saltburn prompt, @goblinis, "you ate him right up. and you licked the fucking plate."
"i didn't." excuse out of your mouth before your brain has caught up, a flash of a snake's forked tongue. your hands leave the brown wood of the diner table and slump to your lap, pinkie finger twisting in the loose fabric of your dress. "i didn't." the lie is coated in blood and sinew, plasma and cartilage. even with the marrow stuck between your molars, with the memory of the warmth of his gore down your front, you deny, rationalize, purify. "really." shoulders lift to the heavens in a shrug. it's not that you don't know. you do. you ate him the fuck up. you tore into the forbidden fruit, shredded it under the force of your jaw, and an hour later you feasted on what was left under your fingernails. and you didn't even fucking hesitate. it's the fact that you know. you know that he was a person, a whole human being, with a first love and favorite book and future. he was, before you, and after, he was not. you chew down a fry, grind it to mush in your mouth, stomach growling all the while. "we shouldn't talk like that here."