Page 72 of Morsel

If I reached out, I could touch her tits. I could rip her fucking nipples off and show her adoring fans what it’s like to eat a bitch raw.

I grit my teeth, willing myself to be so angry that I kill her on the spot.

But the truth is I can’t do that. My body is weak. Heavy. Useless.

“You didn’t actually cut off your toes,” I choke out. “Did you?”

“Come on, Kent.” She tosses her head back in laughter. “Artemis’s skills were a big help with all of this, but it was only an artistic experiment. You knew that.”

Rage boils inside of me, and blood rushes in my ears. I see the eyes: guests, onlookers, art collectors, servers. Everyone watching us as they eat their fake fingertips and toes.

No, I didn’t know it was a fucking experiment.

“You lied,” I say. “You used me!”

She rolls her eyes. “You signed a contract.”

That contract mentioned her art project. It went into detail. It said something about not giving me money out of the final profits. I kept getting stuck on the fact that it was about cannibalism though.

Did I miss that it was an experiment? That her husband was going to create fake, edible body parts for me to consume? Did I miss all of that because I was too fucking horny to read every detail?

Is this my fault?

I don’t care who is watching or listening to us anymore. I raise my arms. “I didn’t know what I was signing!”

“And you could’ve taken the time to read it. You even took the contract home with you, remember? But you didn’t read it carefully.” She lifts her nose. “I was completely up front in that contract. I even asked if you wanted a copy. Maybe next time, you’ll be more careful before you agree to something where you don’t understand the consequences.”

Everything blurs around me. I’m hyperfixated on Mona. She’s the center of a volcano, a natural, deadly force pulling me into its molten core.

Then an image flickers inside of my head: that woman from the university. The one that accused me of raping her. She was tied to the cage. Her tit was bleeding. Steak juices dripped down my face.

Is Mona talking about Desire?

Is she trying to say Desire didn’t know the consequences of sleeping with me?

Mona cracks her neck, her eyelids languid like this is a bore to her. I imagine her head on a cutting board, my dick fucking the backside of her esophagus until my shaft tears through her throat and slides over her tastebuds.

I’ve always dreamed of being the hunter. The one who provides, the one who feeds, the one who kills, the one who enjoys flesh. And with Mona, I thought I had that. I thought we could be together. Hunter and prey. The perfect match.

But instead, she hunted me.

I dig my nails into the palms of my hands, the pain scorching my flesh. “And the processing plant with the woman recording me?”

“That was all Artemis.” She winks over her shoulder. That couple—the shaved-headed man and the plain, brown-haired woman—stand next to Artemis. “I didn’t see the point in aggravating you in a place where you couldn’t explore your sexual needs, but he insisted we record the whole thing. It was supposed to be evidence for the police or something. I guess he wanted to prove to me that you’re dangerous.”

Artemis wanted me to blow up like a cannon to put me in jail, but Mona knew I would need to let off steam after an event like that, didn’t she? She used that opportunity to sneak into my home and tease me with the pig’s blood, assuming I would be in an agitated state.

And I had felt guilty for fantasizing about killing the brown-haired bitch—a complete no one—instead of Mona, the woman of my dreams.

“Anyway, that’s why I told Desire to confront you herself. It was part of her full arc, you know? Victim becomes survivor. You can’t just consume a sex worker and flush away the trauma you caused her. You know that, right?”

A million images run through my mind, but I can’t shake the memories of cutting Desire’s breast as she bled and cried for me to stop.

Maybe I did rape her. I didn’t kill her though. I wanted to, but I didn’t.

I didn’t kill her.

I didn’t.

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