Grave Matter

by Karina Halle

“If you wake up to screaming, it’s probably the goats,”

See, boys are allowed to be mad scientists. But when women do it? We’re simply labeled crazy. And even at eight years old, I knew there was a difference.

Don’t trust any of them. They’re all lying to you.

“Disobedient,” he growls, yanking my hair in a deliciously painful way. “You know that sweet cunt belongs to me, pet. You know you don’t have permission to touch what’s mine.”

“They think you’re special,” he says. “That’s not a good thing, Sydney.”

“Don’t you see, Sydney?” he says, his eyes wild, his voice raw. “They’re lying to you. They’re lying to all of us. And we all go along with it because we want to be someone so badly. That’s how they get us. Our need. Our want. To be seen and heard. But they don’t care. They don’t see us like that. They see us as something to be used and disregarded until there’s nothing left of us.”

Someone has been watching me. Listening to me. Spying on me. Stalking me. And in the depths of my heart, I know who it is. Kincaid.

“Oh fuck,” he gasps against me, and his breath hitches, his body stiffening. Then a long moan that vibrates against my clit. Did he just come? In his pants?

“I’m staying for you, sweetheart,” he says, grabbing my hand and holding it up to his mouth, pressing his lips against my skin. “I’m burning up for you. You’re my fever, Syd. No cure.”