An Education in Malice

by S.T. Gibson

Why wouldn’t she be pleased that we were finally warming to each other? Unless keeping us starved for her approval, fighting over scraps of her love like neglected puppies, had always been her aim.

“It should always be like this,” Carmilla said, her voice a little hoarse from cigarettes and sleeplessness. “Like what?” I asked. Our shoulders and knees were touching as we sat cross-legged side by side. “It should always be senior year,” she said with a conviction that surprised me. “I should always be twenty-one, with nothing but life ahead of me. It should always be sunrise, at the start of a new day.”