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Think of how good his fingers make you feel.
Stifling a groan, I clenched my thighs shut and resisted the urge to rock on the hard seat beneath me and pretend it was his face.
My body was burning.
Flames igniting from my fingertips.
I’m hungry.
I’m so fucking hungry.
I needed the physical.
I needed it like I needed to breathe.
Like I needed my veins to keep distributing blood to my black heart.
All I wanted was Hugh.
“Okay, Lizzie,” the doctor said, clearing his throat. “Why don’t you take a seat in the waiting room while I speak to your mother.”
I didn’t want to take a seat in the waiting room.
I wanted totouch.
“How long have you been experiencing these symptoms?” Mam asked on the car ride home.
“Hmm?” I mused, captivated by how the houses looked so blurry as we whizzed past. “Faster, Mam.”
“I’m going the speed limit, Lizzie.”
Pressing the button on my door, I shivered in delight when a sudden blast of air attacked my senses.
The smell.
The taste.
The sight.
Holy fuck, I’d never felt more alive.
Like I could take on the world.
Like I could take down my enemies.
“Lizzie!” Mam shouted, demanding my attention.
“What?” I snapped, suddenly furious. “I was doing something!”
Mam glanced over at me, and her eyes were full of concern. “Dr. Priestly thinks you’re experiencing rapid cycling.”
“He’s talking shit,” I laughed, reaching over to pat her knee. “I’ve never felt better, Mam.”
SLIPPING GIRLS AND SEETHING CENTERS
Hugh
OCTOBER 9, 2003
