Page 48 of Morsel

I don’t. It’s a piece of her rolling away, wasted into nothing, because I’m doing what’s right.

“If anyone found out what we’re doing,” I start to say, “I’d probably be fired, and you’d be?—”

“Nothing would happen to me,” she snarls. “I’m an artist known for controversy.”

“You’re right. You’re unique. But to the processing plant? Guys like me are easy to find,” I say. “All you need is someone strong and willing to pretend to be a cannibal. You’re gorgeous and smart. You can have anyone. Guys like Artemis who will do whatever you want. You just have to show them how to do it the right way.”

He won’t eat her toes though, my brain says. He’s too much of a pussy for that.

Jealousy wages battle inside of me, while I force myself to act like I don’t care. I check the fridge and pull out a plastic container. The green and pink ground meat assaults my nose, the stench rotten. It’s vile, like hot roadkill mixed with sulfurous eggs, but you get used to it, and it’s better than the alternative. You can’t survive on nothing; you can survive on rotten meat.

And preparations like this—scavenging for discarded meats—aren’t just about survival. Animal meat is the closest to what I truly want sexually, and if I have the meat with me, I can make the urge go away. At least for a while.

Going back to animal meat sleeves seems so depressing after Mona though.

“I don’t want them,” Mona cries. “Those men are fake. They’re pretend. I want?—”

“You don’t want me,” I say. “You want my hunger.”

Mona’s jaw drops. Our harsh breaths fill the kitchen. The fridge’s generator hums, and her fingertips nervously scratch the countertop. She knows I’m right. It’s not about me; it’s about my obsession with eating women. It’s about her art.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” I say again.

“This is who you are,” she says. “Who we are. Humans are primal creatures, Kent. We may have brains that give us access to a deeper understanding of the world, but at our core, we’re animals. That’s all we are.”

I used to tell myself that every day. If I eat someone I love, it’s okay, because we’re just animals, and we need to survive. No one can blame me for that.

It’s wrong though. Mona is wrong. She’s fucking wrong. We’re not animals. We know better. We have thoughts. We make decisions. We can control ourselves beyond what a rabbit or a wolf is capable of.

My dick swells, and I lean on the cupboards in front of me to hide my growing erection. “Damn it, Mona,” I whisper.

Her fingers graze my back. “This is what we?—”

“No!” I grab her arms and lift her in the air. Her face flashes with a hint of fear, but then it’s gone, and that proves it all: she’s not scared of me, and she should be. My voice is rough with anger: “No, we’re not animals. We’re humans. We have power. Do you understand?”

I dig my nails into her arms, and she floods with tears again. This time, it’s different though. This time, there’s weight to those drops of salty water. They’re real.

My cock rises, power filling my insides. I want those real tears so fucking bad.

But I can do the right thing.

“This is not who we are,” I continue. “It’s who you are. And this—” I shove her toward the door, and she falls to the ground. “This is for your own good.”

She picks herself up, then waits for a few seconds. I stare at the ground meat on the counter. I don’t want to fuck it anymore, but I’ll force myself to fuck it if I have to. Anything to stop me from eating her.

She’s the only person who has ever taken a real interest in me, and I need to protect her.

“Get the fuck out!” I scream.

She races to the door, abandoning me.

A familiar pain rises between my ribs and wraps its fingers around my heart. This isn’t like before though. This is for Mona’s own good. I can’t tell her to stop her art project, but I can stop my participation in it.

Usually, I don’t care about right or wrong. I didn’t think about morals when it came to my mother. I didn’t care if I was breaking the rules by destroying that bitch’s phone at the processing plant. And I sure as fuck didn’t care if the butcher caught me between the garbage bins.

For once, I can do the right thing.

I have to do it for her.

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