Ravenous

Chapter 1 I Can Live Without It

I Can Live Without It

RIPLEY

JERICHO, ALBERTA CANADA

Ishould stop stabbing him.

I really should stop stabbing him.

He’s screaming out for help with a voice that sounds like broken glass— crying out for god, or his mother. I always thought he hated her; seems kind of hypocritical to want her now.

Gabriel grasps my arm and holds on tight as his eyes widen in fear.

He looks nothing like his former self: golden-haired and menacing with that awful spray tan and those horrible fucking tattoos.

I thought this would be harder, but the memories only make me want to drive the blade further as I keep him pinned to the floor between my thighs.

Now his chest is barely more than ground-hamburger, and everything is red.

A gurgling noise bubbles from his chest as he struggles to take a breath, reminding me of the sound my old fish tank made.

His mouth parts, and blood leaks out like honey, sweet and forbidden.

I feel a strange compulsion to lean over and lap it up, shuddering as I realize it’d probably be the most intimate thing we’ve done in years.

Suddenly he lurches up at me, grabbing wildly for my throat as I strain to hold him down. He noticed me hesitating.

“Oh, sweetie no,” I bring the knife down again, slicing his forearm right open “You don’t get to do that to me anymore.”

He lets out another pained howl and I can feel the twisted grin grow across my face.

“I’m gonna kill you,” he sputters, flecks of blood flying from his mouth. “I’m gonna fucking kill you!”

“You and I both know that I’m the only one getting out of this alive,” I snarl.

I bring the knife down, plunging it into his throat. His body twitches in one final attempt to fight back, but it’s far too late. I can feel his grip on my arm slacken as a slow, rattling noise fills my ears.

His final breath.

Out of all the research I did on death, nobody ever wrote about the quiet aftermath, and for a moment I let myself just sit in the eye of the storm.

Outside, the birds are chirping, the sun shining through the window and making the room glow a vibrant red.

When I look back down at Gabriel, slack jawed and dead-eyed, all bathed in that warm light, I feel…

Euphoric.

But it doesn’t last long before the memories return: all the times he slammed my head into a wall, choked me until I blacked out, burned me with cigarettes. All the times he brutalized me.

My body is littered with memories of him.

The permanent kind.

Most people who traffic women and girls aren’t the strangers hiding in the shadows. They’re not tying shit to your car, or stalking you in the grocery store. Most of the time, it’s a partner, or a close friend who wants to ‘get you out of a bad situation.’

When I was 17, he promised me a way out of my oppressive home and my overbearing mother, and I said yes without another thought. Of course, I didn’t know he would end up dragging me straight into hell.

Our relationship started out as one big party, but over the years I learned that’s how they trap you.

There were always endless amounts of drugs and booze, anything you could ask for, and slowly but surely I got added to the list. Gabriel offered me up to his friends like a prize, and he made money doing it.

Sometimes I was a bargaining chip, others his toy, but after a while I realized I only had one option.

I stare down at him, the blood on his face glistening in the sunlight, like oil sitting on top of a puddle after a rainstorm. My mouth waters, jaw tingling, and I gently glide my fingers through it.

It’s still warm.

I find myself leaning forward, like I’m being pulled down by a force I can’t control. My lips part, and suddenly my tongue is gliding across that smear of crimson. I hear myself groan as the taste of copper spikes my tongue, and I’m quickly overwhelmed by a horrifying dread.

What am I doing?

What the actual fuck am I doing?!

But just like with the stabbing, I can’t seem to stop myself.

Heat rushes through me and I bite down into his lip, hard enough to pierce it with my teeth. That same euphoria I felt earlier comes rushing back, mixing with a morbid curiosity. What would happen if I just… bit it off?

I slam my hands down on the floor beside Gabriel’s head and start to yank on the lip until I feel the distinct sensation of ripping flesh, nauseating and fascinating all at once.

I spit it out into my palm, staring at it like a science experiment gone wrong.

It looks like a little piece of raw chicken glazed in blood and spit.

I look back down at Gabriel, at his glazed eyes, and his rotting teeth staring back at me, newly revealed.

I fucking hate him.

All the horrible names he called me, the horrible things he did, they all come rushing back to the surface. Killing him wasn’t enough. I want to destroy him, to ruin him in every way possible, to remove every trace of him.

I bring the piece of flesh to my lips, a shiver running through me as I bite down.

It’s a unique kind of rubbery, like a cross between gelatin and a piece of overly-thick gristle, but I can do this. Something inside tells me I have to. Or maybe that’s just the post-murder giddiness kicking in? Why the fuck would I do this, does it even make sense?

And then, just as I’m starting to regret the whole thing, a loud bang from outside startles me. Maybe a car backfiring?

I suck in a sharp breath.

I try to breathe, but my airway is completely blocked.

I start to cough but I choke.

Oh god, it’s lodged itself right in my windpipe.

I can feel it wiggling around in there like a little slug.

I try to pry it out, but it’s lodged so deep I can’t reach it anymore.

Shit.

I scan the room, my eyes falling on the dresser covered in cigarette butts and beer cans from a party Gabriel had a couple of days ago.

I jump to my feet and rush over, aiming right for the corner. I slam myself against it so hard, the piece of flesh launches out of my mouth like a cannonball. It bounces off the mirror, leaving a bloody saliva print behind before tumbling down onto the dresser.

I straighten, fresh air rushing into my lungs as my whole body shakes with each step, and I narrowly manage to avoid slipping in the brand new pool of blood. This entire house wants me dead, so it’s probably about time I get out of here.

No time to think about what the fuck I just did.

I crouch down next to Gabriel, taking a few moments to rest before fishing his phone out of his pocket and using his thumbprint to bypass the lock.

There are 15 Tinder notifications. Maybe at one point I would have scoffed in disbelief, but this is par for the course with him.

He wanted a prisoner waiting at home while he got his dick wet somewhere else, and when he got back he’d take all his frustrations out on me.

“How you got all these women, I’ll never know,” I mutter. “You always had the personality of a big toe.”

I scroll through his texts, but they’re mostly boring. Sexts to other women, pictures of him shirtless, and more of his little cock. It’s surprisingly thin, and crooked like a witch’s finger. I shudder just thinking about it.

No time for that now, I’m looking for something very, very particular.

“Did you delete it, Gabe? Oh, sorry, I guess you hated it when people called you Gabe.” I lean over him. “Gabe, Gabe fuckin’ Gabe! Fuck you, Gabe!”

I keep scrolling and scrolling until, finally, I find what I’m looking for.

ADONIS

Were the fuk r those 20gs you owe me?

Adonis Murphy, one of the meanest motherfuckers in Jericho and the President of the Disciples, a motorcycle club that has territory all the way into Saskatchewan. Adonis isn’t even his real name, it’s actually Billy, but he rebranded, thinking of himself as a God.

I don’t think a God would have frosted tips and breath that could knock a buzzard off a shit wagon, but that’s just me.

He and Gabriel started out as friends— in fact they were such good friends that I was offered to Adonis at a party. He got whiskey dick and decided that hitting me was a better use of his time.

ADONIS

don;t ignore me

ADONIS

$$$

ADONIS

u pay me or I take that woman of urs

Gabriel started out as a Prospect, doing low-level errands for the gang, but quickly worked his way up the ranks. By the end he was mostly running drugs and recruiting girls, but things fell apart when he started taking a cut of the cash he was supposed to be giving to Adonis.

He always wanted more power, and even more access, so he started stepping on toes and breaking rank… all the shit you don’t do in a motorcycle club if you want to stay alive.

I scroll through more texts, my brain trying to process the information as fast as possible while I listen for sirens outside. Someone had to have heard him screaming.

GAbrIEL

ull get her and the cash. I just need time to get it bro and ill be gone

“Making a deal, huh?” I shove his lifeless body. “You disgusting son of a bitch.”

The timestamps show months going by without a message between them, until one final text, sent last night.

ADONIS:

i gave u a chance bitch

ADONIS:

Im gonna cut out ur fuxing tung and take whats mine

“Jesus Christ, it’s t-o-n-g-u-e, you dipshit. How hard is that?”

I toss Gabe’s phone onto his body and pick up my knife, heading into the bathroom as adrenaline continues to crawl through my body. I need a shower, but first I need to leave some evidence behind.

I place my hand on the counter, spreading my fingers. If I want this to look believable to the cops, I have to leave a piece of myself for them to find.

I catch my reflection in the mirror as I’m preparing, a little startled at what I see staring back: my usually chestnut hair soaked in blood.

There are streaks smeared on my face as well, only slightly obscuring the healing bruises from where Gabriel took his rage out on me over and over again.

If I hadn’t known better, I could have sworn I’d bathed in it.

But as I stare at the new me, reborn in all this blood, I can’t help but notice my cobalt-blue eyes have some of their old brightness back. I feel more alive than I have in years.

Hopefully that’ll make this next part at least a little bit easier.

I glance back down at my hand, letting out a breath as I try to decide which finger is getting the chop.

“The pinky should be okay. I can live without it.”

I suck in a sharp breath, like I’m about to dip beneath the surface of the ocean before bringing the knife down hard on my finger.

The sickening crunch of bone makes me spew vomit all over the mirror, and I let out a gurgling cry.

It’s not enough. I bring it up, and down again and again and again, heaving through the pain until finally my pinky sits in its own little pool of blood on the countertop.

“Breathe,” I whisper. “Just breathe.”

The pain is overwhelming, and I drop to my knees, nearly vomiting again before I manage to rally.

I grab some gauze, ready and waiting in the medicine cabinet, putting pressure on the wound as I gingerly lower myself onto the edge of the tub.

It takes quite a while for the bleeding to stop, my head spinning the whole time as I strain, listening for distant sirens in a silent panic.

But it looks like nobody’s coming.

If it had been the other way around, and it was me on that floor in a pool of blood, nobody would care. They might even never know.

I check the wound, maintaining pressure as I clean it and wrap it up tight, then strip down to nothing and start the shower.

The water is practically scalding, melting the tension in my muscles.

All of that fear and anxiety, everything that was coursing through me for the last 24 hours of planning is washed down the drain, along with Gabriel’s blood.

It’s only now that I notice the deep cuts on my forearms. Defensive wounds from when we were both struggling for the knife. Little flashes of it all come back as I try to scrub myself clean.

I pounced on him from behind the door when he came out of the shower.

That was the entire plan, no technique or skill to it.

His skin, slick and warm.

The smell of soap.

Droplets of water from his hair landed on my face as we whirled around the bedroom, me hanging off of him like a fucking koala.

At one point he managed to throw me off, his feet squeaking against the hardwood. He slammed me into a wall, pried the knife from my hand, and for a second I was sure he was going to kill me. All it would have taken was one good stab to the gut.

But he hesitated.

“You never could commit.”