Writing is my passion. If I don't write daily, I feel like my day is incomplete. I wrote this to...
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Tastes like Chicken
He didn't bother closing the doors. I waited in silent fear looking at all the guns mounted on the walls, and then, straining my neck, I started crawling across the bed as far as I could go to see more outside in the desert wilderness. I remembered the other shed. One about the size of this one and farther to the northwest of it that I could make out through the dirty, rusted window by one of the chairs lined up against the opposite wall. There was also an outhouse. And I knew these small sheds were situated strategically around the hills and cliffs. John and I had to run around the big mountainous hill that was covering his sheds in order to get away, but even then we weren't out of view because he could get atop the hill and see where we were.
My strained neck didn't help things any, what I saw just confirmed what I already knew. Plus endless miles of desert. His strange, black, and now topless car that I didn't know the make of, was in view. I hadn't drank anything for about two days now and my head hurt really bad.
Suddenly he stalked back into my view looking me over, stopping at my cleavage and back to my face. I crawled back to the corner fast and wrapped my legs against me. Still eying me he took a drink from an old water bottle and I diverted my eyes, not wanting to ask for water, for fear of him retaliating and not giving it to me for that very reason. He looked at the bottle and then to me suggestively, knowing he had something I needed.
He walked into the shed and stood at the end of the bed, offering the bottle to me. It was still almost full. I licked my dry, dead lips and slowly shuffled to him on my knees so that he wouldn't get a show of cleavage when I bent down like before. I grabbed it fast, and he wouldn't let go, I looked at him in shock, and he slowly took his hand off the bottle with this dark, cracked, mischievous look on his face. I backed out of reach from him and started drinking.
“Do you want to eat tonight?” he asked simply, it was clear by his tone of voice that something had to be done in order for me to eat.
I nodded, waiting for him to start making passes at me.
He paused mid-thought and grinned as he took off his ragged, long, black coat and walked in the direction of the other shed. I breathed a sigh of relief.
After drinking the whole bottle I set it aside and relaxed my legs, stretching them out onto the bed. After a while I started smelling the smoke of a grill cooking, and I began fingering the throbbing bump on the side of my head. Leaning back into the wall I remembered my last night with John before we were caught.
Maleah and Jen were sleeping around the fire in their bags, and I had John.
His large hand caressed the curve of my side as I turned away from him in the sleeping bag. I didn't even bother opening my eyes, it would ruin the magic of the moment. I was afraid my contentedness would disappear and my nerves would get the best of me. Out in the middle of nowhere. The only true way to go camping in a desert Maleah said.
His hand made it's way to my breasts, but I snatched it away up to my lips and I kissed it. I kissed and teased every one of his fingers, he made a tortured sound and he caressed my waist more forcefully, sneaking his hand under my shirt, about to touch my scars.
“Uh-uh,” I stopped him quietly. “Do you remember what I said? Our promise rings mean something to me.”
His whole body froze, no longer warm to me and I felt bad. He withdrew his hand pressing it to my waist once more, but as I tried to reach back for his face to sooth him, he got up fast and left.
I fell asleep though I was sad, and woke up to him acting as though it never happened. I knew he must be embarrassed, he didn't shrug it off and joke about it like the other times, so I never mentioned it to him. As I lay my head against the wall I couldn't help but wonder if that was the right choice. Now he might be dead...I still stuck to my beliefs. I suppose it was the right choice after all.
I heard the clack of metal tongs being tossed down, and the echoing of the lid covering up the BBQ.
Night was beginning to descend, the sky was turning red outside. Had I been asleep all day?
He came in wearing a tan, blood-stained shirt, the wound John managed to inflict on his shoulder with the shears was covered in a tightly wrapped gauze underneath. I averted my eyes when he looked at me, he set down the plates on the bed and hung up his jacket. He looked unsure for a moment back to me and took one of the plates for himself, putting it on a fold up table he set in front of the chair Jen had been sitting in. He sat in her chair, watching me watch him. He jerked his head towards my food, the question of 'Why aren't you eating?' in his eyes.
I looked down to the plate, it looked like chicken with Worcestershire sauce. I grabbed the plastic spork he left on my plate and took a bite. Tasted like chicken. I smiled halfheartedly and he began to eat as well. After I swallowed a few more bites in an eery silence, he spoke.
“I'm surprised you like it.”
“Yes...” he shrugged. “I thought human flesh would taste different...”
“Uh!” I choked in surprise, I slowly looked back down at the meat in realization, and dry heaved. Now was one of the times I regretted not being able to throw up easy.
“You have your friend Jen to thank for it.”
I squeezed myself as far back into the corner as possible away from the flesh, not daring to even touch the plate. Jen was inside me? I heaved again, but caught myself and turned my face into the wall.
When he was finished with his, he took my plate and ate the rest of mine. I looked at him out of the corner of my eye, watching him eat every piece of her.