Page 85 of Morsel

All that’s left is her other arm and her head.

A lot can happen in a week.

A green smoothie—this time with blueberries instead of tofu—sits next to her attached arm, the cold glass leaning on her torso. An oversized straw is upright in the middle of the thick drink.

I stand in the doorway. I tear off a piece of her smoked labia and chew on the tender meat. The flavor is similar to brined salmon.

“Drink it,” I say with my mouth full.

The meat keeps its eyes on the ceiling.

“Don’t you want to be healthy for me?” I say with laughter. It’s not like she has much of a choice.

Finally, she turns to me, shooting with more venom than she’s had for the last few days. Her lips hang low, hopelessness settling into her muscles, but the strong-minded woman is still visible in her hate-filled eyes.

“If you gave me something besides fruits and veggies, maybe I would eat,” she says.

“The only meat I have right now is yours,” I say. “Do you want some?”

She hides her tears from me, another small way to defy me when she knows how much I love watching the pain flicker in her eyes.

I step forward. “Drink your fucking?—”

The dumb bitch smacks the glass again, and the green liquid spills on the sheets.

I exhale fully, then lick my teeth. I thought she was smarter than this.

I guess I was wrong.

Instead of chopping off her other arm in punishment, I scoop the smoothie into the glass, saving what I can. Mona’s eyes are still on the ceiling, and that refusal to acknowledge me burns every nerve ending in my body. How can a smart, well-known artist be so fucking stupid when it comes to a situation like this?

There will be no other meal. She knows that.

I grab a funnel from the kitchen. She’s not going to waste what’s left. As soon as I stomp through the bedroom, she squirms her head, her stumps and outstretched arm flailing. A normal person would feel guilty for overpowering her like this, but how can I feel bad for her when she’s manipulated so many people in her life, including me? I refuse to feel bad for forcing her to drink a healthy meal.

I yank her chin toward me. She keeps her teeth clamped shut. I backhand her, and she finally opens her mouth. I shove the funnel between her teeth, then dump the green sludge into the plastic. Mona chokes, and the funnel flies out of her mouth. Apparently she wasn’t ready for the liquid meal.

Once she can breathe, I do it again. I imagine babies are like this; you have to teach them everything. I guess that’s what Mona is to me now: a baby I’m taking care of, an animal I’m raising on a farm, meat that will eventually be completely slaughtered for food.

After a while, she swallows the liquid, getting the hang of the forced feeding. She continues to drink, and I stroke her whole tit. Her perky little nipple pebbles for me.

“That’s it,” I say quietly. “Keep drinking like a good girl.”

Mona’s rage-filled eyes dart back to me. My dick pulses in response. I rub my shaft through the fabric, then tap the funnel with the other hand so that she gets every drop. More organic sludge pools in her mouth.

Once she’s done with her meal, I put the funnel on the floor, then unzip my pants. I mount the bed, readying myself between her legs.

“He’ll find you,” Mona says.

Curiosity forms in my temples. I keep my dick in my hand. “Who?”

“Artemis. He knows everything.”

I tilt my head to the side. “Does he?”

“He’s the one who made the fingertips and toes. He’s the one who told me not to actually hurt myself, but said we should trick you. He’ll find you!” An ominous cackle bursts from her chest. Darkness and chaos flood her black eyes. “He’ll find you, you stupid motherfucker. You can eat me, but he’ll find you, and then you’ll never be free.”

I lick my lips and mull over those words. Artemis is dead; he hasn’t been a problem for me for quite some time. But perhaps there is some truth to her claims. There is a chance other people could start searching for her, especially with her “vacation” coming to an end soon. It’s almost time for me to move on from the fields.

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