An Angel to Save Me
I am a black hole. A ravenous void absent of light and hope. Remaining unfulfilled after sucking in life after life after life. Unsatisfied. Disappointed.
And so goddamned empty.
My hunger persists, clawing at my insides.
She hadn’t been the one. I chose incorrectly, again. I thought I had found the one that would quiet the beast. Quell my appetite. Fill the gaping dark hollow inside of me.
But it continues to ask. To demand.
The next one has to be the one. I’m tired of needing.
I will select more wisely. Put more time into her procurement.
I have to resist the excitement and not get ahead of myself. It’s hard when the mere thought of draining something beautiful sends my heart into a gallop.
Remembering each consumed life stirs up fresh desire. The hunger is always eager and tugging at my entrails. Drumming through my veins in a steady rhythm. Stretching and pressing against the walls of my throat.
And then, comes the anger.
A boiling feeling rises to replace the yearning, making my hands curl into fists. Locks my jaw tight enough to crack teeth. Because I’m reminded how the last delicate angel sacrificed hadn’t been enough. And I feel foolish having believed she would be.
I wish anyone off the street could fill my hole.
The hunt is a slow, agonizing process, prolonging my anguish. My punishment for repeated failure. I’d rather pull a molar without an analgesic.
But physical pain is not equal to my emptiness.
How can one compare this torment of want and need and must-have?
I’ve tried to distract myself from the internal suffering by pulling out hairs and toenails. Even slicing my skin. The diversions are too brief. I’m never left with any sense of gratification in my self-harm, only further annoyance with wounds. The reprieves my body requires for healing afterward are inconvenient. I am robbed of vital time for my endless search.
I need an angel. A powerful being born of light and beauty to kill the insatiable evil I harbor. One who can free me from this hopeless cycle of hunger and darkness.
Where is she hiding?
My restlessness creates a panicked state. Makes my palms sweat.
What if I never find her?
How long can I continue drinking lives in vain?
And as I sulk into my warm beer at the bar, lightning strikes. I feel her wander in before I see her. The hairs on my arms stand up. My low mood lifts like a fog.
This angel has long black hair as shiny as an oil slick and eyes like emeralds. Her curvy body sways with her walk. I watch her catch the gazes of the other patrons.
But she is already mine.
My angel looks hip in her bell-bottom jeans and colorful crochet halter top. I imagine her smooth, milky skin turning gray from my touch. I envision the maggots making a feast of her, swelling up from her eye sockets as they grow fat on her flesh.
She takes a seat at one of the tables. For the briefest moment, our eyes meet, and I straighten on the bar stool with a shiver.
The cold prickles start at my neck, cause a spasm in my right shoulder, and travel down into my pelvis. That’s where it turns into a throb. And the hot ache between my legs makes my toes tingle and holds the breath in my lungs hostage. My chest tightens to keep my heart in its cage instead of running away.
She is perfect.
The beast is fully aware of her, too.
The lump in my throat becomes painful. The sensation gifts me an image of my hands around her long slender neck and a silent scream on her succulent cherry lips.
When she glances at me again, I am staring at the angles of her clavicle.
I wet my lips as she steals a third glimpse of me.
The hunger is ignited. Loud. Fierce.
Her. It’s her, it tells me.
My racing pulse echoes in my ears. Electricity stings my fingertips and stabs at my stomach. The hunger rages like a snarling, drooling, toothy, rabid creature. It howls and writhes inside of me impatiently. Decided. Voracious and starving.
The deep urge launches my body out of my seat and my knees falter from the sudden movement. My hand grips the edge of the bar to steady myself.
I had wanted to wait. I promised myself to take my time. To make sure the next one was the one.
The hunger laughs at me.
No. It’s her, it says.
She sees me stumble and giggles. Those green jewel eyes remain fixed on me. Call me forward. She wants to enter my void.
And it would be rude to deny her.
Those precious gems are begging me to surrender to my hunger. To consume her light.
I must obey.
“You’re here all alone?” I ask her. She answers with a nod, her pearly grin fueling my fire. “It just so happens I’m here all alone, too. Perhaps we should keep each other company tonight. I’m Charlie.”
“I’d like that, Charlie.” She holds out a willowy hand with nails painted my favorite shade of red. “I’m Marlee.”
Her skin is warm and as soft as velvet. For now.
Marlee is my next angel. The angel. The one who will save me from the hunger.
I take the seat beside her, and we clink our beer bottles together. She brushes a lock of hair behind an ear and brings the bottle to her mouth. I study the pattern of the blood vessels under the flawless skin of her neck.
Inside, I’m bubbling. My mind spurts multitudes of schemes for draining the light and beauty from Marlee.
And I can’t stop smiling at my new angel.
Tinamarie Cox lives in Arizona creating written and visual work that has her husband questioning her sanity. She loves everything Vincent Price and Tim Burton. She shops for home decor during Halloween season. Follow her on Instagram @tinamariethinkstoomuch and visit her online at tinamariethinkstoomuch.weebly.com.
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