The Hunger

It was a familiar feeling and when it first came on, she shrunk away.

“Not again,” she told herself. “Can’t afford this. Not now.” One was already dead. 

She told the prey that she doesn’t mess with addiction.  She wanted him to stop using his “potion,” as he called it. Amphetamines. Fucking amazing immortal feeling drug. But the  smell. And the taste on the user. Like copper. Very particular.

He had come to her, all laid out, bowing down, bound up, with a real need. The gag was in his mouth, ropes round his body, he begged to be owned and delivered. 

But he vibrated from the substance.  She knew that frequency. But how could she not? 

“Just for a while,” she told herself. And so she challenged him in hopes that maybe he might get scared and run.  He didn’t run.  He submitted. She was surprised and pleased and nervous.

That frequency...  that speedy frequency... she liked it even more than she’d remembered. But she had to guide him away, destroy and remake him to be her steady source. Give him her marks. Oxytocin, dopamine, adrenaline - the body’s natural flavors. Make him pump them out in an unending supply. A solid meal every day and night. “Control it.”

She cried. She came, and her body gushed. The thought if his sacrifice sent a wave of ecstasy, distorting her features like that statue of St. Theresa.

He said he had quit.  This gave her some solace though by the smell of her own sweat, she knew he hadn’t.  Not totally. She stank of a user. He used and she absorbed it without touching him.

And then she stopped eating human food.  It just went straight through her.  Her sleep came in shorter bursts.  In between she would summon him to please her.

The yogis had told her where this leads. The old ones who chowed down on human flesh and saw the future. Who taught her to move mentally along the threads of time. She knew she was always headed there. Inevitable. And she wanted it.

But underneath this augmented reality there was her husband and her child. Her life. If she were to maintain the illusion of being human-human, she needed to balance. Even her daughter, bonded so closely to her, started needing to bite people.  As young as 6, she felt something stirring with mama.

What was she? Vampire was the closest notion. Not quite. But when he cut himself for her, she salivated. She became frenzied and animal-like. She fucked him and hit him and choked him and masturbated with words. When he cut himself for her the world stopped spinning for a moment and then exploded.

He knew what to say.  Even teased her a little, always tempting her - like someone dangling raw meat in front of a big ravenous cat. This too she took pleasure in.  

The words stuck with her.  “Come and get me, vampire.”  It filled her with rage-like passion.  But also reminded her to stay in control. Don’t become so easy to arouse.  (As if that were even possible.  This one tripped her triggers, stumbling right into them before he even realized what he was doing).  Two monsters with symbiotic needs.  Her to destroy and him to be obliterated.

But she stank and she couldn’t eat.  This was a bit of a problem.  A problem only solved by cleaning him up.  Even if she did get dizzy from the filthy nastiness that becomes a person in such a state. 

She’d need to wash him out before the time she actually drained him dry.

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