All you knew was that you woke up in someone else’s blood. Your tongue burned with the bitter metallic taste. You were thankful that you could never remember your episodes. The faces stayed featureless and unnamed. The screams and choking sounds of them gurgling on their own blood were muffled, leaving nothing but the call of a mourning dove in their wake. You couldn’t remember your own hunger, your own sick, depraved desperation. When you waited too long to feed, everything blurred, which was good for your conscience but not good for your ability to be in control. With your parents gone, you were alone. You had to fend for yourself. 

This was the second feed since your parents had left. The first time, you followed their protocol as if they were still there, keeping you in check, but then the Afterward came, and you had to clean up by yourself and see the mess you created. You resolved to keep the hunger down for as long as you could after that. But this was what happened when you waited.

You weren’t sure how long you'd been out. An episode like this always knocked you out for a while—another reason to keep your hunger in check. There was no way to flee the scene in case some unlucky person came by to investigate the strange noises. 

It was a young man, you think, lying next to you. His body was horribly desecrated, unrecognizable. You likely tried to seduce him, whispered sweet nothings into his ear, told him to follow you into the woods, promising pleasure. It was a trick that always worked, becoming a habit. Of course you’d be able to reenact the motions even in the foggy haze of hunger. 

In your state of delirium, you had made a mess of your clothes and your face. You took whatever clean fabric was left on the man to try to wipe away the crimson stains on your skin. You pinched your nose at the bitter, spoiled smell of the man. Flesh gone bad. It was the smell of an unhealthy man, a man who tainted his body with one too many drugs in his system for a long period of time, whose liver no longer worked at full capacity, toxifying his blood. Normally, people smelled bitter, but not in this way, where it stung the back of your throat. They smelled fuller, smoother, mineral-like. It wasn’t a particularly good smell, but it would make your mouth water if you were in the right mood.

Once clean, you cleared the area around the body, robotic, emotionless, surrounding him with all the rocks you could find. It took several tries to start the fire, but when the amber of ember danced in front of your eyes, you peeled your bloodied shirt off and watched the flames consume it. 

It wasn’t safe to stay at home anymore, so as soon as you stalked up the gravel driveway to your house and swung the door open, you packed a backpack within a few minutes, stuffing wads of cash in between the soles of your shoes and more into various pockets. It’s muted brown corduroy sagging under the weight of several changes of clothes, unperishables, and the few toiletries you scavenged from your bathroom. You didn’t feel sentimental about this house, having moved so many times due to unfortunate incident after unfortunate incident. Usually, your parents would take charge. They’d shove a bag into your hands and say, “Pack everything you can, we need to be out of here in ten minutes.” It wasn’t always your fault, at least. Sometimes your mother or father tried to extend the time they needed to feed. Push their luck. You’d watch their eyes darken to black as they sat across from you at the dinner table. It was hard to eat those nights. All food tasted like dirt when you knew you could be the next meal if you didn’t find a substitute quickly enough. 

This day was a long time coming if you were being honest with yourself. Running away was inevitable. You were fated to either live a life flying across state borders, avoiding the feds, or being locked away, imprisoned by aluminum bars and thick, padded gloves. There was a third option. You tried to shake the thought, shuddering as if you could slip it off your shoulders and never carry the weight of it again. Was it worth it to live like this? 

You walked out the front door with eyes glazed, your face expressionless, aside from lines of tears that streamed down your cheeks. You couldn’t feel them anymore.

Disconnected from everything and everyone, you decided to set off on foot for Nowhere, USA, utterly aimless with nothing but a few pairs of underwear and a toothbrush to your name. Maybe you’d finally find something worth living for on the way.

—

After walking for several miles, finally managing to make it out of your rural purgatory, you found yourself standing right off the highway, face to face with a large, flickering neon sign reading Bailey’s Diner, Open 24/7. Your stomach let out an obnoxiously loud growl as the scent of syrup and bacon grease wafted through the air. 

The booth groaned when you slid across the vinyl padding, pressing your body up against the window. It was late. Exceptionally late. Everyone there was either miserably tired at a rest stop from their road trip, or a truck driver on their midnight break. 

You were lost in your own thoughts of self-pity and torment until a big, beefy man threw the diner doors open, shaking the walls as he walked inside. He stalked up to the counter, incessantly ringing the bell to get the waitress’s attention.

“Would you shut the fuck up? She’s clearly talking to someone right now,” a boy shouted over the bell chimes. He had floppy black curly hair and wore what looked like a woman’s blouse—a loose button-up with pink floral patterns. When you focused on him, the first thing you noticed was his smell. It was prominent, not like anyone else’s you’d met. It was sweet, like vanilla.

The gruff, older man was about to shout a retort back had the waitress not interrupted. 

“What can I get for you?” Her voice was loud. Confident. She’s dealt with these types of men before.

“Coffee. Black,” the man grunted. 

She nodded, heading to turn away to prepare his order when his hand reached forward across the counter, grabbing her wrist. She spun her head around, eyes widening with panic for a split second before regaining her composure.

“Would you let go?” She commanded quietly. But his grip stayed firm. He mumbled something to her that you couldn’t hear.

“Hey, let the girl go,” the boy with the curly hair had hopped off his stool, heading over. The waitress raised her hand, silently telling him to stop there, not wanting to create any more of a commotion. That would only make things worse, and people’s heads were already turning. 

“Fucking fairy,” The man snorted a laugh, his grasp staying firm on the waitress’s wrist.

“I’m serious,” the boy said, walking closer. Despite being smaller than the man, the boy’s voice was strong, and he held his head high. Even you were a bit intimidated.  

The older man stood up, letting go of the woman’s arm violently, throwing it aside as if it weren’t attached to anything. “You wanna fucking fight?” He slurred. “I’ll fucking kill you.”

Not looking away, the boy fished into his pocket, picking out a few dollars—an exorbitant amount given that he was only sipping from a small coffee before—and tossed them on the counter for the waitress before sauntering out of the diner. You thought for a second that he might be running away, but he turned around to face the man, holding his arms out in a way that said come at me. 

The man gave a guttural growl as he stomped in the boy’s direction. When he got outside, the boy ran. There was a playful smile on his face, though, when he looked back to see if he was being followed. This was a game to him. The man charged after him, yelling all sorts of profanities that made everyone in the diner cringe. 

You were done with your food by that point, reaching into your shoe to fish out a few dollars and place them on the table.

You were good at hiding, at silently stalking in the dark. You followed the scent of the boy, sweet and woody. He intrigued you. 

—

You followed him to a small abandoned barn, in the opposite direction of the highway, and far off the property of the diner. There were no signs of life anywhere near, no blunt sounds of fists hitting jaws, no cries of defeat.

And then you saw him. Walking out of the barn doors, shirt in hand, face and neck covered in blood. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw you, eyes widening like a deer in headlights. He opened his mouth to say something, but no sound came out. Up close, you could see how young he truly was. About your age, maybe. Twenty, twenty-one.

“You’re an eater?” It was a question, but it came out more like a statement as it left your mouth.

He nodded rigidly. You stared at each other for a few beats until you were able to pull together a full sentence. 

“Are you, um,” you bit your lip, suddenly feeling extremely nervous. You could see him loosen up out of the corner of your eye, observing how apprehensive you were. “Are you doing anything right now?” You had to look at everything but him, choosing to redirect your gaze to the nails that you were absentmindedly picking at. 

He let out a small, breathy laugh, and you looked back up at him in surprise. It wasn’t cruel—his laugh; it was tinged with relief. “Yeah, actually,” the corners of his mouth twitched upwards, “I was thinking of cleaning myself up a bit.” He motioned to his scarlet chin. Blood dripped down his neck. There was a gold chain just below his collarbone that glinted in the moonlight. “Unless you think I’d blend in enough walking back into town?”

He was trying to make you laugh, but you only shifted the weight on your unsteady feet. “So, you know?”

He raised an eyebrow at you. “Know what?”

“That I’m one too.” No one was around; it was just the two of you for a whole quarter-mile radius, but you whispered anyway.

“Of course,” he said without hesitation, frowning slightly as if the question was so nonsensical to ask. “Smelled it on you. In the diner.” He brought his hand up to scratch the back of his head sheepishly. “I thought you would’ve noticed, I was staring at you for, like, twenty minutes straight.”

You laughed awkwardly, and he smiled somewhat guiltily. “I’m Matty, by the way.” He reached his arm forward, inviting you to shake his hand.

You took it, breathing in deeply, mustering up all the courage in your body, and told him your name. “Can I come with you?” You asked quickly, the words pouring out of you like a broken fountain. 

“To…clean up?”

You nodded shyly, and he pouted at you compassionately. You must’ve looked like a stray puppy to him. You kind of were. No parents. No home. But Matty didn’t take pity on you. Out of everyone, he’d be the one able to empathize with you the most. 

“C’mon, let’s go see what car this guy drives.” Matty motioned for you to come along, and you all but skipped after him.

On the walk back, he wiped himself up as best he could with the clean part of the man’s shirt that he had ripped off. Clean was an overstatement. As soon as Matty brought the rag to his face, he stifled a gag at the rancid stench of sweat and alcohol. He quickly gave up and put his own shirt back on, buttoning it to the top to hide as much evidence as possible.

“I’m gonna be so pissed if I got blood on this,” he mumbled as he fiddled with his buttons. “It’s my favorite shirt.” He looked pointedly at you like it was very important that you knew that. You pursed your lips at him, amused. 

He rifled through his deep pockets, picking out car keys and a wallet. “Jameson M. Fischer,” Matty announced, opening up the wallet and reading the man’s I.D. “Well, James, you’re a real fucking asshole. Wait, holy shit.” He pulled out a massive wad of cash. Matty looked like he had struck gold, only to flip through the bills to find they were all ones and fives. “Fuck,” he groaned. “He was probably coming from Gossip. That’s why he was so wasted.” His voice trailed off at the end, talking to himself.

“Gossip?” You looked curiously at him. 

“The strip club ‘cross the highway.” He pocketed the cash, determining that the rest of the wallet was useless, and tossed it in the dumpster next to the diner. 

You didn’t even know Matty, yet you couldn’t help but feel a small pang of jealousy ring in the back of your head. “Should I be concerned that you know the strip club by its full legal name? You a regular there?” 

If Matty didn’t know any better, he’d assume you were flirting with him—the girl, who appeared to be scared of her own skin, suddenly was brave enough to tease him. “I pay frequent visits, yeah. When I’m back in town. It’s a reliable place to eat, y’know?” 

The way he said it was so dry, so blasé. You looked at him, horrified.

“No, no, I don’t mean the girls,” Matty said, quickly, realizing how that could have been disastrously misinterpreted. “Some real gross guys go there. Cheating on their wives or girlfriends. Groping the girls when they’re told they’re not allowed. I’ve just given ‘em what they deserved.” He sounded like he was trying to justify it more to himself than to you. 

“I’m not one to judge.” You thought about all the men you’d met in bars, classes, walking back home at night, who’d follow you too closely, grope you too roughly. You didn’t feel as bad robbing the world of their presence. 

He tilted his head at you, a very small, appreciative smile on his lips, before redirecting his attention to the parking lot, sparingly filled with cars and trucks, whose owners were all sipping coffee and snacking on midnight fries inside the glowing diner. All but one. “Alright, well, now we just gotta figure out which one’s his. He didn’t have a trucker’s license, so at least that narrows it down.” 

You had taken it upon yourself to test each car, padding across the poorly paved parking lot while Matty crouched in the bushes. You scurried from car to car, placing the key in each lock, jiggling it to see if anything would happen, careful not to look too suspicious to anyone who could see you through the large windows. 

“You don’t have to check that one,” Matty whisper-yelled behind you from his position concealed in the darkness. “It’s mine.” You squinted at him, frowning. Why were you playing grand theft auto for him if he had his own car?

Eventually, you heard the beautiful click of an unlocked car, and you both sighed in relief. Matty scurried to his own, gathering his measly belongings, and crept behind two trucks to the soon-to-be-stolen car. He tossed his things inside and came up to the driver’s side where you were standing.

“You wanna drive?” He looked at you disbelievingly.

“Why are we taking this guy’s car if you’ve got your own?” You asked, crossing your arms.

“Engine’s busted,” Matty explained, shrugging. He took the keys out of your hand wordlessly and hopped into the front seat, motioning you to go to the other side. 

When you slammed the door shut, you promptly felt the extreme suffocating closeness to this stranger, and wondered if it was at all a good idea to get into a car with him and drive God knows where. But you had nowhere else to go, except for where fate decided to take you. “So you’re alright with me coming with you?” You asked, tentatively from the passenger’s seat as Matty put the car in drive. 

“You got anywhere to go?” Matty asked, avoiding your question. You shook your head, and he shrugged. “Well, I’m not really on any mission either. I was thinking of going out west, to California, but I wouldn’t have been able to with my useless car. And look at that,” he grinned, pointing to the gas gauge on the dashboard as the car pulled out onto the road. “We’ve got a full tank now.” He paused for a few beats, getting serious again, to finally answer your question. “Roadtrips are no fun alone.” He paused again, finding the right words to say. “And you seem like a sweet girl.” He tossed you a glance from the driver's seat, trying not to let too much emotion show on his face, but secretly profusely thanking every god that might exist for your company.

You nodded, trying not to smile too broadly. 

—

Throughout the next few hours, you worked as Matty’s navigator with a map splayed out in your lap. There wasn’t much work to do, only needing to change exits once every forty minutes or so. The two of you fought over control of the radio. You tolerated Kiss for him, pretending not to be amused while Matty danced animatedly from his seat, and he watched as you leaned against the window dreamily, mouthing along to Kate Bush. 

As the streetlights blurred outside your window, the cataclysm of this morning felt like another lifetime ago, like you skipped through several chapters of a book. Everything was going to be different now. You asked Matty what he expected to find in California, and he simply said: Love. He was going to find love out there.  

“Are you sure we deserve something like love?” You mumbled into the window, your palm cradling the side of your face.

“You can’t think like that.” He shook his head. “We do what we need to do to survive.” He punctuated every other word by patting his palm to the top of the steering wheel. Again, he spoke like he was convincing himself more than you, like he was reciting a script he’d already told so many times. “I mean, you saw that guy in there,” he said, referencing the man he’d just mutilated. “If we take out the bad people, we’re doing the world a favor, aren’t we?”

You sighed, unconvinced. Matty persisted.

“There’s a way to do this kind of thing right…Or, at least, as right as it can get.” He turned to look at you questioningly. “When was the last time you ate?”

“Few hours ago.” He had confessed to watching you in the diner, hadn’t he?

“No, I mean, when was the last time you ate?” 

“Oh.” You should’ve realized that’s what he was talking about. You coughed. “This morning.” You weren’t sure why you were embarrassed to admit it—he was still coated in another man’s blood. 

“Good. That’s good,” Matty assured. You appreciated his optimism, but it did nothing to fill the emptiness in your chest. “Listen, I’m tired. There’s a motel at the next exit. How about we call it for the night?”

You hummed in agreement, nodding. You knew you’d have to start being pleasant, more cheerful. You needed him to want to keep you around. 

—

“Alright, here’s forty,” Matty handed you the bulky roll of ones he had stolen from the man’s wallet. “That should be way more than enough for one night.”

You moved to give the cash back to him. You had been alone for the past month since your parents left, and you finally found someone to sit next to you. Feeling the loss of him suddenly felt so great and so intolerable. “Why aren’t you coming in?”

“I’m covered in blood, babe. Go on, you’ll be fine.” He shooed you out of the car with an encouraging yet slightly patronizing smile on his face. You sighed through your nose, heart beating faster, at both his absence, which made you feel increasingly more vulnerable, and the pet name.

The fluorescent lights were offensively bright in the dingy motel lobby. The receptionist sat, leaning back in her chair, chain-smoking with her legs crossed over the desk. She didn’t look that old. Maybe thirty. Her eyelids were painted with baby blue eyeshadow. You cleared your throat to get her attention. She turned her head to face you, frowning, a bored look on her face.

“I’d, um, I’d like a room, please,” you squeaked. 

“Just you?” She breathed out a plume of smoke.

You pursed your lips, nodding. 

“It’s twenty a night.”

You flipped through the wad of cash, picking out twenty ones and handing them to her. She glared at you as she counted them herself, double-checking while you stared at the ceiling, avoiding eye contact. Once she was satisfied with the amount, she turned away from you, picking a room key off the wall of hooks. The key she handed you was rusted with a small card attached reading Room 93. You swung open the squeaky door and walked back to Matty, holding the key out in front of you so he’d see. He beamed at you from behind the windshield, and you couldn’t help but return the smile with a pink tint on your cheeks.

—

You admired yourself in the foggy bathroom mirror. Under the water droplets that dripped down your face and body from the shower, your skin glowed. You always looked best after a feed. You felt a newfound confidence walking out of the bathroom after putting your pajamas on and sliding into bed next to Matty. You were both curled to face each other. His hair was still damp from his shower before yours. All the blood was washed off, swirling in crimson rivers down the shower drain. You hadn’t noticed his tattoos before, given the pitch darkness in the field you found him in, but you could see them clearly now in the lamp’s orange light. You couldn’t bring yourself to be uncomfortable lying in a bed next to a man you had just met that night, and you told him as such. He smiled warmly at you before brushing your arm comfortingly with his hand.

“It’s ‘cause we’re the same,” Matty mumbled into the pillow. His eyelids were heavy with exhaustion, fighting to keep them open just to look at you a little longer. 

“I didn’t think I was going to last very long on my own,” you admitted in a whisper. 

“Thank God you found me then.”

—

With both of you having fed the same day, neither of you would have to feed for a while. Matty, for longer, given his meal was not only bigger, but far healthier too. You’d likely be on borrowed time after a week and a half.

Anyone sitting at an opposite booth from you at one of the many diners that’d come to see your faces at least once or twice would assume you and Matty had known each other for years. You teased and played like children whose parents weren’t looking, throwing crumpled-up straw wrappers into makeshift finger goals from opposite ends of the table, and making up stories for people in the rooms right next to yours.

You sat by the motel pool together in chlorine-soaked underwear, tucked next to each other on the same feeble pool chair, talking in excitedly hushed tones to avoid anyone hearing.

“Ok, so, that’s Cindy,” you pointed to the older woman with big blond hair and sun-damaged skin sitting on the edge of the pool, her legs swaying in the water warmed by the beating sun, “and that’s David,” you pointed to the man in square glasses behind her, reading a newspaper under the shade of the umbrella. “Cindy made them go on a spontaneous vacation to heal their marriage when she caught him having an affair with the twenty-year-old boy who mowed their lawns, but they both know they’re getting a divorce when they get back. I mean, look at her eyes. They’re so tired and sullen.”

“Ugh, that’s so basic,” Matty scoffed, and you swatted his shoulder. His eyes zeroed in on the couple again. “I think, stay with me here, they’re brother and sister and—”

“Wait, but we just saw him grab her ass.”

“Exactly. They’re running away from their family’s judgment, hoping to start a new life across the country where no one knows they’re related. And they use the excuse that they’re married to explain why they have the same last name, but if one of their new neighbors on their perfectly magazine-manicured cul-de-sac ever looked a little too closely, they’d see that they have the same beady little almond eyes and pointy nose.” He dropped his hands down, prideful at his ludicrous assessment.

“So, you’re just fucking disgusting.”

“That’s what they say about all the best storytellers.”

“Is it though?” You tilted your head to the side, squinting at him.

“Mhm, it is.” Oblivious to your scrutiny, Matty nodded calmly, rubbing the tip of his nose against yours. 

He closed his eyes, and the arm that was wrapped around you pressed you closer into him until your foreheads touched. When your breath hitched at the proximity, he pulled you away, just far enough to look at you, his gaze bouncing between your eyes and your lips. You propped yourself up with your elbow so that you leaned over him, in full control of how slowly you bent down. Matty grew impatient, though, and lifted his head just enough to latch his lips onto yours, pulling you back down to him. The tension that had been getting tighter and tighter with each passing day and each night curled up next to each other, finally snapped. Heat scorched through your veins as he held your face in his hands, fingers combing through your wet, knotted hair. He tasted sweet, and saliva pooled in your mouth, intensifying the wet sounds your mouths made. 

You heard a groan of disgust from across the pool. The man stood up to pull his wife out of the water. “Come on, Barbara, let's go back to the room.”

“Why? Is it reminding you of what you did with the pool-boy?” she spat.

You broke away from Matty, eyes wide, pushing his chest. He did the same, listening just as closely as you had.

“Holy shit, you were right.” He looked at you, dumbfounded, jaw dropped. 

“Should’ve bet on it.” You clicked your tongue on the roof of your mouth. 

“Well, you didn’t say poolboy, to be fair,” he raised a finger in front of your face, “so actually, you should get nothing.” Matty moved to cradle your face in his hand as a condescending comfort, but you swatted it away.

“Shut up.” You both giggled as he pulled you back into him, feeling the loss of each other for far too long. 

Matty’s hand slid down your bare back as his tongue traced your jaw. He tilted his head to the side, exposing his neck for you, and tugged on your hair, pulling your lips down to his chin. As you licked up his neck vein, sucking on the pressure point, he looked over your shoulder to watch the man and woman leave through the pool gate. They were taking turns tossing looks of repulsion your way. Matty flipped them off before returning his hand to your waist, slipping teasing fingers under the waistband of your underwear. You pulled away, turning your head to check that the pool was empty. When you confirmed that it was, you swung your leg over Matty’s lap to straddle him.

“You’re so fucking beautiful. Thought that the second I saw you.” Matty hummed into your mouth, taking his tongue and lapping up the spit that pooled at the bottom. You preened at his words, wrapping your arms around his neck, entangling your fingers in his long curly hair. You took your tongue and licked the roof of his mouth, feeling him shake and shiver under you, his nails digging into your skin. You could feel his hard bulge between your legs, and you ground once on him. The fingers that gripped your thighs pressed impossibly harder. You were bound to have black-and-blue spots decorating your body in the morning. 

“Room. Bed,” Matty muttered lowly in between pressing sloppy kisses to your swollen lips. You nodded, swinging your leg off him. Your lips stayed latched to each other as you both got up, stumbling backwards off the chair. He gripped your wrist, pulling you in the direction of the room, stopping halfway there to grab your face and kiss you again. 

Once you got inside the room and locked the door carefully, Matty wasted no time unhooking your bra and throwing it on the floor, his mouth never failing to leave yours.

This was the first time you’d ever truly felt this kind of hunger. Not just a need to be satiated—a need to open yourself up and be filled by him. You crouched down in front of Matty, looking up at him through doe eyes. You traced the tattoo on his waist as he combed his fingers through your hair and brought his hand down to open your mouth. You stuck your tongue out playfully for him, and he slipped his thumb inside. You bobbed your head around it, sucking, showing him what you could do. 

“You look so pretty like this,” Matty whispered, taking his thumb out of your mouth and cradling your face, staring at you through the dark curls that had fallen in front of his hungry eyes. He didn’t bother to brush them away, not wanting to take his hands off you for a second. 

You leaned into his touch and pulled his boxers down, letting his cock spring out, pink and glistening at the tip. Tasting the precum on your tongue, you couldn’t help but envelop as much of him as you could in your mouth, coating him in slippery saliva, stroking what you couldn’t fit with a twisting wrist. Matty moaned above you, trying to mask it with a lower-pitched groan, but you saw through him, smirking around his length.

Noticing the sense of achievement in your watering eyes for getting him to slip up momentarily, he tried regaining control, grasping your head in both hands, holding you still so that he could control the pace, thrusting slowly into your mouth, watching his cock slide across your tongue. 

You clenched your legs at him taking control of you, holding you firm but gentle. Your core squeezed around nothing, never having felt such a painful emptiness inside you before. Matty pulled out of your mouth to bounce his tip on your tongue. The heavy weight hitting your tongue only made you hungrier. You pushed his hand off himself and pushed him deeper into your throat. You gagged around his shaft, and he pulled out of you abruptly, face tinted in concern and fear. You didn’t give him a chance to ask if you were ok, though, the question on the tip of his tongue. You pushed him into your mouth again, for what you suspected would be the last time. His legs were shaking under you, and his breathing grew irregular.  

“Baby, baby, you gotta stop,” Matty choked out. “I’m gonna– fuck.” He sucked in a sharp breath as he pulled your head off him just in time. You looked up at him, confused, and he pulled you onto your feet, kissing your forehead on the way up. Strong hands gripped your waist as he pushed you gently backwards onto the bed, lying down on top of you. You kissed slowly and passionately while he ground against your cunt. Each thrust pressed the cool wetness of your underwear against you. Matty kicked his boxers all the way off while you shimmied your underwear down your legs. What started slow and passionate grew more insatiable with each article of clothing removed. Matty pressed his fingers to your dripping core, and you trembled at the sudden direct pressure. He looked down at you, eyes wide, mesmerized, as he pushed his middle finger inside you, watching it gradually disappear between your legs. He pumped his digit inside you, feeling your slippery walls envelope him.

“Matty…” You tugged at the chain that hung off his neck, pulling him down closer to you. “Need more…” Your voice came out as a desperate whine, and he pouted. Pitying you. Nonetheless, he pulled his finger out and lined himself up, pressing his tip to your entrance before pushing in and splitting you open. He watched you gasp at the stretch, searching for any sign of discomfort on your face. You felt the familiar initial sting, but it was fleeting. Matty fit inside you perfectly, deliciously. He took the finger that was coated in your slick and rubbed small, delicate circles onto your clit, causing you to arch your back into his touch, eyebrows knitting in pleasure. 

He quickly found a pattern, rubbing your clit up and down in tandem with his thrusts. You could feel a tightening across your entire body. Matty pressed soft kisses to your parted lips, to your cheeks, to your forehead. You could feel the way his soft lips closed against your skin, feeling coated in him. You held him tight against you, trying not to think about the future love he’d find once you ran out of road. It had only been a week, but you had never been so scared to lose someone. 

All the boys you’d let crawl inside you, treating fucking like an act of invasion and ownership, pretending they were the predator claiming you, only for you to sink your teeth into them right before they reached their peak and then bathe in a maroon shower of dripping blood. Matty held you in his arms as you’d never been before, not even by your own mother. Tears pricked at your eyes, but you blinked them away as soon as you felt them threaten to fall. Moments like these always ended the same for you—you were never able to handle the proximity. But Matty smelled sweet in the way that made warmth spread across your body, not bitter in the way that awakened your taste buds. You could trust yourself enough to let go this time. 

You gave Matty no warning, pulsing around him, your legs shaking uncontrollably. He moaned, feeling your muscles contract. He squeezed his eyes shut, hastily pulling out, stroking himself rapidly, releasing long ropes of cum that landed across your tits. He collapsed by your side, both of you breathing heavily. Your mind went blank, not perceiving anything with your eyes closed, while your energy drained out of you with each exhale. For the first time, you felt entirely safe to feel nothing. 

Once his breath grew shallower, after several minutes of lying together in a mess of sticky limbs, he got up wordlessly, slipping his boxers back on, and walked over to the bathroom. You heard the faucet running for a long time before the familiar footsteps made their way back over to you. Matty knelt over your body, pressing a warm washcloth in between your thighs and then across your chest, cleaning you up. 

“All clean?” He asked, interrupting the silence. Too tired to say anything, you ran your fingers along your stomach, feeling no leftover stickiness, and nodded at him. Your head turned to its side against the blanket, your eyes remaining closed. He chuckled at your exhaustion, picking up your limp body to place you under the covers. It was only the middle of the day, but he crawled into bed next to you, head tucked into the crook of your neck, and a leg draped over yours. You were relieved that there was no pressure to talk, grateful for all the unsaid agreements between the two of you. 

—

You wanted to stay at the motel for an extra night, just to spend the day in bed with Matty, maybe occasionally dipping into the pool when it felt too swampy in the room. But Matty didn’t want to waste the finite money both of you had, and instead, elected to be all packed up by the afternoon. He didn’t know about all your secret cash stashes, though, just looked at you curiously when you paid for each night at the motels. Your parents had left you with everything, and maybe you should have been more worried about your bills thinning out, but you weren’t. You wanted to spend everything you had on this trip, not knowing what came after—not wanting to know. Matty had been a saving grace, an oasis, but it was only a matter of time before the water would dry up in the California sun and you’d have to acknowledge who you really were again. 

You didn’t want to kill anyone else. You wouldn’t. 

It had been eleven days since you saw Matty’s bloodied body come out of the old, run-down barn, and you were almost at the coast. Just one more day of driving. You had both whooped and hollered seeing the Welcome to California sign, decorated with its golden flowers, but your shouts of delight only masked the growing dread inside you. You weren’t sure what would happen when you made it to the coast. Would Matty toss you away like the foam soda cups on the side of the highway on his mission to find his true love? Were you simply a rest stop in his journey? 

You had decided to stop a little ways past the border, seeing a billboard for a visiting fair in a small Californian town. Matty and you both had an affinity for rides and carnival food and were jittery with excitement as he pulled into the make-shift parking lot in a wide field, next to possibly hundreds of other cars. 

Families with young children ran past you, squealing, oversized stuffed monkeys and pigs clutched in their arms as you and Matty weaved your way through the sea of cars. He held your hand protectively as you walked, fingers interlocking, and you couldn’t help the smile that stayed plastered on your face. 

You passed by each carnival booth, determining which had the best prizes. You were fixated on one stuffed dog the size of a small child at the ring toss. Matty handed you a dollar to play.

“You’re not winning it for me?” You teased, playfully kicking his foot.

“Just play.” He had a cunning look on his face, and you looked at him questioningly as he walked away, but his tone was commanding enough that you did as you were told, waiting in line. 

Eventually, you made it to the front and handed the money to the carny. He was maybe about sixty, and jewelry littered his face. He yelled at the passerby to come and play the game—offensive things, targeting the men with girlfriends on their arms, trying to convince them to shell out a few dollars to win their woman something, to show they were a man. It made you uncomfortable to stand not three feet away from him, especially not with Matty’s protective presence behind you. 

You tossed one ring after another, trying to fit them over the lip of the milk jug, but they all failed and dropped pathetically onto the ground. You frowned, turning around to look for Matty, but you couldn’t find him anywhere. Your heart rate quickened, feeling the beat in your eardrums. Was this the plan all along? Was this the place he chose to leave you in? Swarming with people, so you wouldn’t be able to pick him out in a crowd? 

“Matty?” You called, your voice cracking. You walked past groups of people, every passing step making you sicker to your stomach. With tears running down your cheeks, you called his name again. 

Everything you had was in that car. You had nothing with you except for maybe a few bills in your pocket—

“Hey!” A hand touched the small of your back, and you swiveled around, your hands already raised in defense. Matty almost laughed at your over-the-top defensive reaction until he noticed your tear-stained face. “What the fuck? What’s wrong?” He put his hand on your shoulder, reaching to the back of your neck, pulling you into him. “Did something happen?”

“I couldn’t find you,” you said weakly, your voice muffled in his shirt. 

He let out a small, incredulous bark of a laugh and shook his head. “Sorry, love, I should’ve told you.” He pulled away from you, pushing the stuffed dog into your hands. “Knicked it off the hook while the guy was distracted. I had to hide.” He cringed, shrugging guiltily. 

You wiped away the tears with the back of your hand, feeling your rampant heart rate slow. The nausea always lagged a bit more when leaving your system, though. 

Matty waited for you to calm down, unsure how to comfort you, and rubbed an awkward hand up and down your shoulder before he decided you needed to be distracted. “How about we go put this in the car before that guy notices and beats me up,” Matty said slowly, tapping your nose with the paw of the stuffed animal, “and then we can go try out the Ferris wheel?” 

You smiled weakly in response, taking the dog back and hugging it tight to your chest. He looked at you with somber, bashful eyes and hugged you again before you started your walk back. 

His grip was stronger on your hand as you walked through the parking lot.

—

You pulled the bar over both of your laps, the metal carriage creaking distressingly with each small movement. Matty shifted his hips next to you, causing the carriage to sway in ways it most definitely was not designed to. 

You slammed your hand onto his thigh in reflex. “Don’t. Do. That,” you gritted through your teeth.

“What? You afraid of heights?” He leaned into you, brushing his nose against your cheek teasingly.

You shook your head at him, looking the other way. “I’m afraid of stupid boys who get themselves killed just for the adrenaline rush.” 

“I’m a man, thank you very much,” he scoffed, pulling away from you. 

You smiled, triumphant at antagonizing him, and swung your leg to hit his own, missing the absence of his touch. 

The Ferris wheel moved slowly, the people progressively shrinking as you rose each foot higher. The carriage swayed in the wind, the cool breeze interrupting the persistent summer heat. You rested your head on Matty’s shoulder, and he pushed you closer to him with the arm that was wrapped around you. 

When you got to the top, time seemed to slow down. The tall trees moved in slow motion while the gray clouds drifted softly in the darkening sky. There was a heavy weight sinking deep in your stomach—a feeling you knew all too well.

“Matty…” you whispered. He hummed in response, telling you he was listening, and turning his head down to look at you. Your head remained glued to his shoulder, afraid to move. “I’m hungry.”

—

“Bad luck, kid,” the booth attendant said monotonously. “A dollar to play again.”

“It was fifty cents last time?” The boy asked, affronted. The attendant shrugged, and the kid forked over a dollar bill. 

Matty had instructed you to stay hidden between two booths, but you watched him from behind the thin curtain. He had already told you the plan. Asked if it was ok. You weren’t sure why; it’s not like he owed you any commitment. You agreed, feigning hesitance and uncertainty, but secretly eager to see it all play out.  

When he tossed the ball into the hoop, it danced around the rim before sliding off. He tossed the second—the same thing happened. And the third. He glared at the carny, pissed off for not winning anything before stomping away. 

Matty stepped forward, replacing the boy’s position, and leaning over the counter. You could barely see him now. “So, what’s the trick?” He asked the attendant, who was a man around your age, with a dangly earring on his right lobe. 

The man leaned forward, getting on Matty’s level, as if testing him. “There is no trick.” They stared intently at each other. 

“Must be. Each one of these games is rigged.” Matty vaguely gestured to the other carnival booths. 

“That’s just what a sore loser says.” They spoke in hushed tones to each other, their voices getting quieter with each passing sentence, as if they were exchanging secrets. “You wanna play?”

“Spent all my cash already.” Matty pushed himself off the counter with his elbows and stood up, almost towering over the man. “Got another way I can pay?”

The worker coughed nervously, standing back up, looking past Matty at the people walking by. “My shift ends at eleven.”

Matty nodded resolutely, and the carny handed him three balls. Matty missed the first two, the balls bouncing off the rim and onto the ground. He almost missed the third one, too, had the attendant not caught it mid-air, placing it strategically in the center of the hoop so that it fell in perfectly. 

“Winner, winner,” the carny said dryly, a smug look on his face.

“Am I not getting a prize,” Matty looked down at the man’s name tag, “...Henry?”

“Meet me back here at eleven and you will.” He gave Matty a knowing smirk before he bent down to pick up the fallen balls. 

—

You and Matty had sat in his car for almost two hours, waiting for Henry to finish his shift. The heat subsided greatly at night, thankfully, with the only light coming from the waning crescent moon, but the windows were pulled all the way down to try and let some semblance of a breeze into the hot car. You went back and forth between smoking and making out uncomfortably in the backseat. 

You were on your third shared cigarette by the time Matty had stubbed it out on the outside of the car door. 

“You sure you’re ok with me doing this?” Matty asked.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

He shrugged self-consciously, not looking at you. “I don’t know. I just…I like you, that’s all.” His voice was small and trailed off slightly at the end. You felt a fluttering in your stomach at his words, but you weren’t able to find your own words to say the same. Instead, you grabbed his face, pulling him in for a long, tender kiss. It was far less rough and animalistic compared to what you had been doing earlier in the car—it was careful and unhurried. Deep and passionate. Matty wanted to pull you onto his lap, but if he didn’t go now, he’d be late, and he couldn’t have Henry go home thinking Matty stood him up. He couldn’t do that to you. 

“You can stay here.” Matty paused, thinking for a moment, “or you can follow, if you want. Just stay outta earshot.”

So, you got out of the car with Matty, and he looked at you questioningly, wondering why you’d want to see what he was about to do, but he didn’t ask. He kept walking, holding a hand up behind him, telling you to wait by the car for a little longer, and put more distance between the two of you.

Matty walked up to Henry, his hands in his pockets, a James Dean slouch to his shoulders. Henry had changed from the carny attire. Now, dressed in a loose, ripped band t-shirt and even more ripped jeans, he looked Matty up and down and guided the both of them past the perimeter of trees, into the woods. 

By this point in your life, you had mastered the art of going unnoticed, stepping strategically between twigs and leaves not to make a sound—even now, when your brain fogged with hunger. 

Once they were far enough into the woods, Matty grabbed Henry’s face, turning it to him, and kissed the carnival worker hungrily. 

Henry pushed Matty against one of the thick Douglas fir trees, almost violently, you thought, and you felt a surge of animosity towards this stranger. But, almost immediately, Matty spun them both around, pinning the other boy against the bark. They grasped at each other fiercely, harshly, fingers scraping skin as their lips crashed into each other's.  

You were unable to look away, your curious eyes staying glued to the two men, specifically Matty, whom you’d never seen touch so aggressively. It was clear they were both fighting for some form of dominance, but Matty won, or Henry let him win, flipping the other boy around, kissing and sucking his neck while running a hand down his stomach, towards his belt, which Matty undid with nimble, knowing fingers. Henry gripped Matty’s curls behind him and leaned into his body, placing his own weight on his heels, groaning as Matty unzipped his faded jeans and rubbed him through his boxers. 

You watched from the side, feeling heat pool in your stomach and a throbbing ache between your legs. You pressed yourself closer to the tree you were hiding behind to feel some pressure against you, but you slipped up. A branch snapped underneath your feet from the shift in weight, and Matty’s eyes shot to you. Thankfully, Henry was too distracted by Matty pulling his length out of his boxers and making long, generous strokes up his shaft, moaning and falling deeper into Matty’s arms. 

Matty’s gaze stayed locked on you, staring at you through heavy-lidded eyes. You recognized the look. It was the same one you saw as soon as you kissed him for the first time, the day before, on the sunny pool chair. Matty took his hand off of Henry, bringing it to his mouth, spitting in it, and returning it to the man’s cock, stroking it fast with a flicking wrist. He was trying to speed the process up, you could tell. Matty’s other hand inched closer and closer to his own front pocket, where the knife rested—the same one he used to kill the man from the diner. 

“Fuck, man,” Henry’s hips bucked into Matty’s hand, his legs shaking underneath him. “Feels so fucking good. You’re so good—”

That was Matty’s cue. He pulled his head away from Henry’s as he slid the knife across Henry’s neck, directly under his Adam's apple. Smooth and rehearsed. Matty had done this before. Terror flashed on Henry’s face as his hands shot up to his neck, feeling the blood gushing from the artery. It only took about ten seconds for him to fall unconscious. Even when he fell utterly limp in Mattty’s arms, you could still hear the sound of blood bubbling out of his neck. 

You didn’t feel scared, or sad, or disgusted. You didn’t feel anything other than hunger. Your legs moved before you had any time to think, kneeling down beside Matty, but he held you back before the full-on frenzy could take hold. 

“Take your clothes off,” Matty instructed. He did the same, slipping his t-shirt over his head, throwing it far enough away to not be stained with signs of the man’s defiling. 

You were, then, both crouched down in your underwear. Matty pulled the man’s pants further down, sinking his teeth into the meatiest part of the thigh. You did the same with the other leg. He wasn’t a large man. Quite lanky and thin, frankly, leaving most of the meat concentrated in the legs. The edges of your vision started to blur as you tore through the skin, feeling the ecstasy propelled in your veins with each bite. The air around you filled with the thick metallic scent. You bit down deeper. 

After finishing the right leg, you looked at Matty, who was a fast eater and had already moved on to the man’s pecs. Flesh stretched under his teeth, and you realized you’d never seen anything so beautiful. There was no feeling more raw than hunger. 

When you first saw the painting Saturn Devouring His Children in a high school art class, you remembered suddenly feeling so violently ill as if you were seeing a picture of yourself taken at one of the worst moments of your life. If insanity is defined by doing the same thing over and over again, despite the same destructive and demoralizing outcome, then you suspected that the picture of Saturn with his deranged, insane eyes, messy hair, and grotesque body must be the mirror image of you as you devoured so recklessly time and time again. After each episode, you’d promised never to do it again, but then a month would go by, and you’d look in the mirror and see Saturn, the beast in the woods that had come out of hiding. Hungry, waiting to feed. You were powerless to the monster inside you. The only depictions of people like you in the books you read, the movies you watched, were all sadistic parasites, thirsting and feeding on the innocent. You were the picture of the devil personified.  

But then you looked at Matty in front of you, his eyes shut in pure euphoria, and his desperation looked angelic. Feeding no longer looked like a slip back into insanity, a relapse into the sickest addiction, but as a way to be whole again. A path to ascension.

Matty looked up at you, catching you watching him as he ate. He wiped the blood from his chin with the back of his hand, smearing it, staining his skin red. His eyes were still dark, despite having just fed.   

You stared at each other as you crawled over the body. Matty met you in the middle, catching your lips in his. There was blood everywhere. On your face, on your fingers, in your hair. You were no longer separate from him; the boundaries breaking between your bodies, becoming one, unsure where you ended and he began. He crawled forward more, pushing you onto your back, hands resting on the bottom of your thighs, spreading them. He wiped his hands on his own skin, trying to clean them as best he could so as not to let blood on your underwear when he slipped it off your legs. He bowed towards you, bringing you up to his face. He lapped at you like a man on the brink of dying of thirst, licking the last of the water poured into his hands. 

Matty went back and forth, licking up your folds and sucking around your clit while his tongue swirled carefully over your bundle of nerves, teasing you by switching up the pace. He drew slow circles with his tongue, switching to light kitten licks, making you cry out and slap a hand to your mouth to muffle the sounds that escaped you. He licked and sucked, but never bit. It wasn’t a hunger disguised as tenderness. He wasn’t eating; he was sucking the poison out. As you looked at him, his face slick with you, you finally saw consumption as the purest form of love. You saw yourself as not only the knife, but the wound too. The wound that Matty kissed and healed with his spit. 

He pulled away from you, and you whined at his absence, feeling the cool air on your dripping cunt. He turned to the corpse behind him, gathering the blood pooled around the neck that hadn’t coagulated yet, letting it coat his long fingers. Matty brought his hand to your core, sliding between your folds with his slippery fingers, lubricating you with the warm blood. He knelt down to kiss your neck, licking a pointed tongue along the artery there. You ran your hands along his back, nails scraping against his skin, and he hummed in appreciation, pressing himself further into you. His hand moved lower, rubbing your entrance with the thick blood, getting you ready, getting you needy, before he pushed inside you with two skilled fingers. 

Matty held you open for him, and you wanted to pull him completely inside you. Even with his fingers now buried deep, he could never be close enough. He moved back to his position between your legs, blowing cool air on the inside of your thigh, and then kissing it in apology, paying special attention to the pulse that quickened under his touch. You wondered why God placed the most significant arteries in the most erotic places. It was like a cruel joke, making sex something that could so quickly turn dangerous. How quickly two people could become a predator paralyzing its prey.

Leaves crushed under your writhing body as Matty licked through your folds, licking you clean in the process. Cleansing your soiled soul. You bucked your hips carelessly into his mouth, your back arching. It only made him suck stronger. You looked at him then, blood smeared across the entire lower half of his face, and, yes, maybe he did look a bit deranged, but somehow only he had the power to purify you. 

“Need you to cum for me, baby.” Matty’s voice was muffled against your cunt. “C’mon, yeah, that’s it.” He removed his mouth, opting to use his other hand to rub circles into your swollen clit. “You’re almost there, love. I’ve got you.” As the pad of his finger worked on you while the fingers inside you curled, massaging you inside, you felt your whole body turn rigid. “Just let go for me.” With his whispered permission, you came undone around his hands, muscles spasming all over your body. He worked you through your high, so that the withdrawal, the feeling of his absence inside you, wouldn’t be as bad when you came back down. He pulled out of you only when you stilled under his touch, lying limp on the ground, bone-deep exhausted.

“We should head back to the car,” Matty mumbled, getting up onto his knees. “You still have that water bottle? We can wash off with that.” You wondered how he could possibly have the energy to lift his body when moving any muscle felt like a war against gravity, but then you moved your eyes down to his tented boxers. He followed your gaze, cringing when he saw where it landed. “Yeah, don’t worry about that.” His hands grasped both your arms, grunting as he pulled your resistant body up to your feet. “Let’s find somewhere to sleep first.” 

You were still sticky between your thighs in a mixture of your own wetness and drying blood. You suddenly became painfully aware of everything that just occurred, bringing a self-conscious hand to your face to wipe away the blood. The familiar feeling returned, the numbness you felt in the wake of every feed. You moved robotically while you gathered your clothes, and Matty rifled through the man’s pockets. 

All of the carnival rides were still set up, looking like monuments, standing beautiful and resolute against the grey night sky, making you feel so minuscule in comparison, like the formidable hunger you habitually fell powerless to. Matty’s strong hold on your hand as you walked back to the car was the only thing saving you from crumbling to the ground.

—

When Matty walked out of the motel bathroom, fresh out of the shower, flicking off the light, he found you sitting up in bed, fidgeting with your fingers, deep in thought. He crawled over to you, sliding his hand around your thigh and giving it a comforting squeeze, as he dropped down by your side. “Everything ok, babe?”

“Am I bad?” You croaked, staring straight ahead with unblinking eyes. Your skin was freshly washed, but you still felt stained. 

He laughed at you, shaking his head, agape. “What?” 

You had to look away from him, unable to meet his eyes, as if your stare alone could taint him with your own misery. “Am I bad?” You repeated yourself, more sternly, emphasizing each word. 

“Of course not.” He had said it so quickly, so definitively, with no time to think. You shook your head, taking his certainty as a means of placating you and not as the truth. 

“I am bad.”

Matty brought his head to yours, kissing down the side of your face from your temple to your mouth. “You’re perfect.” 

“How can you say that?” You turned your head again before he could attach his lips to yours.

He pulled away from you, his hand freezing on your chin, thinking for a moment. 

“Do you think I’m bad for what we did?” Matty asked finally.

You frowned. “No.”

“Well, then why would you be?” He kissed your temple again, assuming the question alone would absolve all the guilt you felt festering in your throat. 

“We killed an innocent person, Matty.” Your voice was hoarse, cracking. Tears silently fell down your cheeks, dripping onto your hands. 

“You can’t think like that,” he said with certainty, repeating what he told you the first night you met. 

You cringed at his words. “How can you not think like that?” 

Matty sighed exasperatedly, sitting up, unable to face you. “You think this isn’t hard for me, too? Of course it is. But I told you: We do what we need to do to survive. I can’t cripple myself with an existential crisis every time I need to do something to keep me fucking breathing.” With each sentence, his voice rose, growing more frustrated. Your tears fell faster as your pulse quickened with his rising anger. “And I’ve done the whole ‘woe is me’ pity party bullshit already, ok? I can’t,” he started to choke up, pushing it back down with a cough, “I can’t have you pull me back down there.” 

You’d never seen him so upset; he was such a light person, though the two of you always kept things brief when mentioning your pasts. You realized there was so much more to him that you didn’t know, and you felt just as much of a stranger to him as you did the first night you met. Your throat felt like it was closing up, only managing to squeak an “I’m sorry” out of your almost non-existent voice. You couldn’t push Matty away. You didn’t know what you were supposed to do without him. 

He shook his head, sighing again, softer this time, calming himself down. “You just gotta find something bigger than yourself worth living for.”

The lamplight made him glow brightly, looking heaven-sent in the dingy motel room. Bright because he was a bright person. You couldn’t let your darkness leech onto him, infect him. You didn’t know what he went through, didn’t know what his darkness looked like. But he managed to make it out, and you couldn’t keep living like this. “What do you live for?” You ask. You needed to show him that you’d try. 

“Love.” His fingers played with the edge of the blanket, running his fingers along the seams. 

“The love you haven’t found yet?”

Matty froze at the question, frowning to himself, trying to find the right words to say. “Remember,” he began, then cut himself off quickly. He distracted himself with a new frayed edge of the blanket to twist between his fingers. “Remember that first night we met? You said that you didn’t know how long you’d make it…out on your own, and all?”

You could picture it perfectly, lying in bed, admiring his tattoos, his damp curly hair, his tired eyes. Feeling at home despite just running away from yours. Matty continued, “And I said, ‘Thank God you found me?’”

You nodded patiently, inviting him to keep talking, but he never looked up at you to see. 

“Well, I needed you too,” he admitted, shrugging, feigning indifference as he turned to put out the light next to the bed. He lay down, curled facing away from you, gripping a pillow in his arms. 

Your heart ached. Matty was not your savior. He was a lost kid like you, one who ran away from home and had nowhere else to go. He was not going to suck the poison out of your bloodstream or slay the beast in the woods. You could pretend he could absolve you of your sins, while you knelt before him. You could pretend he could mask your aching hunger when you opened yourself up for him. But that would be like playing house as a kid in your school’s playground. It was idealistic, not realistic. 

He could love you, though. Love you despite the poison, love the monster that you felt always lurking beyond your periphery. Love it because it was a part of you. That would be real. That would be enough. 

You inched closer to him, pressing your stomach against his curled back, and tucked your face into his neck, undeterred by his sleeping facade. “Needed?” You asked, emphasizing the past participle. He could hear the teasing smile in your voice, and the corners of his mouth twitched despite himself.

“Need you,” Matty clarified. He turned around to face you, and you beamed down on him. He looked up at you through heavy-lidded eyes, his soft smile turning them to brown crescents on his face. He brought a hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “I need you.”

—

You woke up before Matty the next morning, careful not to move a muscle, afraid to wake him. Today would be the last day of driving. It would only take about three hours to get to the coast, and you dreaded that moment viscerally. You didn’t want this to end. 

You traced the tattoos on Matty’s arm as he slept, his face molding around the pillow above your head. You were pressed into his chest. When he stirred, you tried grazing your fingertips over his skin, shushing him, telling him to go back to sleep. But once he knew you were awake, there was no keeping his eyes closed. 

“Morning, love.” He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes with his knuckles, flipping onto his back, reaching his arms high above his head, groaning as he stretched. You took the opportunity to launch yourself onto his chest, lying on top of him, and by extension, holding him down. He chuckled and enclosed his arms around you. 

“Can we just stay here?” Your cheek was smushed against his collarbone, and he rubbed a comforting hand on your back. 

“We’re so close to the end, though.” There was excitement in his voice. Anticipation. You wished you could feel it too. 

You held onto him tighter. “I don’t want this to end.” You liked waking up at eleven, driving for hours, stopping at every roadside stand, and testing how well each of you could charm the sellers into giving you free things. You liked stargazing at night, lying on the flat car hood, trying to decipher the constellations, but you both didn’t know any of them, so you’d make up shapes in the sky and Greek myths to narrate in tandem. You liked that it was just the two of you. 

Matty was unfazed by your sorrowful voice. “I’m sure we can find some other shitty motel on the coast to fuck in.” 

“You promise?”

“I promise. I mean, who knows? Maybe we can get an apartment that doesn’t have mystery stains on the sheets.”

You winced, pulling yourself off him and staring at the bed beneath you with mild disgust, remembering the muted brown splotches on the throw pillows that you had thrown into the far corner of the room as soon as you got into bed last night. “God, don’t remind me.”

“Oh, look who’s getting up now.” He ruffled your hair, getting out of bed himself, finding the pants and shirt that had been haphazardly chucked onto the floor somewhere the night before. You watched him get dressed, quietly admiring. However, he quickly noticed your paralyzed state. In spite of your protests, he picked you up off the bed, promising greasy fast food for breakfast if you started packing. That wasn’t a novelty—you had that practically every morning, but when your stomach growled like thunder, it was enough motivation to grudgingly get dressed.

—

It was cruel how fast time passed in the car. Three hours turned to two, turned to one. You should’ve made the most of it. Instead, in the car, which was typically filled with blaring music and animated chatter, you sat in comfortable silence, memorizing each feature on Matty’s face until it burned into the backs of your eyelids and you saw his illuminated outline everywhere you looked. He’d turn to you occasionally, laughing; Why are you staring at me? And you’d look away, pursing your lips, blushing, clutching the stuffed carnival dog in your hands. 

Before you knew it, one hour turned to half, then to mere seconds as Matty pulled off the paved road onto a patch of sunburnt grass. He put the gear in park, and you felt the car jolt underneath you. 

You were frozen; Matty bounded out of the car, drumming on the hood as he came around the other side to open your door, his smile lighting up his face. He took your hand and raced you down to the shoreline, giggling with him the whole way, picking you up and spinning you above the sand.

You prayed that he wouldn't be your Garden of Eden, somewhere perfect you knew you’d soon be exiled from. But even if he was the cunning tempting serpent, you decided—as you watched him now, infecting you with his contagious smile—that you’d sink your teeth into anything, just to spend a minute longer with him. You would be the love he was searching for; you’d make sure of it.  

The mid-afternoon sun blared down upon you. You stood side by side, fingers ghosting each other, breathing deeply, watching the pearly waves crash on the shore. He turned to you, the ghost of a sad smile on his lips. 

You had spoken to Matty quite a bit since the first time he was over at your house, feeling a new friendship blooming. 

Later that week, after your first tutoring session, if you could even call it that, you had rushed over to his lunch table, where he sat with his friends, interrupting their animated conversation. 

“Matty, I need your help.” You sat next to him, grabbing his arm, which still held a forkful of cafeteria slop in his hand. “We have that calc test on Friday—I completely forgot about it. You think I could call you tonight and we could actually talk about math this time?”

“What the hell were you two doing on Tuesday, then?” One of the lanky boys you always saw walking with Matty asked from across the table. George, possibly. Matty ignored him.

“Y-yeah, of course,” he managed to stutter out.  

“Amazing, ok,” you sighed in relief, sitting back up, and letting go of his arm. “I’ll call you tonight.” Without leaving him time to say goodbye, you stood up, jogging back over to your table. 

Sitting down next to your friends, you managed a quick glance at Matty, whose eyes remained locked on you as his friends tousled his hair. His stare was intense, and maybe it should’ve made you uncomfortable, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look away. It was he who broke it, reaching into his pocket and taking out the small, brown, beat-up journal. You always saw him writing inside it. So secretly, so discreetly. You thought about the possibility of him writing a song about you and immediately squashed that thought to nothing into the back of your head. You weren’t going to think like that, you told yourself. He was a friend. You needed more of those.   

—

“But that would just be zero, wouldn’t it? It’s zero over zero, which is…indeterminate form?”

“Mhm.” Matty hummed through the phone. You didn’t know it was possible to be able to hear someone beaming through the phone, but Matty had already taught you lots of things you never knew in—you checked your clock and winced—the two and a half hour long phone call. “See? You understand this. Bet you don’t even need me.” You preened at his words, imagining for a second that the phone cradling your face was his hand on your cheek.

“Yup, you’re right. I’m actually a math genius. This was all just part of my plan to lure you into my house and seduce you.” You swiveled in your chair absentmindedly, wrapping yourself in the telephone cord. He chuckled through the phone before going quiet for a few beats.

“I’m sorry about Tuesday, by the way. I wanted to stay, really. I don’t know. I’m just… yeah, I’m sorry. I had a great time.”

You turned back in your chair, unwinding the cord. “Guess you’ll just have to make it up to me.” You heard the squeak of furniture on the other line, imagining Matty leaning back in his chair.

“Oh, yeah? How do you want me to do that?” He attempted to sound confident, but he had taken a deep, slightly shaky breath before teasing back.

“Stay for longer next time?” 

“I think I could manage that,” he responded, in a low, husky voice. You felt yourself blushing at his words. You wouldn’t say you liked him, necessarily. You liked the effect you had on him; that was all. In a new school full of people in established friend groups, here was a boy who looked at you like a shooting star. Beautiful, finite, fleeting. Desperately wishing upon you. There was a selfish need to keep him near you, to keep him hoping.

Saturday, September 20th, ‘08

By the time you had dragged yourself up the stairs to your room, your shoes felt like concrete, and the paper bags had grown heavy in your arms after holding them for the past three hours walking around the mall. You had only needed to pick up a few things, but errands were never quick while you were with your friends, taking every opportunity to window shop in stores none of you could afford. You didn’t really mind, though. It gave you extra time to get closer to them, Janie and Ellie, and even though they seemingly accepted you immediately, you knew that you’d never be as close with either of them as they were with each other. And you’d never be as close to them as you were with your friends from home. You tried not to let it bother you, but you felt the sting in the back of your throat and eyes when you thought too hard about it, nonetheless.  

Your mother laughed when you told her you’d be home late, needing to replace so many things that seemed to have mysteriously vanished from your bedroom. Underwear, bras, your hairbrush, your toothbrush. How the hell does someone lose a toothbrush? 

“When did you get so forgetful?” She had asked through a giggle. You weren’t, though. You really weren’t.

The second you set your bags down on your bed, you could tell something was off. The air felt heavier, unmoving. The window was closed this time, but there was a familiar faint smell of cigarette smoke lingering in the still air.   

“Mom, has someone been in my room?” You shouted. The noise, loud enough to carry from your bedroom on the second floor to your mother preparing dinner in the kitchen.

“No, why?” She called back.

“Smells like a man’s been in here.” That was enough to pique your mother’s curiosity, putting down the knife she had been using to cut up vegetables, and following you up the stairs.

“No one’s been in your room, not that I know of. You’ve been having midnight visitors that I don’t know about?”

“What? No! But doesn’t it smell weird? Maybe someone burned a fire outside, I don’t know.” But it wasn’t like a bonfire, no. It was something else. Your mother wandered slowly around your room, sniffing like a bloodhound. You thought for a moment. “Matty smokes. I talked to him yesterday—I must’ve carried the smell with me back home yesterday.” Though far-fetched, it was the only explanation you could think of. You walked over to the window and opened it, letting the late September breeze drift into the room, filtering the heavy air.

After a long back-and-forth, convincing your mother you wouldn’t let Matty give you a cigarette and that he was a math tutor, so how could he possibly be a bad influence, she let the conversation die and left your room.

You sat on your bed, still full of doubt. You had only talked to Matty briefly the day before.

You jogged up to him, math test in hand, and smiling from ear to ear.   “Eighty-six, can you believe it?” You pushed the paper into his chest for him to take. “Never gotten a math grade that high in my life.”  He glanced at the page and smiled tenderly. “I’m really proud of you,” he said, looking up, tentatively taking a step forward to swipe at your cheek with his thumb before letting his hand rest on your shoulder. Your body, which was vibrating with excitement, stilled at his touch. “I mean, we only started studying last night. Bet you’ll be getting hundreds in no time.” “And then I’ll be coming for your job, so you better watch out.” You snatched the paper from him and punched his shoulder lightly, feeling a small pang of regret when it caused his arm to retreat back to his side.  He smirked and let out an exaggerated sigh. “I’ll be losing my only customer. I don’t know what I’m gonna do.” “I’m the only person you tutor?” You gasped, bringing your hand to your heart, face splitting into a shit-eating grin. “Well, of course,” his eyes narrowed, becoming serious. “I’m exclusively monogamous.” He brought his hand to his chest too, though he looked wounded, as though it were insulting to think he was two-timing you by helping another student. You blushed. You didn’t know why.   

You sank onto your knees in front of your CD collection, remembering the interaction, feeling heat rise in your cheeks and across your body as you sifted through the plastic discs. It was stupid, you told yourself. It was your senior year, and getting into a relationship now, with a boy you had only just met, was ridiculous… 

Britney, Avril, Paramore… None of those were right. You wanted something soft, something slow. The Cranberries, Imogen Heap, R.E.M- Your fingers paused, and you took the CD out. That wasn’t yours. You kept looking along the line of cases. One Last Wish, Drive Like Jehu, Car v.s. Driver. You’ve never heard of any of these bands. Had your dad put them there? He had left for a trip yesterday, so you wouldn’t be able to ask him. You tried to shake off the confusion and decided to play the R.E.M album that was already in your hands. 

Your room felt like an isolated island where space and time glitched. Things disappeared, things reappeared. You hated the feeling of someone else coming into your space and moving things around, especially when your parents knew full well that you had very specific orders and placements for all your belongings. Why was it that as soon as you moved, your parents felt like all your old systems and preferences no longer applied? Just another thing that made you feel out of place in this new town. It wasn’t home, and it was never going to be. 

A quick flash of light out of the corner of your eye, followed by the faintest click, made you jump. You scowled to yourself. This was exactly why you hated having the window open. You pushed your window shut, settling for keeping the diluted sweet smell of bitter burnt wood contained in your room. 

When you went to bed that night, you dreamt about a boy with dark curly hair, perfumed in the earthy dryness of stale smoke.  

────୨ৎ───────୨ৎ───────୨ৎ────

Tuesday, September 23rd, ‘08

Matty sat in Mrs. Johnson’s history classroom, tapping his foot incessantly on the floor and watching the clock. Everyone said she was the strictest teacher in the school. He should’ve listened. He should’ve been more careful instead of messing around with George in the back of the class. And he should be with you, now, instead of being stuck in detention, pretending to work all the while just rereading his journal entries, as you walked home alone back to your house, waiting for him.   

September 22nd, Monday I like that dress you wore to the mall today. Bit short, but I got to look at your legs for several hours, so who am I to complain?  You trail after your friends, I’ve noticed. If there’s only room for two on the sidewalk, you’re the one who walks alone. If you’d only just look behind you. I’M RIGHT THERE. I’ll walk with you, I’ll hold your hand. You’d never have to walk alone. 

As soon as the clock read ‘four-thirty,’ Matty grabbed his backpack and ran out of the room. 

It was almost five by the time he made it to your house, miserably out of breath. He couldn’t waste a second, jogging up your steps to knock on your door. It felt like hours waiting for you to come downstairs to meet him, but once you did, everything was forgotten—the reprimand he had gotten from his teacher, the detention he’d later land himself in, the sweaty run over to your house. You stood in front of him in thin, loose pajama pants and a tight, cropped t-shirt, and you looked like an angel sent from heaven to grasp his hand and bring him up into the clouds. 

“Finally,” you let out a mock-exasperated sigh, waving him in impatiently. “So, how was detention?” You asked as he followed you up the steps toward your room.

“Hell. It was fucking hell,” Matty groaned behind you. You turned back, pouting at him.

“Well, now you can spend the rest of your day teaching me about limits, doesn’t that make up for everything?” You had said it sarcastically. He didn’t know how to say that, yes, yes, it absolutely did.

As he followed you into your room, he noticed how low your pants sat on your waist, revealing skin under your cropped shirt, and he watched the dimples on your back as you opened the door to your room. 

—

It had been a productive forty-five minutes, going over continuities and derivatives and right-hand and left-hand limits—things the both of you couldn’t care less about, but you made it through, and he was so, so, so proud of you. Every time he gave you an equation that you simplified perfectly, he watched as your face lit up, spinning around in your chair in excitement. It was adorable seeing how proud of yourself you were. You told him this was the first time you felt smart, and he was intoxicated with the pride of knowing he helped. He loved to watch you love yourself. 

“Stop looking at me like that,” you said, breaking the silence and the trance he was in. 

“Are you gonna say that every time I’m here? If you’re going to criticise me every time I open my eyes, I’ll just keep ‘em closed,” Matty threatened. He glanced at the digital clock on your desk. “Time’s pretty much up anyway.” He moved to combine and stack the papers to put in his folder.

“Well, you know,” you said slowly, not looking at him, “my mom left this morning on some trip for work, and my dad’s gone too. No pressure to leave immediately. Besides, it’d be nice to have company.” You shrugged noncommittally. He saw right through you. You didn’t want to beg, but you also didn’t want to be left by yourself.

“Are your parents just never here?” Matty laughed, non-humorously. He already knew they were rarely here. You spent most of your time alone in your room, which was why he had grown so committed to keeping watch outside your window. 

“They’re here, I don’t know, maybe half the time? They go away for work a lot.”

Matty frowned at you. “That’s not good. A girl like you shouldn’t be left alone so much.” Shaking his head, he got up from the chair, walking over to your window and opening it. “Who knows what kinds of creepy people are out there?”

You watched him move from your seat. “I hate having my window open.”

“Why not?” He pressed, coming back over, leaning on your desk, staring down at you. He wanted you to admit it, admit you needed him there.

“I don’t like the noises outside. Freaks me out.”

“Well, yeah, cause no one else is ever around.” Matty leaned over you, smirking, eyes narrowed like you had stated the obvious. “Maybe it’s less scary if someone’s with you.” He brushed his knuckle on the tip of your nose. It was momentary, but it was enough to set off a spark between the two of you, chasing the next touch together. 

You accepted his security and guided the two of you downstairs in front of the TV. Matty agreed to the first movie option you picked out. He wouldn’t be watching the movie anyway. The two of you sat side by side on the couch, knees touching intermittently, relishing in each brush of the fabric. 

By the time the movie was over, you were exhausted. Matty watched you as you were barely able to keep your eyes open. He wanted to touch you. He wanted to hold your face, your thighs, your waist. He wanted to kiss each heavy eyelid and suck in the slow, tired breaths from your mouth. He heavily encouraged you to go to bed, already having an idea of what he’d do while you were fast asleep. 

He said goodbye at your door and walked down the driveway, past your house, past your neighbor’s house. Once he was sure you wouldn’t expect anything, he crept through the backyards, sneaking through the bushes, finding his familiar hiding spot. He waited and watched as you put your light out. Humans take an average of seven minutes to fall asleep, he had researched it the first time he visited you at night. He always gave you a while longer, though, just in case, before he would slip through the window he had left unlocked on the bottom floor of your house.

Matty had already memorized which floorboards creaked and how far to open your bedroom door before it made a shrill squeak. He was going to bring something next time to lessen the sound of the squeaky hinges, he resolved.

He watched you toss and turn in your bed. You were always a restless sleeper, and he worried that at any moment you’d open your eyes and scream at the dark body standing before your bed. But you never did. And he just kept watching you. Soon, he’d be the one in bed next to you, cradling you in his arms. The wait made it better, though. The chase made it better. It was an endurance hunt. He’d walk after you slowly—on your way home from school, on your way to the mall with your friends, on your walks through the shops downtown. Eventually, you’d get tired. You’d get tired of his distance and let him come to you. 

The guys who were overeager embarrassed Matty. The ones who begged girls to go out with them, buying them drinks at bars, acting nonchalant and hard-to-get, all while drooling over themselves. Maybe the girls couldn’t sense it, but Matty could tell. The men were always so overt. So pathetic. So, Matty resolved to wait. He’d know the right time. A wolf stalking its pray till it collapsed from exhaustion. Into his arms, you’d fall.  

Matty watched you breathe against your pillow. Cool, minty breath permeating the warm air around you. You were curled in the fetal position, and he thought about pressing his body up against yours, gripping your hips, pressing his clothed cock into you. He felt himself straining against his pants. You were dead asleep; you wouldn’t hear anything. You wouldn’t hear him palm himself through his jeans. You wouldn’t hear him pull down his zipper and whimper slightly at one less layer of fabric, one less obstacle, between his fingers and ecstasy. He pulled himself out of his boxers, stroking as he watched you sleep, breathing in through his nose every time you exhaled as if he could be breathing in a single particle from inside you. 

Since he’d seen you on the first day, the faceless women Matty would fantasize about as he touched himself slowly transformed and materialized into you. Every day, he’d watch you and memorize a feature, locking them into his mind, saving them for the many humid nights he’d lie awake in bed. He’d done it so often, picking up a pattern, edging himself until he was sweating and shaking. It was getting old. He needed more.

Tucking himself back in, Matty looked around your room. He contemplated going through your hamper, but that was too easy. He’d done that before. Everything in this room, he’d touched already, grown familiar with. He decided to tiptoe his way downstairs, back to the seat of the couch you were sitting on an hour earlier. The pillow that you had been holding to your chest lay on its side. Matty walked over, kneeling on the cushions, lowering himself onto the pillow as if he were laying his body on top of yours. Remembering the way the pillow sat in between your legs, pressed against your clothed core, he ground his hips once. He did it again. And again, and again, and again. 

He groaned out loud. It only made him pick up his pace as he thought about the sound of brushing fabric and impatient grunts waking you up and coming downstairs to investigate, only to find him furiously grinding against the pillow you were clutching in your arms just hours earlier. He let himself out of his boxers again, lying down lower to add more pressure, intensifying his twitching frenzy. 

He came in small spurts onto the rough fabric of the pillow. Letting it dry there, exhilarated by leaving evidence at the crime scene, he let himself out of the house, making sure to lock the door. He walked down your perfectly paved driveway with a bounce in his step.

────୨ৎ───────୨ৎ───────୨ৎ────

Since the intervention, Matty tried to be more careful with the guys. He made up after-school detentions to get away with walking you home. Instead of abandoning his friends to follow you on each of your little outings, he would simply recommend that the guys go where he knew you’d be hanging out with your friends. You’d all occasionally “coincidentally” run into each other from time to time, and then he’d get to spend the afternoon with you too, without his own friends commenting on his ever-increasing neurotic mental state. It gave Adam time to flirt cautiously with Janie, and Ross used the opportunity to flirt with Ellie even though they both knew she had a boyfriend, but she let him do it anyway. 

That’s how the seven of you ended up spending late weekend nights curled up in Adam’s smoke-filled basement. The guys tried teaching your friends how to play their respective instruments while you watched adoringly next to them, cheering when they’d get chord changes right. Matty watched you watch them as he wiped at his fender. He was jealous, admittedly. You already knew how to play guitar. He couldn’t tuck you between his legs, guitar in your lap, and hold your hand under his as he helped you strum in time. It was a small vignette he found himself thinking a lot about at night, though the fantasy was now squandered, and he couldn’t help but be a bit moody about it. 

“Matty, you’ve been polishing that thing for the past ten minutes,” George called from across the wood-paneled room. “I think it’s clean by now. Give it a rest.”

“It’s called taking care of your equipment, George,” Matty drawled, drifting his gaze up to the blond boy.

“I think it’s called sexual frustration, actually,” George quipped back. Matty flipped him off and turned his attention back to you when he heard your familiar giggle. He smiled at the sound, and the two of you stared at each other for an indulgent amount of time. You were almost there, he thought. Almost ready. He needed you to be.

And then you did something that truly stopped his heart. You took the guitar from him, laying it on the ground gently, and laid your head on his lap just as carefully. “So are you gonna write me a song anytime soon, rockstar?” You reached a hand up and twirled a strand of hair by his ear. Matty forgot how to breathe, feeling his breath stop midway down his throat, failing to reach his chest. His lungs stayed deflated as he looked at you wide-eyed. 

George rescued him, being the only other one to notice Matty’s frozen state since everyone else was locked away in their own romantic trysts. Or maybe he just saw it as the perfect opportunity to mess with his friend. “Oh, he’s been writing about you, all right. Constantly. In that little notebook,” George gestured at Matty’s pocket, and the heartbeat that stopped was now beating at a tachycardic rate as Matty’s eyes shot to George’s. His friend didn’t pick up on his panic. “Always looking at you while scribbling away. Won’t let any of us see, though,” George shrugged, returning to the pedal settings he had been fidgeting with.

“Oh, really?” You shot up. “Well, I feel like I have a right to see, then, don’t I?” You sat on your knees and stared into his eyes as you reached down into his front pocket. Distracted by your looking down at him, his reaction time was severely delayed, only snapping awake when he saw the brown Molskine clutched in your hands.

“No, no, no,” Matty grabbed the journal from you before you could open it fully. It’s not time yet. It’s not time yet. He stood up frantically. “Nope. No one’s seeing it, sorry,” he shrugged unapologetically as he ran across the room and up the basement steps, hearing the others’ incredulous laughter behind him.

He sank down in front of the refrigerator in the vacated kitchen, breathing out his panic in one long exhale. He would show you all his entries eventually, but only when he knew you’d be able to handle it, when he knew you wouldn’t run from him screaming. He thought about the hunt again. He’d wait until you weren’t able to run anymore. 

—

You watched Matty jogging up the stairs, skipping two steps at a time, before turning to George in a fit of laughter. 

“What was that about?” Ross asked from his place next to Ellie on the small leather couch. 

“He keeps that journal in his pocket twenty-four-seven,” George said, ignoring Ross’ question and addressing you. “I’ve tried to steal it, believe me, but he won’t let it out of his sight. And I’m not about to stick my hand down his pants, but more power to you.”

“Bet he wouldn’t mind,” Adam interjected, followed by an exaggerated gag from George and snickers from the others.

You sighed, disappointed, extending your legs and propping your body up with your hands behind you. Your eyes drifted around the room. To the two couples practically sitting on top of each other on the couch, to George sitting criss-crossed on the floor, scrambling odd sounds together until they blended harmoniously. Most of the wall space was taken up with posters of rock bands you’d never listened to, several depicting scenes of messy violence and chaos.   

“How’d you come up with your band name, by the way?” You asked George suddenly. He was the only one who would have been able to hear you anyway. 

He furrowed his brows for half a second, like he needed a moment to think about it before the memory came back to him. “Oh, man, we’ve had a shit ton of names so far,” he laughed, running a hand through his hair. “This one’s relatively new. There are a couple hardcore emo bands from the nineties that inspired it, Car v.s. Driver and Drive Like Jehu. We’ve kind of tried to adapt their sound into our stuff. I could give you some CDs if you’d like.”

Why did those names sound so familiar? 

A chill ran down your back as it dawned on you.

“Uh, um,” you coughed, “I think I have them already, actually.”

“Really?” George raised his eyebrows in surprise. “They’re pretty underground. Totally underappreciated when they were putting out music, ‘cause there wasn’t really a word to describe them at the time. They didn’t have ‘emo’ then…” He droned on, and you stared at the ceiling, trying to figure out why you suddenly started repressing an imminent feeling of nausea. 

  ────୨ৎ───────୨ৎ───────୨ৎ────

Tuesday, November 18th, ‘08

Throughout the next month, things started to feel more tense, a cloud of uneasiness looming over you. 

On Monday, you had been walking home, the crisp November air like needles to your face, just trying to get home as soon as possible, only to hear the sound of leaves crinkling behind you. You looked over your shoulder to find nothing there. It felt like a tic at this point—the smallest sound causing you to swivel around every time. 

A couple of weeks ago, after hearing footsteps following you, you turned to see a swift movement, a black figure vanishing behind a tree. It happened a couple more times since then. You were always too nervous to investigate, only picking up your pace towards home. 

The only time you ever felt safe in your home was when Matty was there. His presence alone was comforting, and all of the sounds, shadows, clicks, and flashes of light dulled to nothing when he sat next to you at your desk. 

“Ok, so, I brought a ton of graph paper ‘cause then we can literally see the X value of F of X when it’s increasing or decreasing, and I think that’ll help you ‘cause I think you gotta see things to understand ‘em right,” Matty paused and turned to you. “You alright?” You were sitting closer to him today, the sides of your bodies touching. The walk back to your house after school with him today was a quiet one. He had put his hand on the small of your back when he saw how stiff with anxiety you were, but you nearly jumped out of your skin, so he kept his hands to himself until you both got home.

You didn’t answer him. You just nodded while looking down at your fidgeting fingers. 

“You seem kinda…off,” Matty noted, tentatively, carefully bumping his shoulder with yours to get you to look up at him. “Wanna play some music?” That was usually his answer to everything, you noticed. Tired? Play a record. Sad? Pick up the guitar. Angry? Scream-sing along to songs in his car at top volume. You nodded again, and he guided you to the other side of the room with your rack of CDs. He’d usually try to override any of your choices in albums, so you let him pick this time. 

He took out one of your James Taylor CDs and clicked the disc into place before giving your thigh a light tap and taking a seat on your bed. “What’s going on?” he asked quietly, afraid that speaking any louder would scare you away even more.   

“I just feel like I’m going crazy,” you said slowly, getting up from your kneeling position on the floor to sit down next to him. “Like,” you paused, gathering any courage you could muster. “I like things in a very particular way. I have systems, I have orders. Things just keep getting put out of order, or they go missing, and it’s so weird.” 

Matty shifted next ot you, frowning. “You think it’s your parents?”

“No, they don’t usually touch my things. At least my dad never does anyway. And my mom knows how I like everything. It’s just…” 

He brought a hand up to your back, allowing the agitation in your body to melt away with each small circle he rubbed into your skin. “What?”

“I’ve been getting this feeling lately," you whispered, as if afraid someone else might hear, "like there’s someone behind me, watching me. I never feel alone anymore. I don’t know what it is. And I don’t feel it at school. It’s just when I’m walking or when I’m here.” You eyed the walls of your room. “And it makes me really upset because my room used to be my favorite place. It’s supposed to be my own space and no one else's, you know?” You could feel yourself starting to choke up. You tried to cough the feeling away. “It’s just, like, ever since I’ve moved here, things have felt so different. I want it to go back to the way it used to be—in my old house, in my old room, with my old friends, who I barely even talk to anymore, which sucks cause they were the people I felt closest to in the whole world.” 

You absentmindedly wiped your nose with your sleeve, avoiding making eye contact with him. Matty’s hand reached higher onto your back, increasing in pressure in his fingertips. You felt yourself letting go, letting him in. With tears streaming down your face, he took hold of your chin, turning your head to face him. He leaned in closer, his gaze moving from your lips to your eyes, asking for permission to keep going. Your lips brushed against each other. It was slow, careful. He was taking his time with you, touching you softly. You were as delicate as glass, and he was terrified to break you. 

It was you who broke the tension, taking his top lip in yours, sucking. He grasped the side of your head in his hands, combing fingers through your hair. You moaned into his mouth. Frantic hands groped each other, entangled in a mess where you weren’t sure whose limbs were whose. 

You ended up on your back, legs dangling off the side of the bed, and Matty lying half on the bed and half on top of you. Your lips broke from his to trail down his jaw, which seemingly woke him up when he realized he could kiss every part of you, not just your lips. He sucked down your neck before coming back up to your face to lick the salty lines of tears that ran down your cheeks. He pressed sloppy kisses to every part of your face he could—your forehead, your temples, your nose, your chin, and on, and on, and on. 

A fuse had blown inside him. Circuit overload. You loved watching him fall apart. It was as though every hitch in his breath, every stutter, every shaky hand from the past two months had been leading up to this. Everything was pouring out of him, and you couldn’t look away as he lost every morsel of control and dominance he’d tried so hard to feign just moments earlier.   

—  

There is no hunting like the hunting of man, and those who have hunted armed men long enough and like it, never care for much else after. 

Matty thought he had read Ernest Hemingway say that somewhere. Hemingway might’ve been onto something, because this was heaven. There was a feeling of control that came from following someone like a game. Progressively making yourself more noticeable, but never enough. Just enough to make them feel like they’re slowly losing their sanity. There was a thrill in the chase itself, but there was most definitely an end goal as well. This wasn’t the end, but it was the moment he had been longing for. 

There you were, lying underneath him. Your tears wiped away. Your eyes no longer red, but your pupils dilated, his hands roamed over your hips and thighs, stalling at the hem of your shirt. He couldn’t scare you off now, and it took everything in him not to fully lose control right then. He thought he had at least a little bit left.

Matty hooked an arm under your leg and threw it over his back so that he could slot himself between your legs. When he grinded against you, he was sorely out of rhythm. He wanted to impress you. He wanted to please you, but his movements were sloppy. Artless. He was too eager; he knew it.

“Fuck, Matty,” you gasped when one particular grind of his hips hit the perfect spot. He wished he could bottle the sound and keep it on his bedside table forever. Or record it and put it in a song he’d play on repeat. 

You must’ve grown impatient watching his hands hover over you, shaking with nerves. You grasped his wrist and pulled his hand under your shirt. His hand pressed harshly onto your ribs as you arched your back into him. Matty relished in it. You needed him as much as he needed you.    

His fingers ghosted the skin underneath your tits while his other hand gripped your hip roughly. His clothes were feeling increasingly more suffocating, and he pulled off of you just long enough to pull his shirt over his head. 

You ran your fingers along his spine with a ghostly pressure. “Shhhh,” you whispered into the crook of his neck. Your other hand held onto his hair gently. You were grounding him, and he pulled his lips off your jaw to breathe deeply, looking down at you through long eyelashes and dark, hungry eyes. You stared at each other until your heavy panting matched, but it was torture. Having known what it felt like to have his lips on you, attached to you, it felt like a full-body burn to be apart. Matty kept looking into your eyes as his fingers drifted around towards the swell of your chest. He wanted to ask you—ask if it was alright—but he couldn’t muster any coherent sound, so he waited for permission by looking into your eyes, watching for your expression to change. It never did. You were confident, self-assured. Usually, he admired your confidence; now, he was just painfully jealous of it. Your eyes stayed locked on his stoically while you held his hand under your own and puppeteered it to hold your breast. 

Matty let out a choked sound as his hips rolled again, more forcefully this time. You let go of his hand in favor of gripping his hip, pushing him into you in rhythmic contractions. You were taking control, and he had no choice but to relinquish all power. Matty tugged on your shirt, whines escaping from his throat. You took the hint and pushed him off you to pull your shirt over your own head. A part of him was deeply uncomfortable with the switch in power. He was supposed to be taking care of you, healing you, protecting you. But he was frozen in place, swallowing thickly, unable to take his eyes off you. You were more beautiful than he could have ever imagined. Every fantasy paled in comparison. Matty wasn’t sure how he would ever be able to imagine you ever again, knowing how wonderful you felt in his hands. Bringing his hand up again, he groped at your tits, watching the way your body molded to his touch. His body vibrated with excitement, and he couldn’t quell it. 

You pushed his head back down to yours, taking him out of his thoughts. You both kissed fervently, clumsy hands trying to touch every bit of skin each of you could reach on the other. When he felt his lips becoming raw, he moved away from your own, alternating between kissing and licking your neck. Matty’s mouth moved to your chest, licking the valley between your tits. His swollen lips found your peaked nipple, sucking softly. He unlatched himself from one to spit on the other, rubbing his saliva in circles with his thumb, before returning to sucking the other. He couldn’t have one feel left out. You shuddered at the cool feeling of his fingertips, and pride swelled in his chest. Matty’s tongue licked patterns into your sensitive bud, swirling big circles around your nipple, followed by pointed kitten licks against the most sensitive area that made you buck your hips into him.  

Matty broke away from you again, looking at you while catching his breath. Your cheeks were flushed, and he had never seen anything so perfect. He felt the burn again, as if someone took a lit torch to every part of his body that wasn’t making direct contact with you. Pushing you further up the bed, he put both your legs around his back, pinning him to you. You were made for him, and he needed to mark you, claim you as his. You squirmed underneath him, purring at his touch. He sucked harshly at the skin higher on your chest, just low enough that it would be covered by the collar of your shirts, even the dangerously low-cut ones. He thought of other guys looking at you, wanting you, thinking they could ever have the chance with you. The heat that coursed through his veins turned boiling. His hips set a furious pace as he brought his lips to yours once more, biting your bottom lip, tugging on it. He needed to regain his power, show you that you’d never need anybody else.

“I’ve been thinking about this for so fucking long,” Matty murmured into your mouth. You smiled against him, giving his hair a small tug. He chose to take that as you agreeing with him and smiled back against your lips. Your eyes fluttered closed with pleasure as his cock ground your clothed core again with intense pressure. It was painful, how hard he was. It felt tight, too tight, but the feeling of you against him relieved the ache slightly. He couldn’t wait to be inside you, to feel your tight velvety walls around him. Matty moaned into your neck as he couldn’t help but slam into you with his hips. 

“Matty,” you whispered. He couldn’t hear you, deaf by desire. “Matty,” you said louder this time. He picked up his head to look at you, lightening his thrusts. “Let me get on top.” His movements abated as he contemplated it, eventually accepting that he could still have control and command underneath you. His hand slipped under your back, allowing him to pick you up and place you on his lap as he turned over. 

Somehow, the crotch of his jeans managed to become even more tented as he watched you settle on his lap. He wanted to stay like this forever, never knowing he could ever feel this good, this euphoric. He wished life lasted longer after discovering that it could be like this. Matty could never imagine a world where this could get old, where this wasn’t the most perfect view he could ever have. 

“Need to fuck you,” Matty whispered, his hands rubbing up and down along your waist and thighs. 

“Not yet,” you shook your head. Matty frowned, lifting his chest from the bed and propping up his body with his palms on the blanket.

“Why not?” You guys were practically having sex already, albeit with a few layers of clothes between you two. If you were already acting out the motions, what difference did it make?

“Patience,” you told him, holding his cheek in your hand. If only you’d known how patient he had been. 

“I wanna make you feel good though,” Matty admitted in a whisper, looking at you like a wounded puppy.

You just shook your head in response, and Matty nodded, reluctantly accepting it. He could never be too dejected, though, not with your tits in his face. I mean, fuck, he came here expecting to map out derivatives on graph paper, and he got you shirtless in his lap. If Matty from two hours ago heard himself complaining now, he’d beat the shit out of himself. 

“Do you feel good though?” His voice was soft, quiet. Uncertain, as if scared of the answer after realizing just how messy his mind and movements had gotten after now being still for so long.

You leaned into him, smiling teasingly against his lips. “Of course I do, baby.” 

God, you were evil. His whole body shook, feeling all the remaining blood in his brain drain right into his dick. And then you swayed your hips against him. Eyes rolling back in his head, he knew he was done for. 

Your lips connected again while his hands found your ass, gripping callously. You whined loudly into his mouth. He wished he could wear the sound like a crown. He used the grip he had on you to push you forward and back over the bulge in his pants, both of you chasing your own relief. 

Matty brought his hands up, hooking onto your shoulders, pushing you down as he tried to fuck into you. He needed it. He needed to feel you, taste you, consume you. Embrace you wholly. Growing reckless, electricity ran all throughout his veins, and he felt surges of pressure all over his body. He held your body suspended over him as his hips bucked into you without any ounce of restraint. He needed to calm down; he knew it, you just felt so fucking good. He was moving too fast, too carelessly. If he didn’t stop now, he was going to—

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck.” Matty’s body jolted underneath you, his shaky hands losing their grip on you and falling off your shoulders. His head tilted back as he let out a gruff sigh, eyebrows pinched in an effort to stop it, though there was nothing he could do about it now, feeling a spot of wet warmth grow in his underwear. He didn’t want to open his eyes to look at you, convinced his face would be scarlet red in shame. “Fuck, I’m so sorry, I’m–”

You interrupted him with a giggle, pressing your lips to his to shut him up. He managed to regulate his heartbeat as you kissed him softly. 

“You’re really cute when you come,” you whispered, like you were letting him in on a secret.

If Matty’s face could get any redder, it did. “Well, don’t look so proud of yourself,” he groaned. “And I don't want to be cute.” 

You pulled away from him in surprise. “You don’t want to be cute?!” 

“No,” he mumbled lowly.

“You don’t want to be pretty?” You cocked your head and pouted your lips as if he were taking a present away from you.

“I don’t want you to call me pretty.”

“Well, what else am I supposed to call you?” You peppered kisses on his cheeks, and he wrapped his arms around your waist. “Good boy?” You pressed your lips to his forehead. “Handsome boy?” You kissed him again. 

Matty’s hold tightened on you, and he couldn’t help the small moan that escaped his mouth. He tried his best to disguise it with a cough. He probably failed, and you probably noticed it immediately, letting the ego boost rush to your head, but it didn’t matter to him. You had wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in his neck, giggling. He must’ve been a saint in a past life, because this was only a gift that God could give. He found himself only believing in anything religious when he was with you.

“You feeling better?” Matty asked after a minute of the two of you lying together in silence.

“Mhm,” you hummed.