The Complete Collection Read Free Page B

hanging on for dear
life. Kicking and screaming. Trying to get me to do something, anything, to
relieve its pain.
    My heart was no stranger to pain. In
fact, the existence my heart knew, before its death, was of more pain than
pleasure. Even pleasure itself was painful because it was so fleeting. I tried
to hang onto it. Feeling pleasure is like wearing your little sister’s wedding
dress. You know it isn’t your size. You can look in the mirror in faded light,
but it won’t ever fit you or be yours. Eventually, you have to take it off.
    If your heart’s dead, are you really alive?
I don’t know what a soul is anymore, but if I had one, I’m sure that it’s dead,
too.
    So I dreamt of eating Sam. Biting
through his flesh, his bones, his organs. Feeling his blood wash down my face.
Swallowing the life that I can’t have. We were together, for a while. I owned
him.
    I dreamt I issued my invitation
formally, through a note.
    I dreamt I put out my clothing for our
dinner. The oven was cold because I was not cooking anything. I wanted Sam raw
and warm. I didn’t want anything to affect the taste of his blood running down
my throat. I wanted his heart to pulse and beat while I chewed. I wanted his
life inside of me. Maybe it would warm me for a few minutes.
    You can’t tell I’m dead just by looking
at me. I still look normal. I’m not one of those Night of the Living Dead zombies, all caked up and bruised and glazed over. My eyes are not dead. My
skin looks alive. Looking alive makes me more dangerous. I am a monster in
disguise. Sam doesn’t know to run from me.
    No, the only thing that’s twisted and
ugly about me is something you can’t see. My heart. Its jaw opens hungrily for
living flesh. It’s malformed and starting to decompose, rotting. It groans with
a hunger for all that lives. No one can see that, though.
    I dressed in a fine evening gown. I had
much to celebrate. Sam would be mine, finally. The long black gown hugged my
body. My makeup was exquisite. Full red lips and dark, Cleopatra eyes. I was
the seductress. The temptress. Come closer.
    As the time approached for our dinner, I
grew excited to see Sam.
    Excited to kill him.
    Excited to eat him, slowly.
    I don’t hate Sam. My heart, that
grinning, dead thing, was in charge of the feelings department. When it died,
my emotions died with it. Now, I’m just hungry. I’m driven by my biological
needs alone. Once, those needs might have included kissing Sam. Fucking Sam.
Now, they just involve chewing Sam until he slides down my throat.
    In my dream, my only dilemma was whether
I should keep Sam alive while I ate him. If he remained alive, I’d need to
incapacitate him. That could be fun. I decided to see how the mood struck me.
    The doorbell rang at seven thirty. Sam
was due at seven o’clock. I was relieved when he showed up.
    Sam arrived at the door bearing roses
and his effortless charm.
    If my heart still lived, it might have
been tempted to let him live. But, my heart is dead. And hungry.
    Dream Sam was suitably impressed by my
gown.
    I showed him to the couch and got him a
drink. I fawned over him appropriately so that he suspected nothing. I sat
demurely before him. He was so trusting, like always.
    Sam asked me what was for dinner.
    “You,” I answered without missing a
beat. He smiled.
    In my dream, I finally decided it would
be best to have Sam alive, but not awake. I wanted his heart beating when I
started eating him.
    He was still smiling when I knocked him
unconscious with the cast iron pan I had hidden behind my back.
    I didn’t bother with an apron before
making the first incision. He started to bleed. I used my big butcher knife.
That cast iron pan was really hard. Sam was probably dying. But not yet. He was
still breathing.
    I tasted Sam’s blood on my fingers. I
felt such a rush, finally swallowing him, owning him.
    I am experienced with finding the heart,
even in my dreams. I want to eat that most of all. I tasted Sam’s skin