postcard amelie 18
Carnality carries you through the night and into the morning. By the time Erika has stopped struggling in her filthy prison you are exhausted. You slip into a deep sleep filled with vivid dreams.
At one point you awaken covered in sweat from a dream of Amelie. Your soul engulfed hers and she burned bright as you saturated all the pathways of her mind and heart. You tasted her childhood, her joys, her explorations, and you swallowed her terror whole. In the end she was freed.
For a moment she lay mute and peaceful inside you, stripped of everything that tied her to the world. Only her name and her love for you remained, like a little fire felt just below your chest.
Your spirit crushed her gently into itself. The warmth remained as you drifted back into sleep.
The next day is a blur. You clean and dress yourself mechanically and retire to the hotel bar to give the cleaners time to figure out how the hell they’re going to deal with the aftermath. Back in the room you try to read your book. You sleep, curled up around your massive stomach. At one point you release the two women from your gut. Olivia is already ejaculated and absorbed into nothingness.
An early-morning transfer next day carries you to the airport. Your friends are likewise subdued, worried about you, wondering among themselves where most of Amelie’s crew disappeared on the last day. On the plane you squeeze yourself across 24D and 24E, a Passenger of Size pressed between the seats in front and behind.
Hand-written and printed signs ring the arrivals lobby. Henderson, Kovalkovski, Dennis Rutherford.
Ah, there we go. Painstakingly painted in fresh black ink, your sigil burns between my hands.
My face has already gone through several expressions. You didn’t see excitement, and joy upon seeing you. You’d spotted me as my idiot grin, proud at the idea of the sigil, was transitioning into astonishment at your new shape. And then comes concern. I push through the crowd to meet you, take your hand, guide you out of the terminal. All the while I chatter, telling you about things that have happened while you’ve been gone. I camped in the Lakes; there’s a vote of no confidence in Boris; Love Island is back, but who watches it anyway? Just a stream of normalcy to give you space as you hold it together just a little while longer.
I roll back the car seat and help you in. Thump, thump, the passenger door, car boot and my door slam shut as I climb in the driver’s seat next to you.
“Raven. What happened?”
“I’m a monster.”
You told me the story as we drove. Gemma. “Clarice”. The market, the club. Realising Amelie was telling Erika too much by the poolside. Amelie’s first meal (just a snack to you).
Olivia. Erika. Amelie.
Your voice cracks when you say her name out loud. When I cast a glance at you your face is set. I can see Raven-hardass-mode fully in place, but I know you need a break sometime.
We’re home anyway. I pull up, squeeze your hand, and you’re already at the front door by the time I’ve got the rolly luggage out of the boot. Your hands shake a little as you slot the key in the lock. You hesitate.
With my hand at the small of your back, I guide you inside. There in the hallway I fold you up in the best approximation of the tightest hug I can give you. My arms barely touch behind your back and I’m leant slightly forward as your belly pushes me away, but all my strength is bent on squeezing you close. My hand strokes the back of your head and you rest your face against my shoulder.
“I’m a monster.”
“No,” I say, with feeling. Your shoulders shake silently as in your sanctum you let the tears come, just this once. “Raven, you’re no monster.”
“I killed her.”
“A trick; not your fault.”
Flash-furious, you push me away. The suddenness of the outburst throws me to the ground; I bounce off the bannister of the stairs and land awkwardly but sit up quick and look up at you. The warmth in my face makes you sick.
“I’ll eat you too someday!” you shout.
My voice is raised but still gentle, no rancour. “I know! Still no monster!”
“You’d see it, if you weren’t such a pervert!”
You stand there, hugging yourself and shaking with disgust and rage and bitter sadness.
A beat passes. I climb to my feet, wincing from where my back struck the bannister.
“Raven, what happened to Amelie was brutally sad. Wrong. But it’s not your fault.”
“Fuck you. And the others?”
“Fuck the others. Fuck everyone else. You’re above us. Can’t be a fucking monster. You’re something higher.” I approach you like someone approaching a wounded lion, hands up, cautious but determined. “You deserve every life you take. What you do is right. But Amelie: You loved her and it’s so fucking sad what happened. But it’s not your fault.”
“Didn’t love her,” you say in a small voice, but the anger has passed, leaving behind bones of aching sadness. I don’t know if you’re telling the truth or not, but it doesn’t matter.
I’m in front of you. You can smell my scent, clean skin scrupulously unperfumed with aftershave. You can see wetness in my eyes too. You can feel the warmth of my skin as I pull you into another hug. This time you don’t push me away.
“It’s not fair,” you sob. I rock you side to side, saying I know, saying shh, saying it’s not your fault, telling you it’ll be okay.
“It’s not fair.”
We spend the rest of the afternoon never far from one another. I make you tea and we hug on the couch. You’re lying between my legs, barely fitting, but we both crave the contact. I squeeze you and stroke your hair and kiss the back of your head as we watch something easy. I even put on Love Island just to get a reaction out of you, and you punch me in the thigh, which mades me laugh. Then you snuggle back down into me and received another torrent of kisses, another long stroke down your flanks.
“I can’t believe how big you got,” I say after hours of this rest.
You look up and wiggle your butt a little, causing slow waves across your belly and breasts as they move in sympathy. “You like?”
“You’re stunning. You’re so beautiful. You’re… how big can you get?”
You look down over yourself and poke your fat just below where the ribcage ends, as if you’d just noticed it for the first time. “I don’t know. Bigger. Why?”
I go quiet a moment. It brings a crack of a smile to your face to see me blush. “Why?”
“Want to find out?”
You cuff my chest affectionately, and then pause. A long sigh leaves you and I can see you thinking about Amelie again. When you lie your head back on my chest I stroke your hair.
“Maybe. But I think maybe from scratch.” Your hand plays with the fabric of my jeans, chubby fingers still dextrous and sensitive. “I need to let her go.”
You feel rather than see my nod.
The TV crackles its way through some dramatic battle. Legolas has just done something cool. You didn’t want to watch anything in particular so I chose the film.
“Raven? I really am sorry. You can talk about her, or not. Whatever you need. Whenever. Just let me know.”
You nod. Sleep is beginning to come for you again. Idly, you ask, “Are you not jealous?”
I’m tracing the curve of your jaw with my fingertips, seeming utterly absorbed in the gesture. “That you ate her and not me?”
“That I… that we had that connection.”
My finger continues its path down the side of your neck, making you shiver. A sleepy moan bubbles out from you, complementing a rumbling internal eructation within your inquisitive gut. Perhaps soon you’ll be hungry.
“Not like that. She was special, too. You made her special. And you—” I lean down to place another kiss behind your ear. Your eyes flicker closed. “—deserve everything you want.”
“Weirdo.”
“Goddess.”
You snort a little laugh. Hunger fights sleep and loses, at least for now. You hold the image of Amelie steady in your mind and picture the weight melting off. A new you, to soak up the flesh, the blood, the souls of dozens or hundreds or thousands.
If you graze long enough, perhaps you’ll find another Amelie. Perhaps you’ll get to keep her.