Page 115 of So Thirsty

I understand in this moment that there is no right thing to do, no good way to exist as what we are, or even as what we were—mortal women. My worldview, my rules, my morality, were all constructed as a cage for my shame—shame forged by forces outside myself. I’ve related restriction to virtue, nourishment to gluttony; associated satisfaction with guilt ever since I learned about the Atkins diet, ever since I heard the word “slut,” ever since I was young. But I’m not young anymore. I’ll never be young again.

“Ah well. Can’t really tell jokes like that anymore ’cause everyone gets all sensitive. You two are good sports, so I’ll help you out,” he says. “I work over at the AutoZone. There’s nothing we can do with this thing here, but a buddy of mine owns a shop that’s not too far. I’ll get you a tow. No charge.”

“Really?” Naomi says, petting his arm. “You’re a lifesaver.”

He looks us up and down again, takes a set of keys out of his pocket. “Might be a while, though. Got some issues with power. Weather ain’t gonna let up. I could, uh, give you a ride somewhere. If you need it.”

“That your car?” Naomi asks, pointing to the beat-up convertible.

“Yup,” he says. “Only a two-seater, though. One of you might have to ride on my lap.”

Naomi laughs again. “Oh, you’re bad! What’s your name?”

“Dave,” he says, smiling, revealing brown teeth. “What do you say? You want the ride?”

Naomi and I lock eyes, and she answers for us. “We’d love it.”

“Yes. Thank you. We do need a ride,” I say, still looking at Naomi.

“You know,” Naomi says as we follow him to his car, “it’s so lucky that out of everyone we could have come across, we found you. We so appreciate you coming to our rescue, Dave.”

“Do you, now? I could think of a few ways you could, uh, show your appreciation,” he says, laughing as he unlocks his car. “This ain’t my usual ride, by the way. Just a loaner.”

“Is it?” Naomi says, whipping a pistol out of her jacket and pressing it to the back of his head. So much for following my lead. “Actually, don’t answer that. Don’t make a fucking sound.”

“Naomi! Where did you get that?” She doesn’t answer my question, but I answer it for myself. I recognize the gun. It’s from the gas station. It’s the little one that woman pulled on us after Naomi bit her face. Naomi must have taken it. I don’t know if there are any bullets left.

“Give me the keys,” Naomi says to him.

“What the fuck is this?” he asks. I can sense his heart beating faster, blood pumping faster. “What the fuck is this?”

“This is us stealing your car. Figure you won’t mind, since it’s just a loaner. Now, give me the keys or I’ll shoot your fucking brains out.”

The man reels back, knocking the gun from Naomi’s hand. It falls somewhere on the ground, somewhere in the snow.

He’s still got the keys, and Naomi fights for them, digging her nails into his arm.

He cries out. “You bitches! You bitches from hell!”

He’s being too loud. Someone will hear.

“A little help,” Naomi says, trying her best to wrestle the keys away. He isn’t making it easy.

We could find a way out of this without bloodshed. We could. But then this motherfucker spits in Naomi’s face. And I make a conscious choice, make it without guilt or shame, without second-guessing.

I move closer.

Closer.

Close enough.

I grab his arm, and I bite down hard. My mouth floods with blood. So delicious. I wish I could savor it more, but I’m thirsty. I swallow. And swallow.

Naomi, too. She’s got his other arm. Drinking. For a moment, I dip into my imagination, where we’re sharing a milkshake, each with our own straw. Something innocent. Something sweet.

The man’s knees give; his head slumps over. He slips from my grasp and hits the ground. Alive. Still alive. A glass half-full.

Naomi and I stand still for a minute, staring at him, licking our lips. My mind goes quiet. I drift into that state of bliss, but the screaming drags me right out.