist – when did I get that -?
From my kitchen, I think –
It's jammed up under her ribs and I feel better, I'm not mad, I guess I can forgive her. There's a second and a third before I know it, I'm gasping, I'm loud, it's almost silly
It goes into her belly and rips up to her sternum and the stench is awful
God it's awful, her red staining my floor like a filthy animal. I jam the blade up her jaw and spear her tongue. Maybe I can forgive her as the red bubbles overflows from her lips thick tongue
I yank out the knife and realize she's almost dead.
My hands leap to her stomach, because I didn't want to kill her, I was going to enjoy her a bit longer, I had the basement all ready and I just went and ruined good flesh that could have lived months locked up beneath my bed so pretty, I went and spoiled it, why did she have to be so fragile?
Why did they all have to be so fragile; couldn't they last, just a bit longer? Selfish little –
But it's too late. Her heart's stuttering sad whimpers and
My stomach rumbles.
I pause and the hunger crawls up my back. Oh. Oh. I'm kneeling above my prey, predatory-like, licking my fangs and dragging out ragged breaths. I had forgotten….
If she's already dead – the meat won't last, I don't have a place to keep it, it'll get all spoiled and maggot ridden and then I'll have to listen to those little irritating bugs crunch and nibble and crunch all night long again because they eat so damn loud, I hate those things and their fat white bodies en masse wriggling so satisfied –
My teeth are in her throat. I didn't mean to do that.
I swear I hear one more gurgling sound from her and it sends electricity raking up and down my spine like I've gone to heaven, Hallelujah, praise the Lord, and I rip out her throat.
Some strangled noise seep out around the soft flesh, blood dribbling down my chin, and it sounds like I'm choking or laughing but it's bliss and then it's swallow after swallow.
My throat hurts. There's this raw disgusting feeling in it. Maybe because the blood. My stomach churns and I think wildly, I'm going to vomit. But I don't. I gag myself in the fervid effort of forcing bile down with huge slick chunks from her cheek, her throat, her forearm, but I keep it down.
Heat scrawls across my forehead, the urge to vomit rises heavy again and stomach lurching, close my eyes.
Dizzy. Too hot.
I try to back up, away, my hands slip on her blood, I catch myself, lips hovering over the gaping slit in her stomach, the stench gags me, but my treacherous tongue dances from my grinning lips, and then I'm under her ribs, licking, gulping, devouring
My nails break on the hardwood as my fists clench and fingers claw.
I reel back, finally free
The world swims.
I'm too hot.
I think dazedly of her blood coating my skin, holding the heat in, sweat drips from my brow – or is it blood? I'm overheating, sweating, panicking. My knees are digging painfully into the hardwood and I stagger to my feet, heaving, gasping, laughing, eyes wide and terrified, barely can see her mangled –
Is it a corpse now?
Giggles bubbling up at the absurdity of not knowing if someone was dead or not, I mean, was it really that –
The doorbell rings.