Page 83 of Aftertaste

She shook her head again.

And Kostya was about to press, to dig further, when he got his own answer. A puff of air in the back of his throat, the flavors warm and unwelcome as they flooded his mouth.

Chocolate and peanut butter, the edge of the cup dented. Like always.

Her sister, right there in the room. Restless. Hungry. Contradicting everything Maura had said.

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THE THIRD TIMEI died was a mistake.

I did it to find Everleigh, but also to feed the Hunger.

It didn’t vanish after Brink. It stuck around and ruined my life.

I tried so many things to satisfy it. Anything you could binge. Video games and vampire novels. Pop albums. Trash TV. I strolled museums and gorged myself on art. I ran miles, inhaling runners’ highs. I crawled the bars and filled myself with booze.

Oh, and the food! All over the city, I ate and ate and ate.

But none of it worked for long.

It took me over a year to understand what it was Hungry for. Why touching Ev’s old things—her tarot decks, her spirit board, the stack of prescriptions hidden in her drawer—quieted the cravings. Why the moments I felt desperate—jogging the Manhattan Bridge, staring at the river, considering a leap—made it go still. Why I found myself drawn to sharp objects, dangerous places, walking at night.

The Hunger wanted Everleigh. To take me where she was.

It pulled me toward Death, a tether to that world. It was a connection between us, this sisterhood of empty stomachs. Sickness that we shared.

So I decided to go back. To find a way to feed it. To cure us both.

I wanted control this time. To do it on my terms.

I researched near-death experiences. Joined obscure Reddit forums. Went to Survivors’ conventions. Other near-deathers were only too happy to recount every detail of how they’d died and lived to tell. Every step I’d have to replicate.

Some methods were so involved they required PhDs. Ingredients I couldn’t get. Chem lab access.

But others were straightforward.

Electrocution.

Guided drowning.

Strategically slicing my wrists apart.

I thought it’d be easy. A razor blade—deep, but not lethal. A timed 911 call. And I’d find my sister, feed our Hunger, get this magical, Technicolor, happy ending.

Not so much.

I lost enough blood that it was almost a one-way trip. I roamed that fucking Food Hall calling Ev’s name, but she never showed. Oh, and the best part? The cherry on top?

When I got back, the Hunger was worse.

Insatiable. Constant. No relief, not even from what worked before. Everything ached, not just my body, but my soul.

I didn’t feel invincible anymore. Or lucky, like I’d felt after the overdose. Or motivated, like I’d felt entering Brink. Just scared. Lonely. So damn foolish.

I couldn’t risk another trip, not even for Everleigh. Not unless I was okay with not coming back, and I wasn’t. Nearly bleeding out was a wake-up call. Even as fraught and complicated as the Hunger made my life, I wanted to live it. To at least try. To do it right, the way I might have if Ev had never died.

So I swore to myself I’d stop fucking with things beyond my control. That I’d find some way to live with the Hunger. That nothing in the world would make me tangle with the Afterlife again.

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