hollow/full

CW: cannibalism and blood

The morning sun proved to be much too bright today as I could see the light through my eyelids even before opening them. I reach my hand over to his side of the bed, seeking warmth, only to find empty sheets. Opening my eyes a tiny bit revealed the rectangular orange of dawn shining through the blinds, casting shadows across the room. The beauty of it all doesn’t go unnoticed, but my mind wanders to the magic I'd feel if he was here to share it with; a hollowness pangs in my chest. I slowly sit up in the bed, savoring each stretch, determined to capture some of the sweetness of the morning. As my feet hit the cold floor I hear dishes clanging in the next room; a smile creeps across my face. I’ve always had trouble being alone, even for a short time. When I walk into the kitchen breakfast is already prepared for me. French toast and fruit, prepared just how I like it. Sleep still clouding my mind, I have trouble finding the words to express the devotion I feel at this moment. I wrap my arms around his midsection and look into his eyes, deciding that tonight I finally express how all encompassing my love for him is.

 “Let me make you dinner today.” 

He gives me a small smile and kisses the top of my head, warmth spreads across my body. I’ve always had trouble expressing my feelings, finding them all too intense. After every expression of love, there continues to be a chasm in me. 

He leaves to work and I start preparing for the feast. I go to the store and purchase the most expensive red wine and even treat myself to a new set of kitchen knives.

When he walks in, finally home from work, my heart sings after being apart all day. There’s a small white mug, with blue porcelain details waiting for him on the table. An appetizer of tea. As he finishes his tea I serve him the steak, warning him to eat quickly before it gets cold. He wonders out loud why I’m not eating, but I just brush him off with a laugh, reminding him tonight is about him. 

As he finishes his dessert his body falls to the floor. His long eyelashes that he always puts to work in a puppy dog expression that rivals the greats, fall gently over his eyes. His face goes slack and I run my hand across it, memorizing the features that I’ve been looking at across countless tables for the past ten years. 

After waiting all day for this moment, I’m restless. I brazenly swipe my arm across the table, anxious to clear it. In the process I knock over a glass of wine, spilling onto my white dress, but I barely notice as I pull his heavy body onto the large oak table. I climb atop it myself, straddling his waist. I take my new knife set and penetrate the sharpest into him. Blood spills out, mixing with the wine on my clothes. I swipe my hand across it and bring my fingers to my mouth. It tastes metallic and warm, but also like a hot summer day, laughing with him after losing a race, our hearts pumping as we look at each other and I accuse him of cheating. I savor each piece of him as I go. His fingers taste like small touches in a bar, the excitement of a new crush. His arms like being held late into the night. His feet, like the ache after exploring an entire city in a day. His eyebrow, like snarky remarks and worried probing. His liver tastes like vodka-clouded nights in college and breweries with new coworkers. His tongue tastes of my own, why wouldn’t it after they’ve been entwined all these years? All of him, every piece, tastes of our life together, the one I had always dreamed of, and yet still felt unfulfilled within. His blood streams down my face with every bite, but we were past being polite with our food on the third date after a feast of wings. I laugh as I remember him brushing sauce across my nose. How upset I had been at that, vainly worried about my makeup. I look down at the various shades of red mixing on my dress and the floor; how silly all of that seems now.

I reach for the last piece of him, his heart, and my eyes get misty. I bite into it like a pomegranate and its red juices gush out and flood over me. It tastes of us, our love: getting to work late because of tender mornings in bed, leaving parties early to watch a terrible movie, endless laughter and inside jokes, everything. As I finish the last of him, the hole in my chest starts to fill, I smile through the tears. I grasp my chest in satisfaction and take a sip of tea.