She was radiant, almost garish as she leaned her head back against the wall, her sweat-glistened face shining yellow in the sickly lamplight. Strands of her dark hair clung to her lips, sticky in the heat.

John wanted her.

He wondered what she tasted like.

He leaned in and pressed his lips against hers, softly. She moaned and tilted her face up to meet his, her hand ghosting around to spread against his lower back, her nails digging into him gently.

John wanted her.

She tasted like strawberry lip-gloss.

He deepened their kiss, pressing her hard against the wall. She grunted quietly, surprised, and put her other hand on his chest, wordlessly telling him to back off a little. That's enough, she was saying silently. That's enough.

John wanted her.

She waited sweetly.

He pressed her harder, so hard that it hurt his lips. He parted them. He felt her lips against his teeth and opened his mouth wider as her face tightened in sudden fear. Her left hand clenched against his back, her other one pushed harder against his chest. Let go, she was saying silently. Let me go.

John wanted her.

She tasted like Mother. The tang of blood hit his tongue as he bit town, the tiny veins in her lower lip bursting against his teeth. She shrieked, but the noise was muffled against his mouth and sounded like the mewling of a hungry cat. John was hungry, too. Clean your plate, Mother always said. Clean your plate, you little fuck. Clean your fucking plate or I swear to god I'll lock you out with the dogs again and let you starve. You're an ungrateful piece of shit, Johnny. You fucking piece of shit.

John wanted her.

She tasted like steak and god was he so hungry.

He bit through the meat between his teeth and tore it from her face with a quick jerk of his head. He swallowed it without even bothering to chew. God, Johnny, chew your fucking food. Yes, mother. He took another bite, gnawing on the corner of her mouth, trying to get a piece of her upper lip to savor her strawberry lip-gloss. He could feel the naked bottom row of her teeth pressing against his chin, bloody and bare except for the pulpy, ragged strings of meat that he'd left behind. She was screaming now, the way Mother had screamed, the blood gurgling in from behind her soft palate. Such an irritating sound.

He reached up and took her jaw in his hand, prying it open even as she tried to bite his fingers like a frightened animal. The terror in her eyes was so familiar and beautiful and it made his stomach growl. He pulled her jaw down until it popped and loosened, breaking her mouth all the way open like cracked oyster, exposing the juicy, writhing flesh of her tongue.

John wanted her.

She tasted so, so good. And then he had her tongue, gripping it tightly between his teeth, sucking on it and tearing at it until a mouthful ripped free. She wasn't screaming anymore, just gurgling, the redness bubbling in her slender throat. She'd stopped pushing him away. She was limp and complacent, eyelids fluttering.

He ate his fill, cradling her in one arm, the way he had cradled Mother on the night he made her be quiet. When he was satisfied, he let her go and she hit the floor like a bag of wet sand, her destroyed mouth hanging open at an odd angle, blood smeared around her face. Wipe your mouth, you slob. You filthy, cocksucking pig. How could I have raised such a dirty, disgusting boy?

John's lip twitched in revulsion, looking down at the mess she had made of herself. Dirty, disgusting girl. He turned away from her.

John was full for the first time in a long time.

And now John doesn't want her anymore.