Page 38 of This Vicious Hunger
She lowers the apple but does not allow me to let go of her. My heart skips. I sigh.
“Do you feel better?” she murmurs.
“Yes.”
Our foreheads come together, the shawl shielding both of us from the sinking sun. I let out a breath and Olea smiles. The smile grows. Neither of us pulls away. My heart continues its rapid beat and Olea swallows so hard that her throat bobs. She drops the fruit and it rolls away; we stand, uncaring. Still, there is the heat. I cannot move away—the thought of it fills me with panic. Now that I know the feeling of her skin as it touches mine, Ineedit. Even if it will hurt—and something primal inside me tells me it will. I am like the starving man who eats until his stomach bursts and only tastes the sweet nectar of release.
In the end it is me who moves first. It was always, truthfully, going to be me, wasn’t it? I know what I must do and I must do it now, right this second, or I shall go mad.
“May I?” I whisper.
Olea gives the faintest nod, and this is all I need to ignite the fire that has been burning in my belly and between my legs since that first night I saw her in the garden. I crush my lips against hers and the taste is so sweet it is bitter; it is honey and freezing fire, her skin cool against my own burning.
This is not like an Aurelio kiss, chaste and matte and perfunctory. This is everything a kiss should be, everything,everything. I am so lightheaded I can barely think, my blood crystallising to sugar in my veins. My vision swims and it is Olea I see in multiples like the glittering sand repetitions inside a child’s kaleidoscope.
Olea, Olea, Olea.
Chapter Twenty
Kissing Olea is like being plunged into a freezing bath on a hot day. My whole body tingles with it, from the soles of my feet to the tips of my fingers. From my deepest, darkest, most secret depths right out to the places the world can see. It is better than any dream. Better thananyof the hazy, dawn-peach-stained moments of weakness I’ve had between sleep and waking since I was first old enough to bleed, when I would wish that things could be this way—and then wish fervently that they never would be. Because if this is the depth of feeling I have been missing… how can I believe in any god or apostle?
I see the same fear echoed in Olea’s face, but the same smooth relief and open longing too. With her in my arms I don’t care about what my father would have thought, or how the world might see us. I don’t care about any of it.
We kiss until our lips are swollen, until our lungs scream at us to take air. We kiss until the moon rises and begins to fall once more in the sky, no sound but the faraway trickle of the garden’s private stream. Every touch is a jolt of pleasure-pain, white-hot and agonisingly moreish. It is like being drunk, being swept intoan ocean of feelings so deep I might drown. It is bewitching.
When our mouths grow sore of this new adventure, Olea makes us a bed amongst the brambles that grow around the fountain, soft grass cushioning us and Olea’s shawl as a pillow. We lean back against the stone fountain and count stars and name constellations. Olea knows a story for each one, every tale more outlandish than the last.
“Once upon a time,” goes one such tale, “there was a bird. When she was very young and weak she fell from her nest, whereupon she was captured by a mage, who had a fascination with such small-boned beings. The mage kept the bird in a cage the size of a palace, with gold bars and plenty of enrichment—but the bird grew lonely. One day she happened upon a fox spying on her through the bars.
“‘What a pretty little bird you are!’ exclaimed the fox. The bird was flattered, for she had never had a friend, and she thought the fox beautiful too. ‘Won’t you let me inside your cage?’
“‘Oh no,’ replied the bird. ‘My cage is to keep me safe, and the mage always warned me of cats.’
“‘But I’m not a cat,’ said the fox. ‘I’m a fox! And foxes want to be safe too. Please let me in; there’s more than enough room for both of us.’
“She told the fox to come back again the next day and she would have an answer. Now, the bird considered the fox’s proposition hard, for she was a lonely thing, a tiny little bird in a cage the size of a palace. And she thought to herself: Well, what could go wrong? Perhaps the fox will eat me, which would be unfortunate, but the mage might protect me. And loneliness is as painful as being eaten, just in a different sort of way. So she decided that the fox could come into her cage palace, and together they worked to bend the bars—which weren’t real gold after all.”
“What happened to the bird?” I ask, turning my face to Olea’s.
“It’s a horrible ending.”
“Tell me.”
“The bird said to the fox, ‘You can come into my cage, but please don’t try to eat me.’ And the fox agreed. The bird was excited for their friendship, but she didn’t consider the mage’s feelings. The next day the mage came to visit the little bird and discovered the fox sleeping in a pile of autumn leaves.
“‘How dare you bring a filthy fox into this palace I have built for you!’ screamed the mage. ‘You have defiled the safety of this place, and I shall banish you from it forever.’
“The bird begged and pleaded for forgiveness, and the fox apologised to the mage.
“‘Please don’t hurt her, Your Kindness,’ said the fox. ‘I was only looking for a nice place to sleep and a friend to share my days.’
“‘You are a liar,’ replied the mage. ‘A filthy liar and a cheat! For I know you were planning to eat my little bird and take this palace for yourself.’
“The fox denied such a thing, and the little bird cried. The mage would hear no more, and bade them both leave the safety of the cage forever.”
“And then what happened?” I ask. Olea blinks and looks at me again.
“The fox and the bird left the palace together. They huddled together at night under the boughs of a tree, and the bird began to wonder if the mage had been lying. But on the second night outside the cage, well, the fox tried to eat the little bird after all. Only—it turned out the little bird had claws, and it scratched the fox’s eyes out. That’s why the stars look like that.” She points tothe dip between two points that might be ears, and to tiny specks that might be the place where eyes once were.
