Page 18 of Dead Love
“Louder.”
“Please,” she cried, her voice slightly louder. She was hesitant, not wanting to wake her mother. I coaxed her on, tickling her inner thighs with my fingertips, then moved on, playing with her slick folds, relishing in the way her entire body shivered with my touch. Then I ran my hands over hers, massaging her clit. “Please. Yes. More of that. I need more. Please.”
My head rushed. I loved it when women were so full of lust that they couldn’t speak.
In one sharp movement, I pressed my finger inside with hers, her velvet clenching, her slick heat swallowing me. I curved my finger, making hers curve with mine, and her eyes rolled back into her head. A little moan escaped her, making me growl. I pressed on. She bucked her hips into our hands, her face covered in sweat, but I never increased my speed. I kept the same agonizing pace. She was going to tear me apart.
As her breathing reached new heights, I stepped back, a wide grin falling across my face. She blinked, her cheeks flushing red. I locked eyes with her, then licked my fingers clean. She tasted as sweet as I knew she would.
“Why did you stop?” she asked.
I stepped back toward the windowsill. I checked to make sure the pomegranate hadn’t moved, then I exited through the window.
“Vincent?”
I turned, waiting for her. Her lips hung open, unable to speak. Finally, she asked: “Why do you call me ‘flower’?”
I smiled. That was her question?
“Precious little flower,” I mocked her words from so many years ago, how much pain she thought she felt when everyone else knew her life was a small slice of paradise. She put her hand to her chest, checking her own heartbeat to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. “You don’t grow by hiding from the sun.”
Once I was back at Quiet Meadows, I pulled open the body cooler’s tray, finding the latest decedent. Removing the white sheet, her yellow hair was lifeless against the metal.
I moved her to the table, then scrubbed her body. The same puncture wound was on her chest. Staring at Nyla’s body, a towel over her for modesty, I thought of the day that Kora would be stretched out before me like this. Dead. Helpless. Not a thought in the world. All it would have taken was one lapse in judgment, and Kora would have joined her best friend much sooner. In fact, they could have had neighboring refrigeration units.
Perhaps there was a benefit to her mother’s oppressive obsession. Kora wasn’t dead yet.
But I looked forward to changing that.
Kora was consumed with the living and growth, while I was here, pumping a chemical solution into her friend’s body, preserving her corpse so that her friends and family could pretend that the destruction of death could actually be prevented. But I knew better.
And soon, Kora would know too.
CHAPTER6
Kora
In the morning,I stared at the pomegranate in my hands. It hadn’t been there the night before, and though I could have chalked up last night to a weird lucid dream or hallucination, the evidence that Vincent had been there—or someone, at least—seemed to lay inside of that pomegranate.
I had never had one before. My mother said they were too sour, so she never bought them, but Nyla had always loved pomegranates. I was beginning to sweat, wearing two layers. And yet something inside of me felt powerful and rebellious. I tore at the outer peel. When it didn’t bend to my nails, I threw it on the ground. The flesh split open. Tiny ruby seeds sprinkled the carpet, their juices staining the fibers. I quickly wet a washcloth, wiping up what I could, then slid a green rug over it.
I picked up one seed, studying it. It was probably sweeter than my mother had said—she was pretty sensitive. I put it in my mouth, curious.
The back of my tongue scrunched up. I spit it out. That thingwassour. I coughed, then gulped down some water. But maybe it was a bad seed. I had to try again. For Nyla. This time, I shoved in five seeds—just to make sure—and though the little seeds burst in my mouth, full of flavor and as lush as citrus, it still punched my taste buds. I took the entire fruit and hid it in the washcloth, then threw it in the trash bin. I would have to find a time to take out the trash when my mother wouldn’t see.
Gazing down at it, my insides burned. My mother hadn’t noticed that Vincent had been in my bedroom, despite how loudly he had made me moan. I closed my eyes; I could still feel his hands manipulating me. What would Nyla have thought about Vincent leaving behind a pomegranate? Would she have liked him as much as Andrew?
Someone banged on the door. My stomach twisted.
“Are you all right, Kora?” my mother asked. “It’s time.”
* * *
Every available spacearound the corridors of Quiet Meadows was decorated with elegant standing sprays, wreaths full of white carnations, floor baskets, vases, even a single white rose propped up next to an arrangement. A chandelier full of sconces lit the lobby, the shadows of the electric flames flickering inside the votives. Beige walls. Clean tiles. Dark wooden double doors were propped open on either side of the viewing room, as if they opened up into a giant coffin, big enough for all of us. An older couple, maybe Nyla’s grandparents, admired her in the casket. The rest of the room was filled with cushioned chairs, like we were all expected to stay.
A black off-the-shoulder dress cinched my abdomen, flowing and loose everywhere else. Nyla had bought it for me.A little black dress,she had said, winking at me,Every girl needs one.But the only opportunity I had ever had to wear it was here. My mother had chosen a floor-length dress with full sleeves and a high neck. But once I had gotten to the funeral home, I had taken off to the bathroom, faking illness, and changed out of it. This funeral was one of the few times my mother would let me out of her sight. She was going to lose her mind when she saw me. My stomach turned. I still didn’t know if it was worth it.
I clenched my fists at my sides, holding my breath. I had argued for this, told my mother that I was going, one way or another, and yet, I couldn’t bring myself to see Nyla. I should have done something. Should have prevented her death. Why hadn’t I asked her not to go? Why hadn’t I convinced her to stay in with me, with rental movies and candy, like we had done so many nights before?
