Hunger

The story of a girl, falling in love, as love stories usually go. However, love goes sour once he realizes the hunger in him may not have always been human. Horror story of toxic love

[hmc-safe-haven]

One of the moments in a chapter from my story 'Hunger'. Would love some input, but otherwise enjoy! I'll be posting more pages as time goes on to get advice and opinions.

Tw: smut, mild cannibalism, blood, abusive undertones,

She could feel it, of course, when his hands tensed those extra couple of seconds and his teeth dug in further than she thought they would. The pain was immediate and exhilarating. She wanted more of it, needed it. As his body curled around her everything only hurt more. No longer just the dull pressure between her thighs, but the gnawing of his teeth and digging of his nails. He rose back, looking down at her lying across his bed, and she saw a look in his eyes that finally sent a slight shiver of fear down her back. It wasn't love, or even lust anymore, but hunger. Starvation. As if she was the only morsel of food he'd seen in miles. He was more aggressive now, pulling her close just to turn her onto her stomach. Her body seemed to compress under his weight, her shoulders feeling the pressure as she tried to hold herself up. 

The thought of stopping didn't even cross her mind. Of course, guys had been rough with her before, but this was different. As he continued to thrust into her his hands seemed to roam all on their own, wrapping around her throat and pushing her closer into the mattress below. His teeth found her shoulder and the pain seemed to explode from her. She couldn't help the shout that escaped her, not the tears, but they only seemed to feed his hunger, not sedated it. She couldn't yet feel the blood dripping onto the sheets, nor could she understand the true danger she was in at this moment. 

It felt nice, for a moment, for somebody to truly, carnally, crave her. Not just a body, but her body, her soul. She relished in the sounds he made. It was past animalistic, journeying into the land of the monstrous. Deep growling that emanated from his chest rather than his mouth, and quick raspy breaths that made her want him even closer. 

He spread his legs, in turn spreading her own, and pulled her even closer. The pain in her shoulder subsided long enough for the pain in her hips to awaken, she was arched so deeply she was surprised her back hadn't snapped. 

The hand on her neck moved to her scalp and she yelped as he pulled it back. Using his bicep as a pillow he found a new vantage point, the skin of her back, just before it would reach the sides of her breasts. This time he didn't just stop at the teeth, he stopped when he could taste the copper in his mouth and the feeling of her heartbeat against his tongue. 

His release triggered his realization and before he could even process what had happened he was throwing himself out of the bed and onto the floor. He slid back with such speed you would have thought he was the one bleeding. 

Freya looked over at him, his mouth agape with her blood pouring out of his mouth, and she smiled. It was a cruel smile, to herself at least. Because her brain needed more of it. So she didn't cry, beg, or plan an escape. She lifted herself onto her shaky arms, now she really could feel the dripping of blood down her back, and decided she wasn't done with him yet. 

Her feet shook as she followed him onto the floor, crawling after him and leaving droplets of her blood in her path. The hunger in his eyes had faded, but it wasn't quite sedated yet. So he didn't move away any farther. He let her crawl overtop of him, let her move him back into her body, and when she moaned he felt the same shiver of fear roll up his spine. When she kissed him it wasn't weak, wasn't stifled by the blood, but it was aggressive. It was demanding and needy. And when she pulled away, her own blood dripping down her chin and onto her breasts, he realized that she would die. 

Not in a grand sense of things. No big murder plot or grave misdoing. But in the same way you knew you'd be late to dinner when you missed the bus. And he missed her already, as she grinded against his body like a cat in heat, but he also knew that the future was already written. 

And when they awoke the next morning, wrapped in each other and a blanket they had stolen off the bed still curled up on the cold floorboards, there was no more fear in either of them. He helped her shower, watching the red water cyclone down the drain, and bandaged the wounds. And then they slept again, pressed together on the couch they had been on a thousand times. And the hunger faded again, back down to that dull ache in the bottom of his stomach that he knew he would need to feed again soon. But not now. Now he watched her peaceful face, curling a piece of her hair through his finger before tucking it behind her ear. She slept and he waited. Waited for the moment to come when she would awake, screaming, running. But it never came. 

Deep down she knew, too, that should she continue on this path she will surely die. But deep down she also knew she wasn't going to leave. Isn't this what love is supposed to be? Devotion in the furthest degree, past sanity and safety into complete trust of your life in somebody else's hands, to do with what they please. And she knew this was love, of course. That's why he chose her, that's why she's here right now. It must be love.