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"I regret nothing."
The words slip from my lips as I still pant from a cocktail of exhaustion, pleasure and excitement.
I look down, tilting my head and smiling, at the broken-in hole of his skull that I willed in of my own volition.
I experience a transient cannibalistic urge. I stop myself.
Unless.
I look down with a newfound layer of attraction- not romantic, not sexual, not anything relational in any sense.
I look down feeling like a fox that's just killed a rabbit, looking down at the corpse. I feel myself salivating, as if I'm looking at a well-seasoned steak.
Well, it'd be quite the waste to just let him rot here, wouldn't it?
I laugh at my own thoughts and feelings.
I lean down. I take off his shirt with (surprisingly) gentle hands, unbuttoning it down the middle. I rest a palm flat on his chest, no longer beating, but still warm.
Oh, fuck, I can't wait anymore. I just need to do this.
I clamp down my jaws on a section of his forearm. I grunt, or groan, or moan or whatever you'd call it. I suck it like a baby with a bottle, feeling the warmth in my mouth.
I bite.
It takes effort- this meat is raw, it is fresh, it is not decayed or cooked or pulled apart or softened. It is raw! The blood still spills after the bite as if his heart never ceased at all.
And, I tell you- the pleasure. I chew like a dog with a bone. I savour it, licking my lips, biting down hard. It definitely takes a lot more effort and strength than what normal people these days eat. It takes longer to chew and swallow. I go back for more, I cannot help myself at this point. I tear and chew, letting out "Mmmm"s of delight.
I hold down his arms with my weak ones as I continue to involunarily tremor. Is it fear? Shock? Hunger? I can't remember the last time I ate. But I can't remember anything anymore, thanks to that asshole. You'd be a fool not to know who I'm talking about.
If he were alive, roles would be reversed. I'd be shot up with God knows what substance and wake up with a bunch of weird symptoms in my body I don't understand while everyone says nothing happened- and I can't really protest, can I? No proof.
I rip off his ear with my teeth and chew its elastic consistency. I am bloodstained after all of this. A stench of cheap nickel burns my nostrils. Blood has a smell you can't quite ignore a lot of the time. Especially with this much of it.
Once I feel I have savoured the flavour enough, and that I have some amount of "newfound" (I would never have been that weak and desperate if not for YOU, and you know it) strength, I throw him over my shoulder with an "Oomph" of impact as his heavy deadweight body weighs down, almost dislocating my shoulder.
Like a sack of potatoes over me, I walk him outside. It's a dark, damp night, with vague sounds of critters. I hear something scutter away frantically at my movement and the loud "thump" of the body hitting the clay-ridden earth.
I survive off his flesh for a few days, cooking (some of) it, eating frantically. I discard the bones, save for a few I keep as souvenirs of this incident. I see medium-sized mammals picking the last bits of off-smelling meat from bone after I'm done with it, and something drags off a few large bones (probably a femur) in its mouth while looking at me scared straight in the eye, as if I am going to steal the bone.
I carved some insults into some of his bones, such as "FAGGOT", "GOOD FOR NOTHING", and "GO TO HELL". I cut lightly into my own arm with the same dagger I used upon his to eat for as long as I have. I let my own blood drip on his bones- some measure of disrespect, as now he is "mine;" his blood is inside me and my blood is on his. My hands stained red as if I've gotten into an accident, yet this was anything but. My skin has gotten sweaty and sticky over the past few days. I'd kill (again) for even a simple hose-down. But I'm not sure if this rotten location even has running water, barely has a couple light bulbs in it.
I haven't been able to sleep right. I don't know what the date is. I don't remember how many days it's been.
I think I regret this. Somehow, some way, in some weird expression, I regret this. I feel ill.
I hope this sickness takes me.