Page 61 of Morsel

No…It’s not that. Mona is made for me.

“You’re scared, aren’t you?” I say. I corner her under my shadow. “You’re scared, but you know me, little morsel. Let me cook for you. I’m harmless, right? You can trust me.”

Her posture deflates, then she chuckles. “Okay,” she says. “Your place.”

By the time dinner arrives, she’s dressed conservatively with a blazer over her blouse, a long skirt, and tights covering her legs. Every inch of her skin below her neck is covered like a fucking nun, as if I need to peel the bitch to get to the good stuff.

I don’t say anything though. I tell myself those layers are simply extra butcher paper wrapping her meat.

I serve her a salad with fried tofu, and I serve myself a steak salad.

She gawks at the crispy chunks of white material, her jaw practically on the floor.

“You’re giving me tofu?” she asks.

“You need to stop eating meat,” I say.

“This is fucking rabbit food.”

“And you are my fucking rabbit,” I say through clenched, smiling teeth. “Are you criticizing the meal I cooked for you?”

She puts down her fork. I do the same. We scrutinize each other, our eyes hardened, our jaws strained, and the tension between us is thicker than a blood clot. An uneasiness pours out of her body, as if she knows that one wrong word can change everything for her. As if she finally understands who I am.

I link my fingers in front of me, waiting for her answer. Finally, she leans back in her chair.

“I’m not criticizing your meal,” she says. “I’m grateful for what you’ve done for me. This is sweet.”

I pick up my fork and stab another bite of juicy meat. “But?”

Mona pokes a chunk of tofu, then moves it on the side of her plate. “I just don’t like the texture.”

I keep chewing. “You’ll get used to it.”

Soon, a pile of golden tofu, speckled with drops of red wine vinegar, sits on the side of her plate, like dismembered toes pickled with red onions. The pressure builds in my groin and spreads to my chest. I should be insulted by her refusal to eat the meal I cooked for her, but my dick engorges as I dream of the possibilities for her appendages.

I can’t stop myself.

“I want to cook your toes. Two of them,” I say quickly. “You’ll walk better if we cut off the same toe on each foot. That way it’s even on both sides. It’ll help you balance.”

Mona’s upper lip curls. “We’re taking this too far, Kent. We can’t?—”

“It’s just two toes, Mona. You cut off the first two. The second toe on each foot would be the same. You’d have three other toes on each side to give you balance. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Not that big of a deal?” she says in a high-pitched voice. “And what happens after that? My foot? My leg?” She twists her neck, her nose lifted high in the air. “I’ve been limping since I cut off my first toe for you. I can’t touch anything in my studio without getting sharp pains in my hand.” Tears form in her eyes. “I did all of this for you, Kent. And now, you’re telling me you need more of me?” She throws her hands up, the gloves on one hand still bulging with bandages. “I can’t do that. I need to think about my art and my well being.”

She continues lecturing me. The words fuzz into white noise, and I latch onto the one claim that kills the rest.

She did this for me?

How could she have done this for me? She wouldn’t even let me cut off her toe. She knows how much cutting off her toe would mean to me, and she’s the selfish bitch keeping that to herself.

“You didn’t do it for me,” I say. “You did it for your art. You even chopped it off by yourself, even though you know part of my fantasy is the actual dismemberment.”

“For fuck’s sake, Kent. Something is wrong with you.” I clench my jaw, and she cowers, sinking into her seat. “I mean, something is wrong with us.” She shakes her head. “Artemis is right. This isn’t safe. We can’t keep doing this, or I’ll get seriously hurt, and I don’t want to die yet. I don’t think you want to kill me either.”

My entire body goes rigid at his name. She has the nerve to bring him up now? Him? In my fucking home?

“I don’t want to share you with him,” I say.

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