Cats

[Deux]

Rody will take the plate, equal parts confused and curious. Tilt his head to the side and hum, like some mutt. He’ll eat it here, in the restaurant, he won’t take it home like he’s been doing all week. You won’t give him the choice.

He’s so stupid- too uncultured to comment on the presentation, but that’s not what you will focus on. 

The fork will sink into the meat, into its pre-cut slices, nicely. You will note the way his lips wrap around the utensil, how his eyes will widen as the flavor seeps in. Pupils will dilate and his breath will catch, so clear and damning in the echoing kitchen. You’ll note the way his throat bobs around the swallow, and the way he will grin.

[Trois]

“Vince!” Rody will look at you. His eyes will shine, that warm honey golden brown that haunts your dreams. His gaze is admiring, reverent. “This is amazing!”

You won’t be able to stop the way your heart will thump in your chest, so loud you will wonder if he can hear it. You’ve never been able to so far. Maybe it will be more. Maybe it will beat so fast it’ll leave you feeling winded. How will you cope? You should prepare for that.

“I know.” you will respond, airily, after taking a deep breath.

He’ll dig in, clean his plate with a gusto, the way no one has ever done before. It will disgust you, the way he shoves food in his mouth. Uncultured pig. But beneath the disgust will be a bone deep satisfaction that you’ve never felt before, so you can’t imagine it now.

[Quatre]

While he eats, Rody will look up at you, every emotion clear as day on his face. Like it always is. He’ll be so clearly impressed and grateful and yes, happy. You will have made him happy.

And he would say:

“Whatever you did this time, it really worked. It’s so rich and the spices are blended so well! So moist and the baste is-”

Ah. No, not that. Rody’s not- he hasn’t got a sophisticated palate to have those opinions. He’d probably chew through half a boot without noticing anything wrong.

Maybe…

“They were so wrong about you,” he will look you in the eye. Trusting, honest, raw. Your mouth waters. “Those articles. The critics. You’ve always had it in you. This is just- it’s so good, Vince! I can taste the heart that went into this.”

Yes.

[Cinq]

He’ll ask if there are any more leftovers, desperate and hungry for more. You’ll say no, that’s all you had, just to delight in the disappointment that washes over him. Of course he will- it’s the best thing he’s ever had. He’ll be ruined, after this. He won’t be able to get the taste out of his mouth let alone settle for anything other than your cooking.

Now you know. Now you are able to- to touch people, like this. Touch him like this, in a way you will never experience. That’s a power that you’ll never give up.

So you will tell him no, sorry, that’s all that was left.

“What’s your favorite food, Rody?”

“Hm?”

I’ll make it for you next. There’s plenty of meat left.

“You never told me.”

“Still don’t have one…” He rubs his chin and looks up. Where will the two of you be then? Still in the kitchen? Or will you have this conversation outside, after the dishes are left and as you shut and lock the door behind you? Every thought about her will be so far from his mind as you both leave her- what’s left of her- in the freezer.

“Although,” he’ll smile at you, cheeks flushed and oh so happy. So alive. “I guess tonight my favorite is- whatever you make!”

--

“Shit!”

The knife slips out of Vincent’s hand and clinks against the tile floor.

He blinks back to himself, away from the daydream, and scowls. His breathing is labored and his face is flushed.

“Always distracting me, even when he’s not around…”

He bends down with a sigh and picks up the knife. He takes extra care to step around the puddles of blood to make it to the sink and rinse it off. Too much blood, so much more than he’s used to, is making things more slippery than he’s used to, but the general process is the same. Second nature for him.

It doesn’t disgust him- what he’s done. Who he’s done it to. Her eyes weren’t the familiar brown he ached for. Her hair was too light, too neat, not the wild, fiery ginger mess that’s been dashing around his dining room. Barely presentable for his job but- it’s soft. Vincent knows it’s soft. His hand remembers the way it felt underneath his skin when he dried Rody off.

Vincent shivers again, and realizes the tap water is still running.

Shutting it off, he makes his way back to the counter. There’s still much to prepare before the day begins.

—

The countdown doesn’t even begin; Rody just had to go snooping where he doesn’t belong. 

Now there’s blood, his blood, that fills your mouth. His cartilage, soft and squishy between your teeth. You swallow it down. A piece of him, inside you.

Rody staggers and screams, his expression growing more horrified, pained, disgusted by the second. His eyes go buggy and he brings his left hand up to his wound, he’s crying. No. No, no, no, no-

You think about his smile. His kind, soft, moronic, naive eyes were supposed to be fixed on you, were supposed to find you. It wasn’t supposed to be this way-

He’ll never love you now.

It’s- it’s his fault. All of this. Here you were, trying to do something nice, and he spits it back in your face. It’s not like you were ever going to tell him what [who] he was eating. He could have lived in blissful ignorance. Happy, content, with you-. He would have forgotten about her eventually.

He calls you insane, and he might be right, but he doesn’t have to be so dramatic about it.

Ugh- now he’s accusing you of being a fucking cannibal, Jesus Christ. Imbecile. Your eye almost twitches in annoyance. Of course he’d jump to that conclusion, it’s not like he uses his brain to think for more than two seconds. You ought to take the other ear, for that. Or a finger. A hand.

…An arm. A leg. Your eyes trace his body, slowly.

Did- did his ear taste like anything, going down? You can’t remember. It- maybe it did. Maybe what you need is something meatier.

The girl never would have tasted like anything to you and in hindsight, of course she wouldn’t have. Maybe not even to Rody either. You never loved her, and she never loved you. Rody, though… Rody would be made with all your love. That’s what people talk about, right? That’s what you needed all along.

He comes to the realization at the same time you do. Your eyes meet. Honey brown. Alive, alive, raw.