Page 132 of The Cannibal

I was mourning her already.

“I never wanted it to be this way, you know.” I shifted the seat closer to the bed so I could touch her hand. She was burning hot.

I may not get a chance to speak with her again, so I must make this count.

“I was selfish with you. Jealous too,” I began, but she remained unresponsive. “I always have been. Envious of those who have your time. I’m covetous of the wind that whispers to you and every sweet thing that’s ever touched your tongue and elicited even the tiniest amount of pleasure.”

The one-sided conversation bothered me less as I spoke. It was cathartic. Words I’d needed to say but couldn’t bring myself to do so. She probably did not hear a thing in her current state.

“I thought turning would be inevitable for you,” I explained, “since you’re all too observant. Before long you would have noticed that the wrinkles on your face do not match mine, that I remained a frozen portrait on your wall while you would have to be repainted every now and again.”

I held her hand firmly, the weak pulse present, but only as a whisper in a loud room.

“I know now it was selfish to assume you would be one of us and be at peace with it. I am just relieved, callously so, that I wasn’t the one to do it. It wasn’t kind to you, to your humanity.”

She looked so peaceful. It broke my heart that she was most at ease when she was unable to bring herself to consciousness. It was like her own brain was cursed with burdens only she would know. It didn’t help that she kept them locked away tightly.

“I love you,” I told her. “I love you so dearly, and you may remain my only love, even if you don’t recognize it the way I do.”

I’d said enough. My heart was both heavy and light, burdened and free. Just letting the words escape me in some act of personal care fed my soul, for now. Like a curse breaking, I was at peace.

My confession remained as it always did, unrequited and unheard.

It was only just past noon. The entire day at this point felt like an uphill stroll. I thought switching into a different day dress would help. I had already worked up a cold sweat from the interactions I’d had thus far.

I just wanted to strip from my clothes and change the scenery.

“Phoebe.” A hand caught my arm. I nearly spun completely around.

“Children are told not to grab,” I scolded.

“Have you seen Silas?” Luka ignored my jab. “I haven’t seen him since last night. We have to prepare for the arraignment.”

“Am I my brother’s keeper?” I turned away.

Luka pulled my arm again. But instead of interrogating, he scrutinized me.

“What is it now?” I sighed. “I need to change my dress.”

“Are you well?” He looked over my face. “You look feverish.”

“Why do you care?” I scoffed.

“Is there a reason you’d think I wouldn’t?” He seemed genuine, but I didn’t trust it.

“I think you care about yourself, and all the moving pieces that will ensure you survive,” I said sharply. Even if my words had proven not to be true, I wanted to say something that hurt. “I bet you’d crawl to my father if he opened his arms to you again. Maybe you’d slip into his bed, as well. All is forgiven if you can dry your tears with money.”

Luka lifted his arm, and I flinched, eyes closed tight.

But then my body was squeezed.

I opened my eyes, my face half buried in his shirt. His body was rigid in great discomfort. But perhaps he recognized the hurt, the animal thrashing in the trap ready to gnaw her own arm off. I tried to pull away but he squeezed tighter.

“How was she?” he asked.

I couldn’t answer. My breaths were unable to steady between the stuffiness of my nose and the irritation of my eyes as they became wet.

He locked his arms around my shoulders, suffocating me in his chest before I could calm down. For once, the silent treatment was everything I needed. I just needed to let something out before I broke down altogether.