by Stuart Keane
"Hey yourself." Sarah didn’t move.
"You came?"
"What made you think I wouldn’t?"
"Oh, I don’t know …" Abbi waved her hand around her face, indicating her facial wounds. She said nothing further.
"It'll take a lot more than that to get rid of me."
Abbi nodded, tears welling in her eyes. She backed away and approached the bed behind her. Sarah moved sideways, keeping her distance. As her partner sat down, she noticed a new plush, white Queen sized bed. When Abbi sat on it, she nearly disappeared in the soft mattress, its size dwarfing her fragile, nimble body.
Sarah craned her neck and looked around the room. She noticed the misted glass, its colour keeping their actions private. She couldn’t see any cameras or hidden nooks anywhere. She expected none, since this was a containment room. Such nooks could be the difference between total containment and an outbreak.
"You didn’t have to come," Abbi said. Her words echoed across the room. Sarah noticed no other furniture in the space. Just the bed, her and Abbi. Slick, marble tiles lay beneath her feet. She took a step forward, testing the tile's strength. It was solid. Her eyes fell on her dying partner. "I didn’t have to … I wanted to."
Abbi smiled, turning her head away.
"What's the plan here, Abbi? What did the doctors tell you?"
Abbi sniffed, wiping her eyes. "I'm not sure. They said you might not catch the disease. They've never seen this before and don’t know what to expect. You'd think they were experts …"
"Oh, I don’t know. There's a first time for everything. Cut them some slack." Sarah swallowed a lump of dryness as she uttered the words, not believing even one of them. Abbi was priority, why make her dying moments any harder. "You realise I haven’t seen you since that day?"
"The day it happened? Sure. You realise I've missed you? My body won't allow me to think it, my brain is shutting down and my body is dying, but I missed you."
"Sure." Sarah wiped a tear from her face. She gazed at the misted glass, knowing Dr. Stevens was probably there somewhere. Her hatred for him burned a fire inside her. Clenching her jaw, she turned back to her partner.
Abbi turned and stood up. "You don’t have to do this. Just say you don’t want to and you can leave, I'd understand."
Sarah took a step forward and hesitated. "I do want to. I'm here aren’t I?"
"Emotional blackmail isn't high on my agenda," Abbi chuckled in fear.
"You didn’t blackmail me. This is something I want to do."
"You sure?"
Sarah swallowed and nodded. "Yes."
"Then promise me one thing."
"Anything."
"If you see me bleed, or break, or open up … because it will happen … you can't stop or worry. I can't feel a thing. It doesn’t hurt me. I understand if you back out, I'll bleed on you and probably ooze too … it won't be pretty. You'll find it disgusting. Not remotely attractive or enticing … but remember it's the disease doing it. I'm dying and I won't be around much longer. These are the consequences to spend one last hour with my loved one. I'm all in; I have nothing else to do and no time to do it. Okay?"
Sarah stepped forward and kissed Abbi on the lips. The lips were dry, cracked. Sarah rolled her tongue along them, lubricating them. Abbi closed her eyes and groaned. Her tongue slowly emerged, caressing Sarah's. Sarah broke the kiss, leaving her face inches from her partner. She licked her own lips and breathed out. "Okay."
"You don’t have to …" Abbi closed her hand around Sarah's trembling hand.
"You wanted this. You got it. In case you forgot or the disease ruined the memory for you, I love you. You're my world. Without you, I'm nothing. If I get the disease, so what, we can be together again forever."
"You read that shit in the bible?" Abbi laughed.
Sarah smiled, happy to see her partner enjoy a brief moment of joy once more. Sarah shook her head. "And I thought that was romantic as hell."
"It was … kind of."
The two women kissed again, their lips mashing in an eruption of passion. Abbi clasped her hands around Sarah's belt buckle and spun her onto the bed. Sarah fell with grace, landing on her back. Abbi grabbed at the jumpsuit and unzipped it, lowering the material to her waist, exposing her bare chest. She started running a hand over her breasts, caressing her nipples with the dry palms of her hands. She ignored the red splotches that peppered her flesh. Sarah licked her lips, rubbing herself through her jeans. She could feel the wetness already.
"You want me?"
Sarah nodded, not saying anything. Abbi moved forward and straddled her partner, legs spread across hers, pinning her to the bed. She lowered and kissed Sarah on the lips again. The kiss became more frenzied, passionate. Both women groaned loudly as they were lost to their inhibitions. Sarah's hand stroked Abbi's left breast and the sick woman gasped, pulling away from the kiss, saliva on her lips.
Saliva and blood.
Sarah noticed and her eyes widened. "Abbi … you've got blood …"
"Shhhh," Abbi replied. She lowered a hand into her jumpsuit and slid two fingers inside her. Abbi rode them for a few seconds, moaning, removed her fingers, and held them in the air. They glistened pink. Sarah looked at them and gulped.
"Want to taste me? There's a little blood but bet it adds a little flavor."
"I bet you taste amazing," Sarah lied.
Abbi slid her fingers into Sarah's mouth slowly. Sarah closed her eyes and sucked, moaning, resisting the urge to gag on the coppery taste of bloody ejaculate.
Just pretend it's that time of the month. Sarah smiled, fond memories returning. Bloodsports they called it. She shifted beneath Abbi, opening her legs slightly, feeling her own wetness.
A warm squirt hit the inside of her cheek. Sarah slid Abbi's digits from her mouth, sucking them as per the erotic routine, and groaned silently, not wanting to offend her partner.
The fingers emerged skinless, just the bones and sinew remaining, pink and torn with blood. A lumpy sensation tickled the back of her lips, like curdled milk. Sarah, caught in two minds, turned away. Abbi grabbed her partner by the neck and started kissing her neck, relaxing her somewhat, and the shreds of skin began to slide down her throat. Abbi pushed Sarah back, who had the urge to vomit, but couldn’t because she was now laying down, beneath her sick partner, who was unbuckling her belt. Sarah felt the slivers of flesh disappear down her throat and into her stomach.
Seconds later, her jeans were sliding off her smooth, tanned legs and Abbi was caressing her clitoris with her tongue. Sarah bucked in instant pleasure, the touch long overdue, the casual cannibalism instantly forgotten. Her hands grabbed the mattress and pulled, breaking a nail, as Abbi urged her partner to orgasm. Sarah groaned, closing her toned thighs around Abbi's head, aware of the outcome should she squeeze too hard. She closed her eyes and allowed the pleasure to control her, bring her to a shuddering climax. She groaned loudly, aware of Abbi's giggling between her legs, which only enhanced the climax, doubling it, tripling it. Spent, Sarah lay back, her entire body shaking. Abbi sat up and crawled above her partner. Sarah opened her eyes and screamed.
Abbi backed off. "Whap …?" Abbi noticed her words were slurred and reached up to her chin. The skin around her mouth was gone, torn off, revealing nothing but slick muscle and sinew coated jawbone. From her nostrils downwards was glistening red. Abbi looked down and her flapping chin, cheeks and lips protruding from her lover's dripping vagina. She reached for the skin and noticed her fingers were skinless too. She held them in the air, moving them around, taking in the scene, oblivious to the trauma that was occurring in Sarah's mind.
Sarah realised delay could ruin the bizarre moment – she was doing this for Abbi, after all – so she leaned forward and licked Abbi's neck. She slid her tongue along the sweaty flesh, moved upwards, paused and braced herself, before sliding her tongue onto the exposed muscle of her jaw. A strong coppery taste made her wince, but she continued. The taut, slippery muscle felt strange beneath he
r tongue, it tingled, making her groan slightly. The tongue moved up Abbi's cheek and to her mouth. The women kissed passionately, the warm, oozing sensation of blood sending shivers up Sarah's spine.
This is for Abbi. Ignore it.
Sarah lowered the remaining jumpsuit and slid two fingers deep into Abbi, trying to distract her. Abbi clenched on the digits, groaning, already feeling her climax burning deep inside. Abbi lowered the jumpsuit and kicked it off. Sarah masterfully probed within her partner, fingering her to a steady orgasm. "You like that," Sarah said, hiding her disgust at the scene.
"Fuck yes. Finger fuck me."
Sarah slid in and out, noticing droplets of blood spattering the bed sheets beneath them. A steady sluice of blood trickled down Sarah's wrist, turning her skin a dark bronze. She sped up, making her partner groan. Abbi grabbed Sarah's shoulders in pleasure, digging her nails in. One pinged off, clattering against the tiles on the other side of the room. "Fuck me, I'm gonna cum," Abbi screamed, shuddering as her orgasm took her. Sarah closed her eyes and realised she was actually getting off on this. She feel the familiar claws of arousal tickling her body. Abbi screamed, leaning back hard. After a moment, she sighed, smiling, the grotesque red smile hardly noticed amongst the arousal.
Sarah spread her legs wide. "Here, Abbi. Fuck me."
Abbi moved her weakened hand, fingers bloody and skinless, and stroked Sarah's clitoris. Sarah gasped and thrust against the digits, both repulsed and aroused by the touch of exposed bone. She lifted herself up and slid down on them, the exposed digits sliding in gently, probing her. Sarah moaned. "God, that's the spot."
"You like that … hmmmm … don't stop." Abbi groaned, her skin cracking as she closed her eyes. Sarah lowered herself and took a nipple in her mouth, sucking it, squeezing it gently between her teeth. She felt Abbi shudder and flinch. Sarah pulled away, the nipple still between her teeth. She glanced at Abbi's left breast, a small, dark red circle where her nipple once sat. Blood squirted her in the eye and she turned away. Sarah spat the nipple out, turned back and lowered herself, focusing on her wrist action.
"I'm going to cum … again … damn you."
"You complaining?" Sarah teased.
"Fuck no … fuccccckkkkkk."Abbi thrust hard.
A huge crack filled the room. Seconds later, blood gushed from within Abbi, splattering the bed and tiles loudly, coating Sarah in blood. Sarah quickly withdrew her hand and moaned, not believing the gory sight before her. Abbi fell back on the bed, still alive, shuddering in the throes of ecstasy. Blood pumped from within, like a demented childbirth scene minus a newborn.
Abbi didn’t even realise.
"Abbi?"
"Ahhh, fuck me. I haven’t had an orgasm like that since Paris. Remember?"
"Yeah … sure."
"I'm so wet …"
"Abbi … you might want to see this."
Abbi sat up and looked at her partner. She glanced down and saw the swamp of lumpy blood on the bed. No longer white, a mass of red and blacks greeted her, clumps of unknown mass swimming around on the destroyed sheets. The odd geyser was still squirting from within, adding to the abattoir.
"What the …"
Abbi's eyes rolled into the back of her head and a low, guttural moan reverberated from her. Sarah stood up, covered in blood. She stepped back, leaving a perfect red footprint on the tiles. "Abbi … what's … what's going on?"
Abbi bucked and thrashed on the bed, spraying blood and bodily fluids everywhere. Red droplets splashed the ceiling light, instantly turning the room pink. The walls and floor slowly became red, blending in, matching the bed, which was the centre of chaos. Whenever Abbi smacked the sodden mattress, a squelch would spray everything around it.
"Abbi?"
"Sarah." An electronic voice filled the room, shattering her from her dilemma. Sarah looked towards the glass, which was still misted. A pit of despair and anger opened up inside of her and she knew, within a moment, what had happened.
"Sarah," the voice came again.
"What?" Her eyes roamed the room.
There were no cameras, no nooks.
Her eyes slowly moved to the glass and suddenly, it hit her.
You gotta be fucking kidding me.
"Abbi is dying," came the voice.
"What … we know this." Sarah's voice was on breaking point.
Her eyes moved back to her dying lover, who was slathered in blood. Her body was hardly moving now. "We know she's dying …"
"She can feel pain."
Sarah's eyes widened. "Bullshit. You said she can't feel pain …"
"We lied."
"You mean you were wrong?"
Silence for a moment. "No, we're never wrong. We simply hid the truth."
Sarah thought about it, ran the events of the last three months through her brain. So much confusion and fuzzy, blurred lines of reality and fiction. Various and extensive medical jargon ran through her head like a computer processing a formula.
They lied.
They weren't wrong; it wasn’t a misdiagnosis or an error. They knew the truth and covered it up. Manipulation.
Tears welled in Sarah's eyes and finally, her voice broke. She panicked. "Please help her!"
"No."
"Help her … please."
"There's no point. A useless endeavor to even try."
"Why …?"
Silence.
"You fuckers … why did you do this?"
Silence again.
"Why?"
"Why? Because we have the perfect biological weapon. Abbi and you are the only ones who know about this. We've never met a lesbian couple with no family ties before. Fortunate really. We couldn’t have you spreading the word. And we know you didn’t."
Sarah stood up, the blood on her legs turning black and flaking. Her skin felt constricted. Her eyes were hot with angry tears. She stepped forward, covering her dignity. Abbi was now inert on the bed, dead. She'd bled out. Sarah reached out a trembling, blood-soaked hand and stroked her cheek. She kissed the torn skin on the forehead. "I love you."
She palmed her eyes shut and stood up, shaking. She turned to the misted glass. "What makes you think I didn’t tell anyone? I could have told someone or blogged about it. I have plenty of friends."
"You didn’t. If you did, we would have killed them by now."
Sarah felt her legs tremble. Refusing to buckle, she reached for her jeans, realising they were now blood-soaked. She tossed them to the ground. "What do you want from me?"
"You."
"What do you mean?"
"For weeks, we've tried to figure out what is going on with this disease. This is unheard of, a medical marvel if you can pardon the inappropriate wording. Abbi was too far gone by the time we'd tested, poked, and probed her. You, well, you start from the beginning. A fit, healthy, attractive woman with a strong immune system, great genes, an adventurous spirit and … well, we saw that ass in action. I saw the whole thing. I'm storing that in the wank bank for some time. I jest of course. Should this go global though, from a sales perspective, we have the perfect face for the branding. Governments will lap it up … pardon the pun. A perfect Patient 0."
Sarah said nothing and her legs finally gave way. She fell to her knees and gazed at her partner, the bloody corpse that was once the love of her life. Tears ran down her face and Sarah vomited. The splashing was cacophonous in the small room. Sarah lowered her head to the ground, into the vomit, not caring. "Fuck you," she whispered, defeated.
"Get comfortable, Sarah. You have a long road ahead."
The lights went out.
Casualty of War
Oh God … what have I done?
Ask any man who his idol is, the one person they look up to the most, and many will respond in the same way. It's almost predictable.
My dad.
My father.
The old man.
A boy's first inspiration is usually his dad. You see it all the time on the playground or on the football field. A grown
man, pride in his eyes and seeping from his pores, as he laughs and hollers with a small version of himself while throwing a ball with him, or pushing him on a swing. Those moments between a father and son are cherished, sacred.
That first moment of bonding is key; it sets up the relationship going forward. Whether it's a football or playground equipment or even an ice cream cone or hot dog at a baseball game … that moment will always live in your memory.
For me, it was a punch in the face.
That's right, my father showed his love for me with his hands, his alcohol-soaked, wife-beating, adulterous fists. Hands so large that, between gulps of bourbon, they split my lip and my cheek in one swing, spraying blood and enamel across our old refrigerator. Occasionally, they would go lower and knock the wind out of me. I didn’t fight back; my physical appearance back then was pathetic, I was weak, I would have been useless in a fight, no match for the behemoth that was my father. I took my beating like a man, always. I never objected or screamed. After all, that’s what he wanted, wasn’t it?
Tough love, I think they call it.
It wasn’t just me though.
Sometimes my mother would “fall down the stairs” and interrupt Ed McMahon’s nightly diatribe. My father called it falling, but I know he pushed her. It happened about twice a week. Once he broke her arm, and she refused to go to the hospital, not daring to incur more of his wrath. She just huddled on the sofa, blood pissing down her pretty dress, protruding bone glinting in the shine of the low-wattage bulb that passed as lighting in our household—heaven forbid my father should spend money on anything but liquor and smokes.
Later, I found out it was her pride that kept her from going to the hospital. She was a proud woman; she didn’t care about strangers thinking ill of her, knowing she was a beaten wife. No, she didn’t give a shit about that. She did it to spite him, to show she wasn’t weak. It was her way of standing her ground.
I was proud of my mother for that.
It went on for seven years, until my father assaulted a police officer. Prison followed. He hung himself in his cell with a blanket. Must have been the loss of his beloved bourbon. We never heard from him, not once. Fucking coward.