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It begins when she's a child, small and fragile and unaware. Gazing up at her pastor preaching the sermon of the day, her eyes sparkling. As the congregation begins to sing, her mother takes her by the hand, and leads her to the altar at the front of the room. She is handed a small cup and a wafer, and does as she’s told. Take, eat; this is my Body…Drink ye all of it; For this is my Blood of the new testament. She takes the wafer, and eats Christ’s Body, she drinks the red juice, and drinks Christ’s Blood. An electricity runs from her mouth to her stomach, the consumption of Christ cleansing her and making her holy.
Take, eat. Take, drink. And she does, every Sunday of her life from that point on. She learns, a few years into this, that she is not supposed to believe that this act is literal. It’s just a metaphor, it's the Catholics who believe the food and drink is truly transformed into Christ’s Body and Blood. And that’s one of the reasons they are going to Hell, she’s told, they believe they are committing cannibalism and yet are still willing to partake. Transubstantiation, the term rolls around in Grace’s head. She is confused, she had believed up until now that the Body and Blood were real, did this mean she was going to Hell? No, she’s told, she was just being silly, and she knew the truth now. She was not committing cannibalism. From then on, Communion just didn’t have the same electricity to it that it had before. How could she truly be cleansed, show her faith, if she didn’t actually consume the Body and Blood of Christ?
As she grew older, the feelings grew too. It was small, at first, growing larger. A Bloody nose that dripped into her mouth before she could stop it, the copper taste coating her tongue, bringing the same feeling to her gut that she had had at her first Communion. Her tripping and falling face first into the ground, accidentally biting off a small chunk of the inside of her cheek, swallowing it before she could even think to spit. The Blood and Flesh sliding down her throat, creating a feeling of burning the whole way down.
The skinned palm of her hand from a biking mishap, the Blood slowly dripping down her arm. Take, drink. She moves the hand to her mouth, in a daze. Take, drink. She licks at the pooling Blood hesitantly. Take, drink. Take, drink. She does so, growing frenzied, licking up the Blood already spilled across her arm, her hand. Once it’s all been cleaned, She latches onto her palm with her teeth, sucking, drinking. Take, drink. Take, drink. Take, drink.
The reverie breaks when Grace’s teeth bite down onto her hand. Take, eat. The shooting pain of nerves is jarring enough to get her to unlatch from her hand, pull back, and try to comprehend what had just happened. She had drunk her own Blood, she had pulled the fluid from her own hand with her mouth, she had been about to take a bite, eat, consume. Her subconscious, loud and vicious, quiets down when it becomes clear that she will not Take and Eat . She stays there, sitting, looking at her hand, for what feels like hours, but is more likely only minutes. It had tasted so good . She had consumed her own life force, taken the very thing that sustains her out of her veins, and brought it back in through her stomach. Her mouth, her throat, coated in the coppery red ink. She felt clean in a way she hadn’t since the times when she believed Communion was literal. Eat my Body, Drink my Blood. This gives you life. This gives you purpose. This gives you salvation.
Grace copes with the growing urge to sink her teeth into Flesh the same way she copes with every unholy, disgusting thought: She ignores it, and hopes it goes away. As with every unholy, sexual, disgusting desire she's ever had, the urge does not go away, no, it only gets stronger. Maxwell Jägerman is the cause of every problem in her life, she’s decided. That vile, muscular, sexy jock had kicked her impulses into overdrive, however she couldn’t decide if the desire to carnally embrace him or to rip his throat out with her teeth is stronger.
His ego is attractive, his ability to just believe that he can change her, can get her to go against the morals she lives by. There are multiple times where she almost gives in, almost lets herself go, but Grace is always able to bring herself back from the edge. If she kissed him, she wouldn’t be able to stop herself. She would have to eat him, consume him, take and eat of his Flesh. And as much as wishes she hated Max, the fact was that she didn’t, and she was not going to give in for something as simple as a kiss.
The plan had been perfect, just scare him, humiliate him, and she wouldn’t find him attractive anymore, would see that there was nothing to be gained by desiring him. But in action, things were less than perfect. Max was brave and beautiful and almost godly…and then he was falling. She wishes he had kept falling, broken through the floorboards of the old Waylon Place and fell and fell all the way to the fiery pits of Hell.
But he had not kept falling, stopped by splintered wood piercing through his chest. She knows he’s dead before she even sees him, before he begins to cry out, cursing her and the others. The smell of copper fills her nose as his lungs gurgle, feebly attempting to breathe around the Blood filling them. He spits and coughs and heaves, and it takes every ounce of control she has to not kiss him, to lick the Blood off his lips. Take, drink. Take. Eat. Consume. Grace’s subconscious screams and gnaws at her brain, begging her to move towards him, begging her to let go. She stands her ground, there are still the others. She cannot do what she so desperately wants when there are witnesses.
“You guys go.” Her mouth moves on its own, “This is my fault, I’ll take care of him.”
She can feel the eyes of the others burning into her.
“I can make this go away. Please just trust me. This house will never sell. Please go.”
There is a discussion around her, one she cannot hear because she’s too busy listening to the gnashing of teeth in her head. There is a hand on her shoulder. The living Meat…Steph. Her name is Steph. She’s Grace’s best friend. Steph looks into her eyes, and sees whatever she was hoping for. With a nod, and a squeeze bite her cheek, rip her flesh she says something to the others, and they leave.
The door shuts behind her, and Grace waits a moment. and then another moment. She waits until she knows deep in her bones that she will not be interrupted. Only then, she moves.
Like a starving animal, she lunges at the Body in front of her. The many mouths in her head laugh and scream and clench their jaws in anticipation.
Kneeling, almost in prayer, in front of her Communion, Grace plunges her hand into the chest, feels something rounded, and pulls. She had never paid much attention in her science classes, so she was unsure what organ emerged from between ribs, clutched in her now Bloodied hand. This cup is the new testament in my Blood: this do ye, as oft as ye drink it, in remembrance of me. In remembrance of Him. In remembrance of Her.
She brings the organ to her mouth, already watering in anticipation, and bites . The flavor explodes in her mouth, coppery and wet and raw. she chews and tears and shreds it until she can swallow. She feels it the whole way, sliding down her throat, landing in her stomach. Grace feels bliss, and purity. She is being cleansed by this Communion, no transubstantiation necessary. She will eat of his Body and drink of his Blood. Some small voice in the back of her head that sounds an awful lot like Max Jägerman thinks this must be what an orgasm feels like.
Something snaps, and she loses herself, plunging her hands into him, ripping and tearing the hole in his chest wider and wider. Like a ravenous, wild animal, she feasts on the Body, tearing out organs she does not know the names of and ripping off strips of his Flesh. All of it is consumed, a hunger growing in her stomach. She can’t get enough, every bite she swallows both satisfying her completely and also intensifying the hunger. Her mouth stings of copper and a sweetness coats her tongue.
She wishes Max were still breathing, so he could share in this cleansing. In the same way she now devours him, she wishes he could do the same to her, becoming one Flesh, becoming one Blood, becoming holy.
With a hard tug and a loud ripping sound, Grace pulls out the last part of her meal, her dessert. If she squinted, the heart in her hands almost looked like it was still beating. God how she wishes it was, so she could watch the blood move through it, squirt out of the openings, give life to the Flesh in front of her.
It does not beat, however, and Grace takes this moment to pause and give thanks .
Our Father, which art in heaven, Hallowed be thy Name.
Thy Kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth, As it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread.
And forgive us our trespasses, As we forgive them that trespass against us.
And lead us not into temptation,
But deliver us from evil.
For thine is the kingdom,
The power, and the glory,
For ever and ever.
Amen.
She should have recited the Lord’s Prayer before the meal had even begun, but she had been starving, and she knew her God would forgive her. The snapping jaws in her head soothe her, assure her it’s alright, and coax her into parting her lips once again, to consume the final course in her meal.
The heart is almost rubbery, and Blood gushes into Grace’s mouth when she bites into it. She swallows, careful not to spill a single drop, and continues to consume Max Jägerman’s heart. She was clean now, holy, divine. Her lord God had urged her to eat, and she had followed Its will. The meal had been beautiful, remnants still coating her arms. She cleans herself up, licking up as much of the gore on her arms as she can, before standing.
Gazing down at the Body she ate, she notes how she hadn’t even touched the limbs, hadn’t even attempted to reach his brain. But the stomach and the mouth told her the meal was over. And so she cleaned. She cut off the limbs, doused them in bleach, and wrapped them in bags. She pried open the floorboards and put it all underneath, where it would not be found. She scrubs the ground, and herself, until there is no sign that she had eaten there.
Satisfied, she turns, and without even a glance back, Grace Chasity walks out of the old Waylon Place, more satiated than she had ever been in her life.