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“Why haven’t you eaten?”
Jennifer blinks the fog from her eyes, finds herself standing in front of her locker in an empty hallway with Needy perched at her elbow.
She’s being brave, even getting this close. She had spent so long looking terrified of Jennifer, eyes wide and wet the night Jennifer had come back different, and angry and scared every night after.
She hates her, and Jennifer knows it. Can’t really blame her for it, either. Not after Chip.
She never should have gone after Chip.
He hadn’t even tasted good. She’d known he wouldn’t, but the satisfaction of taking something from Needy had been too hard to resist, and so she’d lured him away and gobbled him up. Easy. It was always so fucking easy.
“Why haven’t you eaten?” Needy repeats, her voice ringing out in the empty hallway, sharper, meaner.
I don’t know. Jennifer doesn’t say it, because why should she? Why should Needy even care? She’d made her opinions on what Jennifer had become - a god, not a monster, thank you very much - very clear.
I don’t know, Jennifer doesn’t say, but it’s still the truth. She can feel herself weakening, slowing, can see the cracks appearing in her skin despite the makeup she’d caked on this morning. She hasn’t eaten since prom night. Since Chip.
It’s all Needy’s fault, she thinks, for looking at her like she was a freak, like she wasn’t Jennifer but something else, something worse. For looking at her like she would gobble Needy up if only she’d come close enough. As if Jennifer would hurt her.
Suddenly, Jennifer doesn’t want to be there - in school, near Needy, in this shitty town. She closes her locker - why had she even been standing there in the first place? - and turns away from her former-BFF, ignoring Needy’s questioning, “Jennifer?” and heading straight to the door.
She spends the rest of the day sitting by the lake, watching her blurry reflection in the water - her lank hair, her shadowed eyes, her cracked and pallid skin. She looks like shit, feels like it, too, and yet the thought of finding some guy, luring him away and sinking her teeth into his throat, just makes her feel sick.
It’s all Needy’s fault.
She’s lying in bed two nights later, eyes fixed on the ceiling, when a pebble pings against her bedroom window. She doesn’t move, but her eyes drift toward the source of the noise, only to see another pebble bounce off the glass.
Jennifer knows who it is - who else could it be? And though she’s still angry at Needy - angry and desperate and maybe even scared, if she were being honest with herself - Jennifer drags herself from bed and flicks the latch free, pushing the window up and allowing the crispness of the night to spill into her bedroom.
Needy’s standing in the yard, another pebble in hand, her cheeks and nose red from the cold. She’s dressed in a puffy jacket and ripped jeans, her hair bundled into a hasty bun at the back of her head, like she’d hurried out the door and had time for little else. Jennifer’s heart does something dumb at the sight of her, but she doesn’t say anything. She just waits.
“Come with me.” Needy’s voice rings out strangely in the dark night. She’s shivering, though whether that’s from the cold or from fear, Jennifer can’t tell. Is she here to kill her? Jennifer had figured she would be, eventually, for Chip.
Jennifer wets her lips. “Where?”
Needy huffs a breath, a cloud of white vapor spilling from her lips. “Just come with me, Jen.”
Jennifer’s fingers curl into fists. Needy hasn’t called her that in a while, and, well, if she were going to try and kill her, who was Jennifer to deny her that chance? She might even succeed, as weak as Jennifer was now. And yet Jennifer didn’t think twice about slipping into jeans and a sweater, pulling her limp hair into a ponytail to get the bedraggled strands out of her face, and leaving the house with only the vaguest notion that she might not be returning. It didn’t matter.
A lot of things didn’t seem to matter anymore, lately.
Needy’s waiting for her, car keys in hand, and though they don’t speak as they slip out onto the road, Jennifer can almost pretend that nothing’s changed, that she’s dragging Needy out to a bar or a show or somewhere else where she’d feel completely out of place but had agreed to tag along anyway, just because Jennifer had asked her to go.
They don’t stop until they’ve come to some shithole outside of town, the parking lot half-full and the windows glowing softly in the darkness. Needy cuts the engine, and as it dies, she lets out a long breath, her knuckles tight around the wheel.
“Why are we here, Needy?”
Needy’s eyes cut to hers, and though they’re bright with fear, they’re also hard. Stubborn.
“You need to eat.”
Jennifer laughs - she can’t help it. She sounds unhinged, her throat dry and her stomach so fucking empty, but she laughs, and the look on Needy’s face just makes her laugh harder.
“Is this a trap?” she asks, half-serious, half not. She had known Needy would try to kill her eventually. Was this it? Was tonight the night?
Needy shakes her head, and she looks sickened, like she doesn’t want to admit the truth but needs to, anyway. “No. I’m serious. You look… awful.”
Jennifer laughs again, a short, ugly sound. “Thanks for the reminder, Lesnicki.”
“You’ll die if you don’t eat,” Needy continues, and her knuckles creak around the steering wheel. “Or you’ll do something worse. So go.” She gestures towards the bar, the sound of laughter and music drifting through the door. “Eat.”
Why do you care? Jennifer wants to ask, wants to poke and prod at all of Needy’s prickly edges, but she can’t. She’s afraid, she realizes with the slow dawn of creeping amusement. She’s actually fucking afraid, and of Needy. What the fuck.
Needy’s lips tremble. Her eyes are very big, and wet. Shit. “You owe me.”
Jennifer gets out of the car.
It’s easy. It’s always so fucking easy.
Needy watches her from a table in the corner, the overhead lamp casting her face in strange shadows and the beer she’d ordered sitting untouched between her clammy palms. Something about it, about her, sitting there and watching Jennifer, knowing what she’s about to do, hating it, and wanting her to do it, anyway, gives Jennifer the confidence she needs to saunter over to the bar and trail her fingertips along a random guy’s arm, stealing his attention with a flash of her smile.
She doesn’t catch his name, doesn’t care. None of it matters, anyway, none of it except the hunger gnawing in her belly and Needy’s huge, liquid eyes following her as she leads the guy away, outside, away from the noise and the light.
He doesn’t even scream. She doesn’t give him the chance, her teeth ripping into his throat before the anticipatory smile has even slipped from his lips. And then all he can do is gurgle, his eyes wide and shocked and wet, but they’re nothing compared to Needy’s, and Jennifer’s laughing as she eats, her smile stretching wider and wider as blood stains her hands and fills her belly.
She’s still smiling when she comes around the building and sees Needy waiting at the entrance to the bar, fidgeting with her keys and chewing on her bottom lip until it's full and red and soft.
When she sees Jennifer, her breath catches in her throat. There’s sweat on her brow, making her forehead look shiny, and her eyes are once again round and wet. She’s afraid, Jennifer realizes. And she’s angry.
But there’s something else now, something new in her face and behind her eyes, and it makes Jennifer feel warmer than any kill ever could.
It’s relief.
It becomes routine.
Saturday night sleepovers and shitholes in the middle of nowhere, Needy’s big eyes following Jennifer as she approaches her next meal, Jennifer flashing her biggest and brightest smile, pursing her lips like a tease, accentuating her curves with low cut tops and jeans that fit her like a second skin, something deep inside of her finding more satisfaction in Needy’s attention than whatever boy she’s trying to lure.
She only eats when Needy is with her. She tries to hunt alone, but it feels boring and stupid and wrong, and so she stops. Needy doesn’t call her out on it, if she’s noticed. Maybe she doesn’t care. Maybe this is the way she prefers it, knowing where Jennifer is when she’s feeding and who she’s feeding on.
The first few times Needy doesn’t look at her much afterward, her hands glued to the steering wheel and her eyes flat behind her glasses. Jennifer wonders what she’s thinking about - if she’s angry at Jennifer, or at herself, for going along with this.
But then comes a night a few weeks into their arrangement, when Jennifer bites off more than she can chew, stumbling back to the car with her mouth smeared in blood and her nails chipped. She’s more pissed about her nails than anything, even though they should grow back fresh and pink in just a day or two, and so she doesn’t notice Needy’s stricken expression until they've been idling in the car for more than five minutes.
“What?” Needy says nothing, just gestures to Jennifer’s face and hands. She looks pale. Jennifer just sighs, annoyed at the whole thing. “Guy was a fighter,” she mutters, lips twisting in disgust at the mess her hands have become. “Ripped my sweater, too. Asshole.” She’d have done the same if someone were ripping a hole in her guts, she supposes, but still. She’d liked that sweater.
Needy’s fingers touching her chin surprises her, but not as much as the look on Needy’s face as she sets about clearing the blood from Jennifer’s skin. The napkins she’d grabbed from the dashboard are scratchy and thin, and probably do more to spread the blood around than clean it off, but Jennifer doesn’t say a word, her body still and her lips slightly parted.
She just ate, but suddenly she feels hungry again - not for food, or to rip into Needy’s flesh, but to press forward, to climb over the center console and burrow between Needy’s arms, hear her pulse and feel the warmth of her skin. The impulse is so strong Jennifer almost succumbs to it, but at the last second she holds herself off, knowing it would freak Needy out or send her running or worse, make sure she’d never want to be within ten feet of Jennifer ever again.
“There.” Needy’s voice is quiet, her cheeks and nose flushed. Her hands, when she pulls them away to dispose of the napkins, are trembling. “I think you’re good.”
Jennifer swallows, feels the thing inside of her - or maybe it is her, and has always been - gnash its teeth in frustration and urge her to grab Needy’s hands, put them back on her face, or her chest, or her throat. Instead she looks at herself in her compact, sees that her chin is mostly clean of blood, and mumbles, “Yeah, all good.”
They drive back home in silence.
The house is quiet at three a.m.
Jennifer lies in bed, her legs bare and her belly full. She can’t sleep - doesn’t need to after she’s fed, her body thrumming with energy. She feels like she could run the length of the town twice over, wants to crash into the cold water of the lake and feel her skin pebble with the chill of it.
But Needy is here, curled into a ball on the other side of the bed, and she would die if Jennifer dragged her into the frozen lake, so Jennifer remains, watching the streetlight color Needy’s hair gold. She looks like she’s glowing from the inside, like there’s lamplight under her skin, and though the urge to reach over and take a bite, to feel Needy’s light and Needy’s warmth spilling into her mouth, is strong, Jennifer is content to do nothing but watch, and wait.
“Creep,” Needy murmurs. She hasn’t opened her eyes.
Jennifer giggles into her pillow. “What?”
“You’re being creepy.” Needy’s eyes slip open, heavy-lidded and dark. She doesn’t get much sleep on nights like this. Jennifer should feel guilty, but she doesn’t. It just means this is important to Needy. She’s important to Needy. More important than sleep or sanity or any boyfriend ever could be.
“Sorry,” Jennifer says, though it’s obvious she isn’t. Needy huffs a breath and closes her eyes again, but Jennifer doesn’t want to watch her sleep anymore. She wants to hear her talk, watch her lips move.
She could ask to play girlfriend/boyfriend again. She still thinks about it sometimes, how easily Needy had fallen under the same thrall as the boys she’d hunted, how she’d pressed Jennifer down and kissed her and kissed her and kissed her.
She could do it again, if she wanted to. It’s easy - it’s always so fucking easy - and yet she knows that Needy wouldn’t like it, wouldn’t want to be coerced or forced or enthralled. She would hate Jennifer even more, if Jennifer tried.
And so she doesn’t. She asks for something, instead.
“Why are you doing this?”
Needy’s eyes slip open. She doesn’t ask what Jennifer means.
“I can’t lose anyone else,” she says, and it’s quiet and it’s sad and Needy looks like she wants to cry but won’t allow herself to do it. “Even you.”
And Jennifer knows it’s a risk, an impulse she should squash, but she reaches across the bed and slips her hand over Needy’s.
Needy’s fingers twitch, her lip caught between her teeth. If Jennifer could feel her pulse, she wonders if it would be racing, if it was anger or fear or something else that made Needy’s eyes go tight at the corners and spilled red into her cheeks.
She guesses it doesn’t matter. Needy doesn’t pull away, and that’s all Jennifer cares about.
Chip’s funeral wasn’t long ago, and yet the flowers lining his grave have wilted and died in the cold. Jennifer didn’t bring any, but not because she’d thought it’d feel wrong. She just hadn’t wanted to.
She doesn’t know why she’s here. It’s not to beg for forgiveness, or to repent for her sins. It’s not to fall to the ground and tell Chip how sorry she is, how she wished she’d never done it.
She’s not sorry. She’d wanted to be, after seeing how hard Needy had cried over Chip’s body, how angry she’d been. But she’s not.
Needy hates her. Jennifer’s sure of it, just as sure as she is that if she had a chance to do it all over again, she’d still sink her teeth into Chip’s throat.
Because it didn’t matter that Jennifer had killed him. It didn’t matter that Needy hated her, or might want to kill her, or even that she might try, one day.
Needy loved her too much for any of it to mean a fucking thing. Needy wouldn’t allow her to rot away, wouldn’t let her starve. She needed Jennifer to live, and not even her hate could overcome that.
That’s love, Jennifer thinks, staring down into the stone that marked Chip’s grave. Not sweaty teenage fumblings and prom and all the boys who had followed her where they shouldn’t.
Love was Needy sitting in the corner of a bar with her eyes trained on Jennifer, making sure she ate, making sure she lived. Love was Needy cleaning Jennifer’s chin of the blood she’d spilled. Love was Needy curling up on the bed beside Jennifer, knowing what she was and what she could do, and staying, anyway.
Jennifer let out a breath. She had eaten recently, but she felt the hunger fold into her belly and tingle through her fingers and toes, anyway. It was a different sort of hunger than the one she was used to, but it was similar enough to be familiar. She wanted to see Needy. Touch her. Make her laugh and cry and spit curses that would make her mother blush. Make her eyes wet and wide for something other than fear. Make her happy, in whatever ways Jennifer could.
“I’ll take care of her,” she says, and she feels stupid for it. Chip isn’t here, Chip wouldn’t care. Chip would be pissed if he were still alive, had always hated when Jennifer took Needy away from him, but Jennifer isn’t saying it for him. She’s saying it - promising it - to herself.
It’s a promise she intends to keep.
better creatures could love you, I know.
But now they’ll have to
get through
me.
— |e.j.|