She pushes the tissue box toward me and gives me a small smile.
I don’t take a tissue. I’m not crying. Or smiling.
Her eyebrows are drawn up and together. Maybe I admire her.
I could never pretend to care about strangers all day.
.
I feel like everyone leaves, I say. I know they’ll always be a part of me, but they’re still gone.
I get rid of them.
She nods. She always does. Her smile is painted on. Does she think I’m lying?
I clench my teeth. My eyes lock onto her scribbling pen.
.
She asks me why I think I push people away. I didn’t say that. Odd.
Is it because you feel like you’re not worthy of love? she asks.
Who said anything about love?
I cross my legs the same way as hers. She leans forward.
They bore me, I say. I lean back.
.
She looks up.
What do you mean?
I’m always better off once I’m rid of them.
Tell me more.
I use them.
You use them.
To sustain me.
Tell me more.
I grin.
I can show you.
.
I only hear the screech of my jaw wrenching open for a moment before her scream begins.
I must get some kind of look on my face before I unhinge it all the way. The horror always starts immediately.
It’s been so long since the last time.
The tissue box thuds onto the ground as I stand up slowly.
I hope she tries to run. It’s so boring when they freeze.
.
She scrambles over to her desk and picks up her scissors, still screaming.
I’ll make it quick. She probably thought she was trying to help me.
I collar her neck with both hands and rip off her head with my teeth. All in one bite.
Her pen lands in a pile of blood.
I sit back down on the couch as I stuff the first arm down my throat.
At least she’s stopped screaming. Only crunching and squelching now.
Blood squirts onto my face and drips down my cheeks.
I reach for a tissue.