Eat

The severity of the situation escalated over night. My hands were shaking with the sudden urge to strike something. I stared at the hands that actually took a life. They stung with the intention to kill. My hand swung back slamming into a mirror, sending glass shards across my room. I let out a yelp of pain. My left hand grasped and clawed at the air trying to get a hold of something it could tear apart. The normal situations of yesterday felt like a distant beautiful dream. The morning was blissfully dull, followed by an afternoon of watching my five year old little brother, nothing of concern happened until about eight yesterday night. Phil, being a normal five year old, was throwing a fit because I would not give him icecream before bed. I normally just ignore this behavior, passing it off as annoying habits. However yesterday I felt my hand smacked my little brother so forcefully he broke into tears. My mother yelled at me for a few minutes while consoling my weeping brother. I stared at him crying feeling like I should say sorry but my expression stayed indifferent and my hands burning with the urge to hit. During my sleep something in my mind had changed. This morning I began craving the feel of putting someone in pain. Deep pain. I awoke this morning to my boyfriend knocking on my bedroom door.
My eyes opened sluggishly, "Come in," I croaked, my throat was incredibly raw and sore. Dylan entered my room with a beaming grin and a bouquet of white roses. I propped myself up on my elbow, "Whats the occasion?" I flashed him a shy smile.
"Just cause I love ya," he placed the flowers in a red vase on my dresser.
"Awww I love you too, hey how'd you get in the house anyway?"
He smiled at me amused. "Climbed in a window," he joked. "Your mom let me in on her way out with Phil." A blush crept over my shy boyfriends face. "We have the whole place to ourselves."
"Ohhhh do we?" I motioned for him to come over to me. It didn't take long for our lips to be pressed against each others. I could feel something wasn't right, I just was not completely into it. However, before I could object Dylan was shirtless and on top of me. As he kissed my neck I found my hands tearing in his back. I heard the sound of ripping flesh.
"Ah uh babe, that hurts alot,"
"I'm sorry," I muttered trying to restrain my hands but they continued clawing. The wetness of his blood surrounded my hands.
"Baby, I'm getting dizzy." He was sputtering his words now. I continued ripping his skin until I felt him pass out. My hands, without signal from my brain, pushed him off of me. My mouth started to get unbearably dry, I needed something wet to satisfy it. I gazed around the room looking for maybe a bottle of water. No such luck. My eyes landed on my mirror. A brunette, fair skin girl with eyes almost all black due to the dilation of get pupils stared back. I returned my gaze to a passed out Dylan. He was on his back now, leaving a pool of bright red blood staining my pink sheets. My nails were digging into his chest now. Once I saw blood I wanted to stop but my fingers kept raking his skin. Bloody trails followed my fingers, I didn't stop clawing until I hit the bone of his sternum. A pool of blood was in my hands and without wanting to I lowered my lips to sip on the blood. I wanted to stop, my brain was screaming "no" but my hands wouldn't stop, and my mouth was craving it. Presently I stared at my hands, replaying the horrific details. Dylan was dead. I ripped him apart. And I licked the blood off my hands and enjoyed the taste. What is wrong with me? I wanted to yell, yell for help, maybe I have a brain disorder, I mouthed the words "Help! Someone!" No sounds came out. I began to cry. Without warning my mom came in my room, "Jess, have you seen Phil's glove, I took him to practice but he doesn't hav-" she stopped noticing the blood on my hands and then Dylan. "Oh God.."
I stared at her. My brain said tell her what's happening, ask for help dammit. But instead I just stood there looking her only thought I had: eat.
I lunged for her clawing for her skin. Hungry. For some reason all I could think about was tearing her flesh off and eating it. Relishing it.
I was crying now but that didn't stop me from grabbing her arm and tearing a chunk out of it. Chewing on her flesh, I knocked the flowers off my dresser. I took a bite out of her neck, the blood sprayed on the roses. All I could think while I feasted on my mother's skin was "I can't stop, I'm sorry. I need to EAT."