Warning: This story contains graphic vio…

Warning: This story contains graphic violence/gore scenes.

Adel swayed unsteadily as I dug my fingers deep into the flesh just below her rib-cage, nails scraping muscle and bone as I waded past her stomach, bypassing the lungs to hold her heart in my hands. It was beautiful, that coy little look that she gave me as I twisted it, squeezing her life between my fingers until it was about to pop, to explode outward and paint my face with red.

“More,” she gurgled, grasping my wrist tightly, holding my arm in a death-grip that I couldn’t pull back from. “Don’t let go, Carus.”

Those words struck hard, and I felt the corners of my lips self-consciously pull upward into a self-satisfied grin. It was just a little horrific, really, what she was doing to herself. She knew as well as I did that if she let me  continue, I’d butcher her. And she would writhe in her own desire for every moment of it. I guess the truth of it all is that we were both just a little bit masochistic.

It wasn’t really me that she was after. She wanted the idea of love, that two people could hold each other’s hearts in their hands. Her fingers scrabbled at my shirt, pulling a few threads from the fabric.

I was positive there was lipstick smeared on my cheek, and I would come away from this with more than a few bruises. But the moment was worth it, really, just to see that look on her face, like there was nothing else in the world but the two of us and this physical connection between us. Her gored abdomen was closing up around my wrist as I pulled back, and she shrieked as veins and capillaries snapped, and muscle tore and creaked with strain.

She knew this was going to happen, right from the start. Adel knew I didn’t do love.

“Eat your heart out,” I said with a small smile, fingers smeared with red leaving warm stains upon my face and arms, bleeding into the fabric of my shirt as she pulled me flush up against her. I raised the pulsing muscle to my lips, leaving behind a kiss that stung like a fingerprint left in acid.

She leaned forward and bit down, juices dribbling over her chin as she devoured her heart. She looked to be choking down the urge to vomit at the taste of raw flesh and iron, but I was used to such things.  The cloying scent of fresh blood filled my nostrils. I looked on as she shuddered, trembling with her own self-disgust and the desire that still shone brightly in her eyes.

“It’s not enough,” she whispered.

I closed my eyes, leaning forward and pressing my lips to her hair. “It never is.”

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