Chapter Five
I stare at the dull blue eyes that glare back at me, drifting in some thick fluid inside a tightly closed jar, like tiny jellyfish captured in water.
Behind it, there’s another one, with just one eye, drifting lonely.
Stored between the packages of raw meat, as if they belong there, their presence not foreign.
I try to grasp what I’m seeing, making excuses and guessing which animal they might belong to, but deep down, I know they’re unquestionably human, which feeds into my confusion.
Why did Jasper store human eyes? And more pressing, where did they come from?
My mind drifts off to the human skulls in the wooden cabinet decorating the bedroom wall.
I assumed they were all antique medical specimens, and I had admired them for their pristine condition.
The reliquary reminded me of a cathedral window, including the arches and milky glass.
The skulls had fitted perfectly; they belonged there, like a personal curated ossuary.
With the fridge still open, the chill keeping me sane, I slump to the ground and sit down. Jasper’s words come back to me one-by-one, when he spoke about the monster that lives inside him.
“a constant simmering anger lives within me that I suppress by doing things no man should do… It’s the only way to silence it…”
“Doing things no man should do,” I murmur to myself, slowly piecing the pieces together.
The words repeat themselves, like a haunting mantra.
I had heard them that night, but subconsciously denied what they stood for, what he truly meant to tell me.
The fridge starts to ping, a high-pitched sound, its chorus piercing the silence around me, signaling that it’s been open too long and I’m wasting its energy.
Ignoring the machine, I wonder whether I’m ready to face the truth.
The annoying noise fades to the back of my mind as my thoughts take an unexpected turn, one I’m not prepared for either.
I don’t get time to digest the ideas that crawl into the back of my head, like insects without directions, when Jasper strides in.
He pauses when he sees me sitting on the floor, confusion lingering as he takes me in.
Then his eyes snap to the open fridge, which is still singing its deafening song.
Veiled in bewilderment, he lifts me from the cold tiles and shuts the machine’s doors.
He knows what I’ve seen. I saw the hesitation, the splintering of his truths, what to tell me.
“Jasper,” I begin, the map of my thoughts in total ruin. I don’t even know what to say, but I decide to say it anyway; there’s no point in sugarcoating it. “The eyes, Jasper... Why do you have human eyes?”
I pray he doesn’t hear the tremble in my voice. It’s not out of fear for him, but fear for myself, about what I will do when I hear his answer. I stumble on my feet, unsteady like a newborn deer, using his arms to steady myself and crane my neck to meet his gaze.
“Why do you-.”
“I heard you, my love,” he says, interrupting me.
He studies my face, as if the answer to the question is hidden within me. He lets out a low chuckle, and I get the idea he’s… nervous?
I straighten my shoulders as he cages me in, placing both hands on the surface of the fridge, pressing his body against mine. I’m not scared of him, never have been. He lowers his head, his mouth near my ear. His voice frosts over my skin, as if winter’s breath brushes my flesh.
“Because I have a monster inside me, a demon, if you will, that thirsts for blood and boils with rage. I told you before that I need to do unspeakable things, to keep it in check.”
My breath falters. “That doesn’t answer my question, Jasper.”
He kisses the side of my neck, and I almost let out a moan. All I want right now is for him to pick me up and fuck me against the damn fridge and rattle those damn eyes.
“You are fascinated with death photography… I’m fascinated with… body parts… Eyes are the mirror of the soul… I wondered how long it would take before that mirror shattered into nothingness.”
“That’s morbid,” I choke out.
He lets out a barking laugh.
“That’s morbid, but not taking pictures of dead people? Or animals?”
I scoff.
“Listen, my love, I don’t judge you, you know that… I… aren’t you afraid of me…?”
His disorientation is palpable. How easily our conversation flowed following my question, and the realization I’m still here.
His question is stripped of armor, almost fragile.
I can hear the sorrow in his words, his worry that I will abandon him because of this.
But even if I wanted to, I couldn’t, because he ignites my soul.
I feel, and am alive because of him, because of his words.
“I do not fear the dark, Jasper, when the dark is you. I belong to you.”
He nuzzles my neck and playfully bites me.
“Are you sure about that?”
“Yes,” I laugh. “So, where did the eyes come from?”
“You know the answer already…” he sighs.
“I need to hear it from your lips, I need to hear you speak the words.”
He pauses, as if he mulls over my words. Without warning, he says what I already know.
“I kill people, and I take souvenirs.”
The words are blunt, harsh, even; his voice is feral.
He steps back, gauging my reaction to his admission, searching for my flinch, a hint that I am about to scream.
His words sink in, and instead of revulsion, I feel this strange curiosity.
Jasper furrows his brow, trying to interpret my features, and he squints his eyes at me.
“Can I see?” The words are barely audible, a mere whisper, and they slip out before I realize.
“My souvenirs?”
I suddenly feel shy and exposed, as if I have laid myself bare again.
Jasper clacks his tongue, and his lips curve up into a wicked grin, understanding the words I released.
I stand there frozen, anxious he might decline me access to this part of his world, a plane he will keep hidden from me. My heart trashes like a caged bird.
“Aren’t you full of surprises?” he smirks.
He’s dangerous, I know that now. But I can’t resist Jasper.
I let him wrap my heart up; with his sharp thorns, and although he’s gentle with me, I can’t help but feel like porcelain on a cliff’s edge, and it enthralls me.
My veins hum in unrest, my pulse rattles like loose bones, and I’ve never felt so alive.
“It’s been some days for me… We can hunt together tomorrow if you are curious, my Starling.”
Jasper traces the curve of my cheek, guiding a stray strand of hair behind my ear. The nickname catches me off guard. It’s endearing. Starlings thrive in a wide range of environments, demonstrating their high adaptability. I like it, and I feel my cheeks fluster, and I smile.
“Alright,” I say.
The idea of hunting another human is one that’s sickening and fascinating simultaneously.
And the fact that it excites me slightly, proves I’m ready to be put away in an asylum.
I keep telling myself I am primarily interested in seeing Jasper move, in his natural habitat.
This is my offering to him, to no longer hide in the shadows, but to come forward and be his true self.
I know it stems from my fascination with death, the desires darker than I want to admit.
I push away the thoughts and turmoil that try to take hostage of my mind, questioning my sanity, and how I can condone this behavior.
I only have one revelation, and it’s that I want to consume him as much as he wants to own me—a lantern raised against his darkness, that I’m desperate to unravel and witness.
That evening, I glance at the wooden cabinet with multiple human skulls inside. All of them carry a different weight to them, now that I know they are not medical specimens, but most likely people Jasper hunted down, their heads in our bedroom as deranged hunter trophies.
When I feel his hands cup my breasts, the thoughts about the skulls fade from my mind. This time, I moan when his tongue traces my neck.