Consumed by Love - A Short Story (2 page)

He kissed his way
between her legs.

She moaned and discarded
all thought, losing herself in the thrill of his lips loving her through the
thin cotton of her nightgown.

Her scent struck his
nose, potent and sweet. It pulled him into her with a need he hadn’t felt
before. He lifted the hem of her nightgown and ran his tongue along her lips.

Bree melted back into
the bed. It had only been a few hours since she’d sat and pleaded with her
catatonic husband to look at her. Now he explored her, filling her with such
pleasure.

Stress, pain and
loneliness evaporated into the cool air, leaving only the wisps of bad memories
behind. Joy and love replaced them as Bree allowed Hugo control over her heart
and mind. Her body rolled against his lips, seeking release.

Hugo’s hands gripped Bree
and pulled her to him, needing to taste and feel every part of her. The smell
and taste of her—sweet and fresh, like rain dew—transfixed him. He gripped her
tighter, holding her to him as she screamed his name. The world shattered into
tiny pieces and fell upon their bodies, leaving them alone in the creation of
their love.

***

The door opens slowly, letting in sand along with the dry
desert air. He stoops low to enter the home. His skin is tight against his
bones, his muscles stretched beyond their natural length. He removes his jacket
and boots before entering the small room serving as the living area. Pale skin
shines in the firelight, giving his pallor an otherworldly look. His lips curl
back from his teeth, split and sore, and hunger grips him as the fragrance of
forbidden flesh reaches out and wraps around his sanity.

***

Bree stood in the
doorway, watching Hugo sleep on the couch. His energy had been short-lived,
lasting only a few days. She sighed and wrapped her arms around herself,
praying to gods long dead for help and direction.

Hugo had refused to see
more doctors, simply because they all had the same thing to say: he was tired
and needed rest.

But Bree saw the signs
returning: the heaviness in his step; the shallowness of his breath; and this
morning, a small clump of hair fell loose when she ran her fingers through it.
She’d taken medical leave from her job to care for Hugo, but now they had no
income to make the house payment, and they’d already spent their savings, a
fact she didn’t share with her briefly-returned husband.

She bit down on her lip
to hold back tears. Her parents had died years ago, and she had no siblings or
extended family to turn to, and Hugo’s family remained out of the question.
Maybe she should have taken him to Rita. As things stood, they were thirty days
away from losing the house, the phone company had disconnected their service,
and her friends had stopped trying to help months ago.

Now
it was only the two of them, and Hugo weakened by the hour.

Rita had called daily
until the phones stopped working. Then the letters began, begging Bree to bring
Hugo back to the family he had fought so hard to escape.

He exhaled loudly and a
tremor ran through his body; something disturbed his dreams. A low moan escaped
him, and a hand fell from his chest and hung limply off the edge of the couch.

Bree didn’t believe she
could survive losing him, so she sat and kept vigil, day after day, as he—and
now she—wasted away until they were nothing but skin and bones.

A sob broke from her,
and she bit down on her lip to contain the sound. The capillaries of her soft
flesh broke, causing a deep reddening of the skin.

Hugo stirred, pulling
his arm back up and rolling to his side.

Baby, please wake up.

Bree chewed on the
inside of her cheek. The pain centered her, kept her focused, kept the tears at
bay.

Hugo woke and looked up
from his quiet resting place. Sunlight drifted through the curtains, softening
the light as it fell across his face. To Bree, his dark skin was suddenly
devoid of pigment, his eyes blank, his hair limp and slicked back with sweat
against his head.

Rita’s words rang in her mind:
If he starts to change, if his hair falls out, if his skin becomes white,
you can’t let it go too far.

Smoothly, Hugo stood,
his gaze fixed on his wife’s mouth with desire, the fire behind his flat eyes
inhuman with its need. Bree, in her desperation, only saw that he was awake and
walking toward her with strength she mistook for health.

As for Hugo, the weight
holding him down lifted, and he felt almost buoyant, excitement showing in his
gait.

She smiled at him
brightly, releasing her hold on herself and reaching for him, needing him to be
the one to hold her together. His mouth twisted into something resembling a
smile, but his lips curled back with a soft, animal-like growl.

Hugo pulled his wife
into his arms and inhaled deeply, immediately recognizing the scent of his
salvation. His lips roughly met hers, and he searched her mouth with his
tongue, seeking the flavor that would return him to life.

Bree clung to him,
pulling him in closer, digging into him with her nails. She breathed deeply and
her excitement enhanced the provocative scent that had awoken him from his
slumber. She lost herself in their kiss, sucking on him and letting her need
take over. She didn’t notice when his kiss became more about his teeth than her
lips, or when his hands gripped her ass so tightly she could not have gotten
away if she tried. Perhaps she didn’t notice because she didn’t
want
to
get away. She didn’t want him to stop his assault.

If
he stopped, he might disappear again. This moment was real and tangible.

Hugo’s teeth sunk deeply
into Bree’s lower lip, his incisor striking the very spot she had bitten
earlier. The tip was sharp and sunk easily into her flesh.

She gasped as he sucked
on the wound, drawing blood to the surface. His hold on her tightened, a vice
grip around her waist. One hand locked behind her head so she could not get
away. He would have her and take what his biology demanded.

Hugo
pulled back and looked at her with eyes of life and fire, then released her and
shook his head as if trying to break a spell.

“Hugo....” She reached
up and took his face in her hands. Whatever just happened between them had
restored his strength. Whatever he needed, she would give it to him willingly.

“Hugo....” she said
again, pulling him down to her lips. He resisted until she bit down on her lip
harder, re-opening the wound he had caused.

They
made frantic, desperate love on the living room floor. Fear, relief and passion
blended together, bringing them to a new high. Hugo made love to her body while
he suckled her lip.

Bree felt complete with
him inside her. They moved together easily; like the tide against the dunes,
their bodies danced to the familiar rhythm of love. Today, though, Hugo’s
hunger for her body consume him, and he crashed his need into her with a
strength he hadn’t possessed before.

Bree screamed and lifted
her body up to him, her legs pulling him closer as her hands gripped his back.
She moaned and her world condensed, closing in on her until all that existed
were their bodies together. As she drew closer to her final exaltation, Hugo
pulled away from her swollen and bruised mouth.

With a scream of his
own, a banshee cry that ricocheted through the house, he sunk his teeth into
the meat of her shoulder.

***

Deprivation is a skill monks and nuns, the aesthetics of
ancient mystic religions, have all known. Deprivation of that which you crave
makes you pure. Refusing to give in to an evil need is a pious act. However,
evil is like water: it seeps into the cracks until it overflows from within.

The flavor fills his
mouth, softly bitter juices spreading out from the taste buds. He groans as the
bitterness causes his mouth to water, and at the familiar feeling of the sides
of his tongue tingling with delight. Denying his need for this longing is
dangerous, as his body begins to change in response to the lack of his
essential nourishment. He waits too long every time, hating himself for what he
is and what he has allowed to happen, but in this moment, all his guilt is
abandoned. He feels only joy throughout body and soul as he consumes the tender
meat.

Today’s sacrifice
overwhelms him. He moans with joy as the combination of muscle and fat
commingle in each bite. Times like this, he understands the sensual nature of
his desire; the flavor intoxicates him, and his humanity slips further away with
each small bite. This is not the chewy, rubber-like cartilage of an ear, or the
bony, almost-meatless fare of a finger or toe. No, this is the flesh of the
gods, the essence of life.

The rice on his plate
absorbs the sweet juice and, as he finishes the meat, he makes sure to eat
every grain, soaking up every last drop of the aphrodisiac
juice. Still, the scent fills his nose; it is
pungent in the air. Instincts rule as his hunger reminds him of this inescapable
need. The erotic connection between food and lust intermingle and confuse as he
lifts his eyes.

***

Bree looked at herself
in the mirror for the last time. They were leaving the home they’d built
without a word to friends, neighbors or family. She pulled her hair over her
shoulder, covering the tender crescent of flesh on the side of her head where
her ear had once been.

Soon, it would be
impossible to hide these small absences. Soon, he would need much more than a
simple ear.

In the living room, Hugo sat alone
with an old box of matches and a gasoline can. His eyes leveled on the two
still figures before him: a man and a woman, each with hunks of flesh missing
from their bodies. He recited a prayer he remembered from his youth, meant to
be said at meals to recognize the sacrifice of the animals who’d died so that
they might eat:
Oliwni Gia Mziwi Mili.

He stood uneasily, not
yet adjusted to his new height, as Bree entered the dark room. His eyes had
adjusted to the darkness so completely that he saw her angelic face, the
sweetness of her lips, and the devotion in her gaze.

“Nizwia.” He found
himself reverting to his native tongue more and more often these days.

He held out his hand to
her and continued, “N’nossokawikw.”

Her smile was radiant.
She didn’t understand the words he spoke, but she recognized the tones of love.
All her concern and doubt evaporated when his eyes met hers, and his hand
waited patiently. His love never wavered; they could overcome anything
together.

When
she walked to his side, he leaned down and kissed her, his lips soft and full, his
recent weakness forgotten. Now that he’d fed, it should hold him for quite some
time, perhaps long enough for them to start over and make a new life together.
His skin had lost some of its pigment, but tonight he looked flushed and
healthy.

They would go somewhere
they couldn’t be found, where no one would question the changes in him or the
slight limp in her walk.

They would leave
everything behind, sacrificing life and normalcy for love.

Together, they lit the
fire that would consume their lives. These bodies would replace them in death, their
sacrifice necessary. They would just disappear, a simple and easy exit.

Hugo moved like a ghost,
drifting though the house with an ease and elegance he’d never possessed before
his illness. Now he was buoyant with peace and acceptance. No matter what, it
would be them together against the evils both within and without.

They walked hand in hand
out into the darkness, the flames of all they left behind licking at their
feet. Smiling, they slipped away into nothingness.

***

“Nizwia,” he growls, his voice no longer soft and
melodic.

“Yes, my love?”

“
Mili gagwi...N’gadopi.”
His head hangs limply from his shoulders. The days are passing quickly, and the
time between each feasting is shortening.

“
I give you
everything.”

“
You give me too
much.” He chokes on the words.

“
Nothing is too much—nothing
for you, love.”

She lay on the bed
wearing nothing but the sheet he’d draped over her. She reaches for him with
her left hand but pulls back at his wince—the two fingers there are the last that
remain. With a sigh, she drops her arm and looks away.

Outside, wind whips
through the desert, picking up speed and ferocity with nothing strong enough to
resist its power.

“Maybe I should just
go,” he says, not wanting to have this conversation, knowing how the idea of
him with anyone else hurts her.

Yet she is dying in
pieces before his eyes.

“No.” She sits up,
looking deep into him. “I am yours. I am what you need.”

“Nizwia, it’s become
too much, too often. I’m so hungry.”

Instead of answering,
she pulls the sheet away from her body. Her breasts bear the marks of his lust,
but her skin shines brightly in the dark room. Her hair is short now, her long
neck flowing gracefully down to her milky shoulders.