fern and waffle bra

On a bright day it’s finally warm enough to sit outside a cafe. This one has little timers that come with the single-serve teapots. When they go off, you have to pour. The manager explained this to us, during which I was curiously quiet.

Allison is with us. Her cheeks are ruddy in the cold, which is a good sign of recovery after two bleedings not too long after one another. With me she’s like a sibling: we poke fun and sometimes act naughty, enjoying a bond formed in the most rarefied of circumstances. With you she’s a blushing, virginal new lover.

“I was surprised you went with something so small,” she murmurs, watching your teeth close around the last bite of a very decent banana waffle. Her own double full English, bought as my treat in the campaign of fattening her up,

While you chew, I pile on, smirking at her, “I know! That waffle would barely cover your bits!”

My favourite joke right now is to imply that Allison is always your plate. She baps me on the arm. I’m about to make a joke about where she could put the two scoops of ice cream when you jab a fork in her direction. “I’m planning on eating out with you, later. You’re not busy, are you?”

The comment has an impact that would puzzle a casual observer. Allison goes bright red, offsetting her strawberry blonde ponytail, and swivels her eyes between you and me like she’s looking for a place to run. I just grin at her.

“No… Not busy.”

“Good. So you can see why I might have a light lunch.”

“Where are you— we— who will you—”

Another voice interjects out of the blue: someone stops in the street then walks over to our table. “—Ally! I thought it was you! Sorry to interrupt.” She acknowledges me and you with a conciliatory wave of her hand. The nails are long, pink, and bear kitty nail art. “Oh my God it’s been aaaages ! How’ve you been?”

Allison stumbles through the first steps of small-talk. The colour has drained from her face. Grey, she steadfastly ignores you and me, like she can keep these two worlds separate by sheer dint of will.

The newcomer mentions in passing an offer to meet her in the student Union later. I pick up on it and forcibly breach the insulation. “You’re at the uni?”

“Yeah,” confirms the friend. She turns fake lashes on me. From the corner of my eye I mark you examining the very friendly curves of her body. Sometimes, when you’re imagining getting prey inside you, your jaw clenches and unclenches. Do you know that? I bet you’re imagining her buttocks between your teeth right now, as her tits pop through your cardia. “We met at one of Ally’s studies.”

“Studies!” I turn my eyes on Allison. She has shrunk back a little into her chair. “What sort of studies?”

“Psychology,” croaks Allison.

Her friend continues blithely. “She once hooked me up to an EEG and tickled me blindfolded. Can you believe it?”

“I can! She’s got all sorts of unusual interests!”

You interject, purposefully cutting off my line of teasing to give Allison a break. “Are you also studying psychology?”

“Me? Oh, no. Not clever enough. Civil engineering masters. Green technologies.”

“Up at the DTC behind the graveyard?” I ask.

She nods. “You know the uni, but don’t know Ally studies there?”

Allison pipes up, sounding resigned. “They’re new friends.”

“New friends, hey?” This old friend practically leers at us both. “How did you meet?”

You speak again, looking at Allison. “Maybe she can tell you about it later, at the union?”

A hesitation, then a nod. A little awkward silence congeals in the air, which Allison’s friend dispels with a cheery, “Alright, then. I’ll be out at about five. Give us a text, will you, love?”

“I will do. Nice to see you, Fern.”

“Alright, love. Talk to you in a bit.” In a brighter voice, to us: “lovely meeting you guys.. See you later.”

“See you later,” you confirm. And then she’s away.

Allison stares straight ahead, not meeting either of our gazes. We share a glance.

“You don’t have to, you know,” you say, gently. “There’s plenty of prey in town.”

“Hm? But Andrew talks about feeding—” She drops her voice. “About feeding people to you. Isn’t that what you want?”

“I’m responsible for getting what I want.” You cast me a crooked smile. “Andrew is just enthusiastic. And he doesn’t share everything. Do you, Andrew?”

“Hmm?” My teacup halts halfway to my lips.

“He goes quiet every time he sees the manager of the cafe. But he thinks I haven’t noticed. There’s something going on there, don’t you think?”

Looks like it’s my turn to get picked on.

“Oh yeah,” says Allison, glad the spotlight is off her. “What’s wrong, Andrew? Old flame? Something you want to share with the class?”

“It’s nothing.” I catch your eye and my lips tighten. I don’t like lying to you. “It’s not important. He’s just a reminder.”

“Of someone you’ve yet to give to Rey?” sings Allison. I look away, practically confirming it. You stare at me like you can read my thoughts.

An intuition. You craft your desire as a weapon, knowing no command could more potently open up my defences than your own hunger.

“I want her.”

I go so pale that even Allison takes pity. She pats my hand and I squeeze hers back.

At length, she speaks again. “Okay. I’ll introduce you to Fern.” Her breath catches a little at the end. Then she sees your half-smile and thaws like frost in the sun. “Will you be gentle?”

You halt a moment before giving your answer. Your eyes take and hold mine. “I’m responsible for getting what I want.”

You’ll get it. Everything you desire.