Wicked Hunger

by DelSheree Gladden

Chapter Twenty-Four: Understanding

  (Zander)

  Despite the fact that I am completely unable to resist Ivy in any way, I am still not convinced this is a good idea. I buy our tickets to a movie that would normally be enough to put me to sleep, purchase popcorn and sodas at the concession stand, and balk at the door to the theater. Ivy doesn’t stop to argue or convince. She steps around me with a calm expression and enters the darkened theater. Once again, I swallow the feeling that I should run, and enter the theater as well.

  It isn’t as dark as I anticipated. There are lights along the floor, as well as sconces every few feet on the wall. They aren’t bright, but they are enough to show me that the theater is about half full. Surprising, given the topic of the movie, but I am thankful for it. Ivy is a good ten feet in front of me and I lengthen my stride to catch up with her. She’s heading up the stairs, but I know better.

  “Let’s take the seats in the front, on the side closest to the exit,” I insist.

  A small frown flashes on her lips, but she nods and takes one of the seats I was pointing to. If I have to bail, I want it to be as easy as possible, with the smallest amount of people between me and the door. Not attacking Ivy is my first priority. Not causing any collateral damage is a close second.

  My meltdown in the restaurant parking lot forced us to rush through our dinner. Even still, we barely made it in time for the movie. The lights dim only a few minutes after we’re seated. When they do, my heart rate skyrockets. I can’t see any of the other patrons. I can hear a few of them still whispering, but it isn’t enough to distract me.

  My foot starts tapping nervously on the floor. Ivy stays perfectly quiet and still. With less than a foot between us, it doesn’t help very much. Her body heat pulses against my skin. I can hear her breathing. Her scent fills my lungs. I can feel her energy with very little effort in this dark, silent room. My hunger begins to roil and beg for nourishment.

  The sudden blaring of previews startles me enough to get a firm handle on my hunger. I lend every ounce of my focus to the images dancing across the screen. I memorize the characters, the release dates, the directors, anything that will occupy my brain. Two full previews play before I feel my body begin to relax. Relief pools in my numb extremities. I remain focused on the show, but my hunger stays manageable.

  At least until Ivy whispers, “I’m going to lean my head on your shoulder. Tell me if it’s too much.”

  I nod, even though I’m not sure she can see me. I don’t trust myself enough to talk at the moment. She doesn’t move right away. She gives me time to prepare myself. I breathe, tense up my muscles, do everything I can think of to steady myself against her, but I still flinch when her slight weight rests on my shoulder. My hunger races toward the point of contact. It gnaws at her, fights to be released, but I manage to keep it in check.

  For a long time, we stay in that position. My hunger never gives up, but I strain to keep it contained. Ivy asks again before taking it any further. “Can I hold your hand?”

  My eyes widen. I honestly don’t know if I can handle that. I want to feel her fingers curl around mine. “I… I don’t know,” I whisper back.

  The narrator drones on about plankton or some other inconsequential facet of the underwater cave. The theater is quiet, but feels saturated. I feel movement to the side of me, but before I can pull away, a tiny amount of pressure from Ivy’s fingers on my hand lashes me into immobility. My hunger was grumbling before. Now it is howling.

  Her voice is soft and tentative as she says, “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

  I groan in agony. I’ll never want her to stop, even if I should. That’s the problem. My entire body is rigid as her fingers glide slowly across my skin. They curve around the side and gently turn my palm up. My fingers start twitching at that point. Every small spasm is a battle between my hunger and my will to keep me from crushing her hand. She doesn’t move as I struggle.

  My other hand grips the arm rest. I can hear the plastic cracking, but I don’t let up. Slowly, my hand stops shaking. The tremors disappearing in no ways means I have won anything. Ivy must assume it does, though, because she slides her hand the rest of the way into mine.

  I lose it.

  My fingers snap down over hers. She makes not a single sound, but I know my grip is way too tight. I try. I try so hard to relax my fingers. Control has abandoned me. Feeling her pulse bound against my skin is like a countdown to the real pain beginning. I can’t… don’t want to stop it. My brain scrambles to find something that will allow me to regain the advantage in this battle. All it can dredge up is the memory of my last moments with Lisa. My grip tightens, Ivy’s knuckles grinding together under the pressure. Still no complaint from her. Just like Lisa.

  Suddenly my fingers relax their stranglehold. Lisa trusted me to protect her, right up to the moment I stole her life. Ivy’s faith in me is misplaced. I won’t let her hope lure me into a false belief that I can control myself. I hear Ivy sigh beside me, no doubt relieved that I didn’t do any serious damage to her hand.

  The excess energy I’m holding onto makes its way to my leg, which starts bouncing up and down like mad. I want to get up and leave, but how many times can I run away from Ivy and expect her to follow? I am determined to make it through this movie with Ivy and everyone else in the theater, remaining alive and unhurt. If I can’t do this, I know I have no chance of pulling off a real relationship with her. I will have to walk away. Fear of losing her barely, barely keeps me in check.

  What seems like an eternity later, Ivy attempts to rest her other hand on my arm and snuggle against me. I shake her off immediately with a hiss of agony. “No. Don’t, please,” I beg.

  “But…” Ivy tries to argue.

  “No. I can’t take anymore,” I say. “I’m about to lose control as it is. Just don’t.”

  Ivy leans away from me, but she doesn’t go too far. “Breathe,” she whispers. “Count to five as you inhale, and down from five as you exhale. Focus on the way your chest expands and contracts.”

  I try. The best I can manage is counting to a fast three at first. My body is trying too hard to maintain control over my hunger right now to do any better. But I keep at it. After fifteen minutes, I get up to a slow count of four. That seems to be my limit, and my thoughts are still focused on the way my hunger is trying to burst out of my skin and envelop Ivy rather than what my chest is doing, but I’m back to a very precarious control. I stay in this exact state for the rest of the movie.

  As soon as the theater lights blink back on, I spring up from my chair and start running out of the theater. Ivy makes a few objections to my speed as I rush out, but I have to get out of this building right now, so her complaints get ignored. When we burst into the night air, I take a deep breath, hoping it will have some kind of cleansing effect. It doesn’t.

  The emptiness of the parking lot has an even worse influence on me. Empty, silent, and still. There is nothing here to distract me. Ivy becomes my focus even more intently than in the theater. Desperate, I start marching away from her. I have no plan. I stop a dozen times, fully intent on grabbing her again before I can make it to the truck. I get in, having no idea where Ivy is, but hopeful that she is headed as far away from me as possible. When I hear the seal of the passenger’s door break, I panic.

  “Get out!” I shout at her. She looks surprised, but sits down next to me. “Ivy, please, get out of the truck. I can’t handle this! I have to get away from you before I hurt you. Please!”

  “Zander,” she says softly, “calm down. We’ll get through this.”

  “No, we won’t. I am half a second away from killing you! Get out!” My body convulses as my hunger tries to take control. “Please, Ivy, please. Get away from me.”

  The slow shake of her head terrifies me. “I can’t, Zander. I love you. I’m not giving up.”

  “I’m giving up!” I blurt out. I won’t let myself hurt her. I’ll live without her, cursing my weak
ness for the rest of my life, but I can’t do this!

  “Zander, it’s okay.”

  She starts sliding toward me. My hand darts to the door handle. I’ll run. I’ll leave her and run. The palm of her hand presses flat against my chest. The hunger that flashes through me in that moment is indescribable. Before I can think, my hands have abandoned the door handle and are clutching Ivy’s shoulders. I am trying to push her away and pull her to her death at the same time. My heart is screaming at me to run, my hunger howling in victory, my body responding to her slow, unstoppable approach as her lips draw closer to mine.

  “Ivy, don’t,” I beg with every last ounce of self-control I have left.

  She moves toward me, or maybe I pull her closer. She touches me softly, one hand caressing my cheek. Her touch elicits a new rush of hunger. My mind is consumed almost immediately.

  I can barely force myself to utter, “Please, Ivy. I’ll kill you if you don’t stop.”

  Ivy smiles and says, “I know.”

  Understanding scours me inside and out in a fraction of a second, but it isn’t fast enough. The last thought I have before Ivy’s lips press against mine and my hunger gains complete control is that Van was right.