Chapter Twelve #2
It knocks me back into my body like a cannon shot, and I reel back from where Azizi is reaching for me, my breath heavy and my chest heaving.
There is a curiosity and a fascination in those tantalizing eyes of hers, but beneath it all is something else. Something deeper, hungrier. “There you are, little beastie.”
She smiles again, pulling her fingers back only to press them between her own lips. I watch her suck them clean, her gaze locked on mine until she is finished. As if she is intent on recreating my own actions all those days ago.
I take another breath. Steady the frantic beating of my heart. Try to ignore the warm taste that lingers on my tongue.
“Have you ever fed that hunger?” she asks me. “Other than that night with me?”
It takes me a moment to focus again, to dispel the memory of her sat astride that stranger, blood staining her skin like something revenant and unholy. I shake my head when the words register fully in my foggy mind. “No. No, of course not.”
“Of course not?” The curtain of her chestnut hair slips over her shoulder when she tilts her head in question. I wonder what it might feel like clutched between my fingers, what noises she might make if I pulled hard enough to tear some out. “You speak as if it’s not natural for you to eat.”
"It's not. I can't—it's not as simple as just eating," I try to tell her, that familiar fear boiling in my chest again.
The agonizing pain of heated metal burning into my spine, the flood of holy water pouring between my lips.
I dig my nails into my palm to chase away the memories, beg silently for her to listen, to understand.
"It's not just meat that I hunger for, it's people. "
I've never said the words out loud before. Not really. Even the night before with Kolfina, I simply alluded to it, spoke around it until she understood what I meant. I never had to tell my parents, or Father Thompson, they just knew.
It's people.
The beef tartare surges in my stomach, tearing up my throat, and I am at the sink before I can stop myself.
The raw meat looks even worse coming back up, splattered across the porcelain surface with the acid from my stomach.
It makes me wretch again, and again, until there is nothing left but spittle dripping from my lips.
A cool hand finds the back of my neck sometime between heaves, soothing and heavy. Azizi. A chilly breeze dusts across my cheeks as soon as my stomach is empty, and I imagine it's Kolfina attempting to comfort me as she did the night before.
"I'm sorry," I groan out when Azizi presses a glass into my hand. I swallow it down before bothering to look, but I am both glad and disappointed to find it's only water.
Azizi brushes my sweaty curls away from my eyes, ducking down slightly to catch my gaze. “Whatever for, darling?”
“You made me food.” I gesture helplessly to the mess in the sink. “And I just…”
She tuts, waving me away again as if the matter is already resolved. “Please, Theodore, I take no offense to your stomach not agreeing with you. I must admit, I am surprised you are able to eat normal food at all. Even my family struggles with it. We only really try when in the company of others.”
"I..."
I don't know what to tell her. That the closest I've ever gotten to sating my hunger was a small taste of Amadine Dubois' shoulder when I was only six years old? That the rush of blood on my tongue when I dug my child-sized teeth into her skin was like breathing for the very first time?
Should I tell her that the day I found her atop that dying man, the day I sucked the pleasure and death from her fingers, was the first time I felt almost happy and full in all my life?
"You are starving yourself," Azizi whispers, tipping my chin up with the crook of her finger. There is a sadness on her face—etched into the downturn of her lips and the narrowing of her eyes. It makes the guilt twist even tighter in my chest.
"I have to."
"Why?"
"Because—" Because what? Because God would frown upon the consumption of human flesh? Because I am a devil in a body that doesn't even fit me correctly? "Because it would be a sin," I decide on, though the words feel strange in my mouth.
Azizi snorts, reaching behind me to pluck her glass from the counter again. "Is it a sin to deny yourself the very thing you need to live the life your God gave you?"
"It is wrong—"
"It is necessary."
My breath hitches in my throat as she draws the cup nearer to my lips.
She does not let go of my chin, and though I know I should, I do not pull away.
The blood smells sharp and metallic, like lightning streaking across the sky.
Like a dream just barely out of reach. I yearn for it, ache for it, wonder if it will taste the way her attention feels.
Breathing becomes more difficult with every second. My jaw creaks when I grind my teeth together.
It is wrong. It is a sin.
You are the mouth of the Devil, my child. A tainted soul put on this Earth to sow ruin and chaos. You must repent. You must believe. You must—you must—you must—
I recall my confessions the day after the storm, the sting of my scraped knees on the stool, the heavy presence of the Father on the other side of the lattice. Judging. Always judging.
"I lied to God for you," I manage to whisper, the words quivering across the sanguine surface of the cup's contents.
Azizi smiles at me, unbothered. "You need not feel shame about that, little beast. God has no say in this."
I open my mouth, and I drink.