Hungerstone

by Kat Dunn

Carmilla holds an allure, like ghosting a finger around the edge of a flame: the temptation, the beauty, and the anticipation of pain.

I learned quickly that my wants and needs were unwelcome, too great for any reasonable person to fulfill, and in time I came to agree with her. I was too much, too loud, too emotional, too clumsy, too self-involved. My existence was a burden to all involved with it, and I resolved to never make any demand if I could help it. Then, perhaps, I could be tolerated. Then, perhaps, I could be loved.

Perhaps my capacity for shock is diminished, having lived through the brutal death of my parents. There is only the problem and how to solve it. Aunt Daphne suffered no fools, and if I had taken to bed with my grief, I would have starved there. Weakness is for girls like Cora, who know they will be met with care.

Her need is not a weakness or a threat to her own survival. It gives her power.

Sometimes, I still catch Henry looking at me in disgust and desire, as though I am rotten meat in the butcher’s window dressed in fresh fat.

She nestles between my thighs like a cat curling in a patch of sun, the red line of her tongue flicking over her lips.