Page 45 of Morsel

Hate to break it to you, Artemis says, but she’s the wolf.

The van bumps over an object. I swerve off of the two-lane highway and ram right into the fence. The metal crunches against my van, and I rail my fists into the steering wheel.

“Motherfucker!” I shout.

I stomp around the van. A few scratches scrape the front of the car; other than that, it’s fine. The fence is bad—dented and ripped open. When the property owner finds it, he’s going to be pissed.

No one pays attention to these lands though. I’m within walking distance of the mobile home, and the only people that come this way are the dump workers, and they stay in the human waste.

I suck in the dump’s odor. The fecal stench of decay, rot, and humanity is strong here. I sigh deeply. The van looks like shit now, but there’s no damage to the engine. After everything that’s happened today, I have to take that as a win.

My phone buzzes. Mona Milk fills the bright screen, the Accept Call button taunting me.

I hit Ignore. I don’t need to be manipulated right now.

I head around the van to the driver’s seat, but in the grass, I see a flattened piece of fur. Two fluffy white ears poke up from the ground. I pick it up.

A dead rabbit.

A tendril of primal instinct creeps from my stomach and crawls around my groin. My chest inflates.

Maybe today isn’t completely useless.

With the rabbit dangling by the ears from one hand, I drive the van the short distance over to the mobile home. Then I walk around the house, clutching those furry ears.

I jump down into the offal pit. The animal corpses deflate under my feet, and the flies rally against me.

The rabbit is still warm, and the fur reminds me of velvet. Red liquid drips down my hands. I think of Mona in the restaurant, the steak clutched in her palms, blood dripping down her wrists.

I pull out my pocketknife and rip a hole into the back of the rabbit, the only part that’s still plump. I’ve fucked meat before, but I’ve never fucked it when it’s fresh like this. My dick aches in my pants, and I wait for those contradicting thoughts, the ones that tell me that this is wrong.

My brain is silent.

I lick the blood from my knuckles. It’s natural. Potent. Earthy. Like Mona.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I know it’s her. I let the device vibrate against my thigh. My heavy balls clench for more friction, for the dead warmth, for the proof that this thing can’t tell me what to do, because now, I own it.

I should own Mona by now too.

I bite into the flesh, and the fur wedges between my teeth. The skin is tough—too rigid for my teeth to pierce—but I move down the fur like it’s an ice cream cone, and I take another bite. I pretend it’s her. Two perfectly rounded crescents of meat, her breasts. Fuck it all—is there anything I wouldn’t do to taste her breasts right now? To consume her like she consumes me?

Has Mona always been the wolf?

The juices run down my chin, skimming over my stubble. I unzip and pull down my pants. I stab my dick into the wound and rub the warm sleeve over my shaft. It’s textured and bumpy like pussy walls, and it’s sinewy too. It’s got some give, enough to get me there. Enough to keep me satisfied for now.

I imagine Mona’s corpse lying on the kitchen table. Her legs spread, her arms removed. Her blank eyes staring back at me as I fuck her pretty little hole.

When she’s only a torso, will her pussy still be wet for me?

Fuck me after you kill me, she says. Use me. Kill me. Eat me. Oh, Kent, eat me?—

I grip the rabbit tighter around my cock. In my mind, I pretend it’s her scared little cunt crushing my shaft.

“You dirty, filthy bitch,” I murmur.

And this time, it’s different. I am the fucking wolf, ready to tear her corpse apart. Her art can be the medium she conquers, but with cannibalism—with us—she won’t conquer or consume me.

I will consume her.

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