Chapter Text
You pop a naproxen pill in your mouth, swallowing it down with a coke.
Your house is a mess. You can't be bothered to fix it. You usually clean for company, but you just can’t bother. You doubt he would do the same for you anyway, and you don't even wanna know what his mess looks like. Plus, not like he's gonna care about the leftover mess that much when he's too busy with your flesh right? Yeah.
You slip over to your wardrobe, grabbing a more comfortable outfit. He’s never done much to you, except, eat you. Or something. but you usually walk around in shorts and a bra and… You just don’t feel comfortable wearing anything like that with him. You also grab a leather belt. The one you always use. There’s bite marks on it from the past week or two, and all you can really do is stare at them.
Soon he’ll be here, and you’ll be clenching your teeth over the belt.
It will hurt.
Your eyes trace the indents of your teeth. They’re uneven, the leather frays where you've drug your teeth. The taste still lingers on your tongue. You’re sure if someone made you smell leather you'd go into a flight or fight response, no matter where you were. Pavlovian response or something. Leather means Bob. Bob means…
You leave your room.
Why did you bother agreeing to this anyway? you won’t get any praise. Any trophy, or badge. Special treatment, not even a “thanks” will be passed your way. It's sickening, watching strangers on the street pass by your apartment, unaware of how you’ve practically saved all their asses. What do you get? Naproxen. Naproxen and a leather belt. clenched teeth and blood. So much blood. So much blood it's sickening, it takes so little effort to wash blood from your sink, but that smell. That feeling. It washes over you like a flood, drowns you. Chokes you up, more and more blood. You’ll never breathe right again. Never look at that sink right again. Dishes pile up. You only wash them so it can happen again.
…
Thank god he got to you before you made any proper connections with people.
You sit on the floor of your kitchen. Your stomach churns, and you grip the leather belt. Maybe you could leave and never come back. Is it better to let others die? Maybe. You haven't entertained the thought. It only makes you sick. Too sick. You’re never not sick. Get over yourself.
Two knocks rap at your door.
Your thoughts plummet, your heart races. Why bother. He’d find you even if you did try to leave. You stand up, not bothering to calm yourself down. If you take too long, he’ll find another way in. You know that too well. The doorknob is cold against your body's warmth when you turn it.
Lifting your head up, you're met with those same eyes. Same haircut, same big stature. Swirls of cyan and deep brown trail down your entire body, and then land on your arm. Instinctually, your hand reaches to grab it, holding it to yourself. He meets eyes with you again.
Must mean it's your arm this time.
“Ya gonna let me in?”
You snap out of it, only then realizing you stood there staring at him. taking in a breath, you slowly step aside, drawing the door wide open with you. He doesn't bother waiting all the way for you, and his side shoves into yours as he walks inside.
“sorry.” your voice is low, quickly shutting the door behind you. He doesn't bother responding to it. Dick.
“So, Angel.” he starts, grinning down at you with that smile, the same smile that's torn your flesh- torn others flesh. His teeth don’t look it, until he opens his mouth. Opens his mouth and purrs that nickname. You hate that stupid nickname. It makes you feel sick. Reminds you of the knife he dragged down your stomach, that first time he said it. That searing pain. Burning you up. Never your stomach. Never again.
“yeah, I’m ready.” you swallow spit, already moving to the sink, eliciting a deep chuckle from him.
“Didn’ know you were so hungry ta get it over with. An’ here I was thinkin’ you enjoyed my company.” He pouted, though you could see his lip twitching up. You refrain from rolling your eyes, last time you did that he almost tore them out. Instead, you just set up the stool next to your sink, and step onto it. Folding the belt over itself, you place it in your mouth.
He lifts up his shirt, grabbing a knife from his tool belt as he adjusts himself behind you. His stomach presses into your back, pushing you against the edge of the sink. He doesn't need the stool, considering he’s a whole foot taller than you, which is really annoying. It’s too easy for him to overpower you, when you're eye to eye with his tits all the damn time.
“Yer quiet today..”
He trails a hand up your side, sending a shutter of disgust up your spine. You wince away from his hand, but he just grabs your arm and leans you over the sink with a rough tug.
You grunt, gritting your teeth over the belt. his hand is rough with scars and weathering, reaching and dragging it down to your wrist. You try to avoid dragging your tongue over the belt, disgust coiling in your stomach at the taste. Your heart won’t stop pounding in your chest, and with how he's grinning it almost feels like he can hear it.
“Jus’ gonna take yer arm, stay still.”
You would’ve said “just?” if your mouth wasn’t full of leather. You settle for a grunt.
He holds the knife up to just below your elbow, and doesn't bother to warn you. The knife is carved into your arm, back and forth. It burns. Your arm sears and your cries are muffled by the belt. You’re able to hold in most of the blood curdling ones, somefuckinghow, but still scream every time he goes a little too fast for your arms liking. Your whole body shakes, your legs going weak and buckling. his belly pressed against your back is the only thing that keeps you up, and your screams lessen, and lessen, up into a quiet whimper as time goes by.
Your eyes fuzz out. everything is just blurred, everything is covered in red. You hear a whirring, a ringing. That fades in and out. There’s so much red. Your stomach churns. you keel over the sink, spilling blood from your mouth. You’re choking. Coughing and heaving. Iron is all you can taste. Smell. It's suffocating. Choking you inside and out. Every breath tainted. You hear his muffled voice amidst the ringing in your ears, before your head falls and your consciousness follows.
…
..
.
The muffled sound of someone's voice toys with your ears. Your eyes are slow to open, blurred. Two people’s voices. Is there someone else here? Your eyes feel heavy. Actually- your entire body feels heavy. You’re splayed- somewhere. Your ears are still ringing. You have a searing headache. It pounds at your skull and you groan.
“Ah, yer up.” His muddled voice interrupts your thoughts, and your headache worsens. You try to lift your arm up to your head, before his hand grips your arm tightly, placing it down.
“Yer other, dibshit.” he grunts, you finally looking down and realizing you lifted the still-healing arm. You watch as your bone slowly but surely crackles into place. Its disgusting. You can see everything. Your bones, your blood, your flesh. With the way Bobs’ eyes glint, you doubt he doesn’t enjoy it.
The TV is on the news. You’re carelessly splayed on the couch, half your body falling off.
your eyes drag to the tv, hazily reading the headline.
‘Cannibalistic murderer disappeared without a trace’ is what you think it says. You scoff. He’s just at your house.
Your eyes heavily follow his arm up to his face. He licks his lips, letting go of your arm to instead go back to the cooked meat in his lap. It looks delicious. Your stomach cramps painfully, and you ignore it. You know damn well what that is.
Dragging your tongue over your cracked lips, the taste of iron is immediate. You shutter.
“...how,, long was I out..?” your words slur a bit, and he snorts.
“Damn near an hour or so. Almost assumed ya wouldn’t wake up.” He’s snickering, and you can’t muster up anything but a grunt. You’re still hungry, and your stomach rumbles in protest.
Something jabs at your mouth. You scowl, opening your eyes that you didn't even realize closed in the first place. A fork with meat on it is pressed against your lips again, and you grimace.
“I’m not eating,, that.” you use the right hand this time to weakly push it back to him.
“Don’t be ungrateful.” He snaps, his voice darkening into a hiss, and you swallow spit anxiously. “I only cooked it fer you. Much better raw, but you can eat it this way. You ‘n yer picky stomach.”
His finger prods at your stomach, and you wince. He savors that reaction, and disgust writhes in your insides when his finger trails down your stomach.
He doesn't push the fork back to you though, instead tearing it off himself with fervor. You let out a breath when his hand returns to his lap, hopeful in the idea that he didn’t hear it.
“Don’ know why ya bother refusin’ ta eat it. Jus’ meat.”
Right. Just meat. That's all you are to him, aren't you? Just a hunk of meat. Neverending meal. Just thinking of eating your own arm makes you sick. You don’t bother to think about all the people that actually will. Clueless to your dumb sacrifice.
You hold your arm up again, flesh slowly following bone as it regrows.
“..I wouldn’t be surprised if you got off on watching people eat it.” you admit, shrugging weakly. “Is that why you want me to eat it so bad?”
“...Angel, ya know I don’ like it when ya avoid answerin’.” you can hear the way he grits his teeth as he says it, and your hand twitches. Too comfortable. You’re too tired to properly react how you normally would at the nickname, and instead give a small sigh.
“Sorry. I just, don’t wanna eat right now. Might throw up. Still feel sick from,, it.” You lie through your teeth. You could down just about anything right now. And actually, your body needs it. Regeneration is exhausting, and will only slow the less sleep and less food you get in the process. But you’d rather die than choke down your own arm.
If he knows it was a lie, he doesn't show it.
“Now, back to the cannibalistic murderer known as “The Red Devil”. He is still missing, but the small town is thankful for the sudden lessen in murders. Cops are stumped but hopeful he has left. Here’s what a few locals think of the situation.”
A few locals you recognize from your job pop up, and you hear a dark chuckle beside you.
“They don’ realize how lucky they are, ain’t that right, Angel.”
“...I don’t need recognition.” you frown, eyes glued to the screen. Nothing to do but that. Or watch him eat.
“Tha’s why I call ya angel.” he chuckles deeply, “So righteous in yer ways. Pure. Sacrificing yerself for the greater good, jus’ like an Angel would.”
“..Just like an Angel would.” you swallow. You hate how horrid that makes you feel. Discomfort crawls down your insides like a parasite. How could you think about leaving this town to its devices with him.
Your eyes are starting to feel heavy again. They drag down slowly, and you let out a long breath of relief as you fall asleep.