by Wiebo Grobler

I couldn’t get enough of her. Her smell, her taste, her touch. When I wasn’t with her I ached. Physically ached, like a junkie coming down from his best high, to horrible painful withdrawals.
I needed more. The sex wasn’t enough. I wanted; more.
Even now, handcuffed to this hospital bed, surrounded by armed police and having my stomach pumped, I feel her move inside of me. Her blood, courses through my veins like the purest heroin. Her flesh, bonding with mine. Pure bliss.
She didn’t even struggle, she willingly gave herself to me. Bit by bit I ate every sweet, exquisite piece of her. I was insatiable. I couldn’t stop myself.
They came when I tried to dry her bones. I was going to grind them up and snort them, like cocaine. Carrying small hits of her around with me for a top up during the day.
A nurse threw up and had to be led from the room.