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“Really? It’s still a little bloody. Here, Elle, let me just—"
“That’s how I want it,” I snap unintentionally.
Joseph raises his spatula in defense and slides the steak onto my waiting plate. I grab a fork and knife and shirk the formality of the dining room. I settle down at a seat at the kitchen table and dig in. I’m frustrated by the ritual of carving.
I want the steak now. I grab a massive slice and stuff it into my mouth. I’m too hungry to even fully chew the damn meat. I swallow, and the blood coats the roof of my mouth. As the tender meat settles in my stomach, I am finally satisfied. I don’t stop to sip water or ask Joseph how his day was. The only sound that fills the kitchen is my cutlery frantically scraping against the plate.
Joseph stands stunned near the stove.
He plops a second steak in the pan and cooks it until it’s done.
He glances at my empty plate. “Do you want another one?” he asks.
“Yes,” I growl. My stomach rumbles again. I’m still starving, but at least the ache is gone. At least I can think of something else other than the hunger.
He plops a second rare steak onto my plate and watches in awe as I devour it.
“I love a girl who can eat,” he says offhandedly.
I look down at my empty plate and realize I must look insane, but this hunger defies logic. I ate two muffins for breakfast this morning and snacked on protein bars all morning, and still, I felt like I hadn’t eaten in a month.
My stomach finally settles, and I look at the mix of fear and awe in Joseph’s blue eyes.
“I get hungry sometimes,” I say weakly.
He kisses my forehead. “That’s alright. We need to eat to live, y’know?”
“Thanks,” I mumble. I yawn. I’m exhausted, even though I’m sleeping ten hours a night.
At night, I join Joseph in his bed. My dreams are filled with Beatrix’s distended face and her cold hands clawing at my stomach.
“You have something I want!” she screams. In tonight’s dream, she reaches into my stomach and pulls out my intestines like a magician pulling scarves out of his sleeves. I wake up in a cold sweat.
My stomach lurches. I gag, trying to stop myself from vomiting on the floor. I made it to the toilet just in time and emptied my stomach into the bowl. I hear Joseph shuffle up behind me.
He kneels beside me and holds my hair back as I spit into the toilet bowl.
“It was that fucking steak,” he grumbles.
“It’s okay,” I grunt, wiping my mouth.
“I told you I wanted it.”
I slump back against him, and he wraps his arms around my waist.
“Do you want some water?” he asks.
“Sure,” I mumble, stifling a yawn. I don’t know what it is lately. I’m starving, but I can’t keep anything down. I’m losing weight.
The other day, I almost threw up in a potted plant at the library. My breasts are tender, and I'm barfing if I’m not starving. It’s hell, a hell aggravated by the suspicion that something is growing inside me. I can’t explain it. But every night, in my dreams, Beatrix digs in my stomach like she’s rooting for something or someone.
I think about Beatrix and her baby, how they say the grief drove her mad. Maybe she’s so fixated on me because … shit! Could I be pregnant? I think about it as Joseph hands me a glass of water.
I missed my period this month, but my cycle has always been irregular. The first time Joseph and I slept together, we were too frenzied with pent-up lust to even remember to snag a condom, but he went out and bought a box the next day, and we’ve been safe ever since. I tell myself that I missed my period due to the stress and drain the rest of the glass of water.
Joseph kisses my forehead again and waits for me to brush my teeth. We return to his bed, and I once again dream of Beatrix.
This time, she stalks at me and places her icy hand on my stomach, “Give it to me,” she demands.
