Page 55 of Starve
Panic claws at my throat. I kept my anxiety under control all the way home by telling myself that Cairo would be here, and he’d be the one to explain and make everything seem okay. But now that I’m alone, I have to remind myself that I’ve been dealing with life on my own for years.
I don’t need a man—or a monster—to help me stay calm. As long as no first-aid scissors are within reach, I guess. The ironic, macabre humor of the thought makes me snort, and I lean back against the door as Moro worms her way into my lap like she’s a Yorkie instead of a wolf dog. Not that I mind. I couldnevermindher affection. Gripping her fur helps to ground me and remind me that things other than my racing thoughts exist.
“Thank you,” I tell her, though she obviously has no idea what I’m saying. Moro is just happy for the attention I’m more than willing to give. I take a deep breath. Then another. Just to be thorough, I count to ten, then back down to one, all the while running my fingers through Moro’s thick ruff. “Okay. I can’t sit on the floor forever, huh?” Pushing her off of my lap, I get to my feet; wavering just a little in the living room while listening once again for any other noise in the house.
I’m still nervous and anxious as hell. But I feel a little more grounded than I did when I first walked inside and Cairo was nowhere in sight.He has a life too,I remind myself. I can’t expect him to just be here, waiting for me, whenever I need him.
It’s not like he’s particularly comforting anyway.
That’s what I tell myself as I remind my brain of his sharp teeth, his inhuman eyes, and how much he’s hiding from me. I barely know anything about him, or where he’s come from. I can’t trust him, I try to convince myself as I grab a box of cereal and dump a liberal amount into my favorite bowl, followed by some oat milk.
I can’t trust a monster.
But the word feels like an insult, and my stomach curls unhappily when I try to relate him to the word. Even though I know he eats people, literally, and that heate Esther,it’s still impossible for me to put him in the same category as the thing that attacked me, the one that killed Sam, or even Tyler.
On the other hand, he and Agatha feel strangely similar to me. I know there’s no way for me to look up anything about her, since typing inAgatha monsteror any similar term on Google will probably take me to a weird side of the internet really quickly. I don’t even know how old she is, where she’s from, orif Agatha is her real name. Something about her feels timeless. Like she’s older than she looks.
I also can’t help thinking about how differently Agatha and Cairo act than the others. Tyler too, in some ways, but he seems less in control. More feral, and more eager to hurt others. But Cairo and Agatha…
Well, I doubt I can summon Agatha with just wishes and by leaving a juicy steak outside of my door. I’d probably end up attracting a bear to my back deck instead. She seems more willing to tell me about the whole cursed thing than Cairo does, and in my opinion, I have a right to know.
“I really do,” I tell Moro conversationally as I sit curled up on my couch eating my cereal. “He’s part of my life. Doesn’t that mean I should get to know about his?” Hattie’s warning suddenly fills my ears, and I stop eating to give it some thought.
Don’t let him change you.
There’s no way around the fact that she’s one of them now. But thanks to Cairo’s evasiveness and Tyler’s impeccable timing, I don’t know what it takes to be changed.
“We can rule out biting,” I mumble to my canine conversation partner. I still have the marks on my throat from Cairo’s teeth, and I reach up unconsciously to brush my fingers over the bruises and the raw scrape. It doesn’t hurt; the touch sends a shiver down my spine as I remember the feeling of his fangs on my skin. If he could turn me with a bite, then he’d surely be more careful where he puts his teeth. Obviously, it isn’t sex, either.
But that leaves me completely at a loss as to what becoming like them entails.
When my cereal bowl is empty and I’ve poured the milk down my throat, I get to my feet and absently wash it off in the sink. With Moro staring at me, I have no choice but to fill her bowl and grab a few treats out of the cabinet for her as well.She deserves breakfast too, after all. And that means I can leave her crunching happily on my bed as I walk to the bathroom to shower, even though I did so last night with Cairo.
But this time, it’s not about getting clean, or washing blood off of his wounds. Though that thought only makes me worry more about him. I need the hot water to make me feel more like a person, and sometimes, hot showers do way more good than they have a right to. I’m hoping that’s the effect today, plus it’ll kill some time instead of me sitting and pining about Cairo being gone and putting off work.
Or at least, try not to think so much about how I’d rather him show up here. Or about how I want him to pin me to the shower wall and growl in my ear while he takes out his hunger on me in ways other than violence.
“Yeah, Mom, I’m fine. I promise.” Sitting back on my couch with my laptop on my lap, I sigh up at my ceiling as shadows shift across the white paint. The sun is nearly set, and only a few rays show between the thick trees behind my house. Somehow, I’ve managed to stumble through more work today than I’d thought I would be able to do, but when I glance at my laptop again, I know that all of my motivation for it is gone.
“Maybe I could come down this weekend,”she tells me, sounding unsure over the phone.“I had a dream last night about you. I’m worried.”
“Oh, yeah?” Gently, I close my laptop and let it slide to the coffee table. “What did you dream about? Me in the shower with thePsychomusic, dramatically stabbing myself with nail scissors or a letter opener?” I know she won’t appreciate the flat humor in my voice, but I can’t help myself.
Sure enough, I hear her intake of breath, and it’s only a moment before she’s launched into her reproachful lecture.“It isn’t funny, Fern! You could’ve died. What if you hadn’t made it out of that animal attack? What if the doctor sent yousomewhere else on more than a three-day hold? You’re not taking this seriously enough.”
I’m pretty sure I’m taking this just fine, but I don’t reply. I don’t want to encourage her to draw out this tirade any longer. Putting her on speaker, I get to my feet and head to the kitchen. She starts again while I get the dog treats out, and during her rant I decide to work on Moro’s hand commands. Not that she needs much work. It’s clear someone put a lot of time into her, though I have doubts about it being Jeremy.
Of all the people who got killed or eaten that night, he’s the one I don’t have any pity for.
“Are you listening to me?”she snaps, still in her tirade.
“Yeah, Mom, I’m listening.” Barely. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.” She’s never understood my sense of humor, or had much of one herself. So I don’t know why I made the joke when I should’ve known it wouldn’t be appreciated. It makes me feel even less…heard. She doesn’t want my opinion. She wants to reassure herself I’m fine. “And I’m doing okay. Really. I’ve gotten a lot of work done this week, and?—”
“Have you been going to your therapy appointments?”Though it shouldn’t, the question catches me off guard. I pause with a treat hanging in the air over Moro’s muzzle as she waits patiently with her tail thumping on the linoleum.
I take a breath and drop it into her mouth before picking up the phone, and rather than making Moro do any other commands, I give her the other three soft, sausage-shaped dog treats. “I didn’t know you were aware I was going to see anyone,” I reply carefully.
“She called to tell me. She said she was worried about you and wanted my support in getting you help.”My mom is all business now, and maybe a little smug to have caught me off guard.“I don’t know why you didn’t tell me yourself, Fern. I think I deserve to know.”
