home 2 - K

Once more. I keep telling myself that. One more time. One more time, and then I'll stop. Then the itch will go away. I'll be satisfied. Just one.

So I do it. Like so many times before, and it bubbles up like a spring from the earth. It's warm. I'm not careful. I make a mess. It dyes my hands and pools on the wet night grass and my knees are black with it in the dark. Scratch scratch scratch.

I don't have to be careful. I have Abner. He watches the messes I make. Patient like a father watching his toddler with paints. He knows I'll get them on the carpet and the walls, and sometimes he acts like he's only putting it up with it, but I know. I see the way his eyes water when the blood comes. I see the tightness in his jaw and the way the muscles stand out in his neck. He's hungry.

Abner cleans up when I'm done. I don't watch, usually. I don't like to see him that way, bent over my mess on his hands and knees. His back arches too severely, and I can see the bumps of his spine. The sounds are terrible, like an animal. Like desperate, starved wolves with a sheep from some farmer's stock. The red on his face is enough. The wet of his eyes is enough.

Abner scares me then. When he looks at me, I think he might do it to me, too. Worse, I think that might be okay.

But he hasn't. Won't. The satisfaction never stays, and he knows it like I do. Just one more time never is. The itch starts again, the drive, the need. I need I need I need. Abner looks lean and his eyes glint.

We help each other. I don't mean to sound ungrateful.

We drive home. I wash my hands and change my clothes, and Abner cleans his face. He tucks me into bed, and I see him in my dreams.