You stopped. I don’t know how much you took. I passed out back into sleep, and you tore yourself away from my wrist long enough to force yourself to listen. The fluttering of my heart reminded you of a trapped and desperate baby bird. It’s cage chilled slightly as my body shut down blood flow to skin and extremities. When you were satisfied I would not require medical or gastric attention you allowed yourself to drift off.

Consciousness steals over you like a dream. It’s not light yet and part of you is still sleeping—the part that plans, worries, weighs. Instead you wake to a kind of simple, easy clarity. You’re warm. It comes to your attention that this is in part because of yesterday’s blood meal from the two frightened occultist girls from the university, and in part because of my arms wrapped around you. You find yourself cradling a softly but permanently gurgling stomach; meanwhile your whole back and butt are snuggled against the body housing a soul now confirmed to believe its home is within yours.

You don’t often see me scared. Of anything, really, unless you’re operating far outside the normal parameters of mortal society, and even then my loyalty is unswerving. But after the abortive summoning where you had to rescue me from some spirit I had inadvertently permitted entry, I seemed hesitant to re-engage. We still keep separate places though we spend a fair bit of time together. You let yourself into my place and find the living room lit by a single candle.

Feel the edge of the bed depress as I sit by your side. Does your mattress creak? With your eyes still closed you hear the ceramic tap of a cup as I put down your morning tea. The duvet is all twisted. One thigh is overheating where it’s wrapped up, one is cool in the open air. You shift your hips and lie on your back, still clinging on to sleep.

We go out. The heat is oppressive, whether in the house or out of the house. So we go out, because if we’re going to sweat, why not be dancing? No one else here looks like you do. A pretty crowd of numeral 1’s watch your figure 8. I tell a lie: perhaps there are other large women here. But they hide. What you’re wearing shapes but also shouts. When you spin, your chaotic red-and-black-swirled dress billows out and your belly and breasts flow around you, like music thickened into flesh.

Tonight’s the night. She’s here in front of you. You’ve been out with Nataliya a few times now, one of those occasions drinking at her place where she showed you something special: her Megadrive, complete with Sonic and Knuckles tandem cartridge. Nataliya is sweet. Her bluster and boisterousness falls away once you’ve been together for an hour or so, revealing a thoughtfulness that hints at inner depth. She laughs seldom at your goofy jokes, but so far on every date you’ve managed to say one thing that has made her lose her absolute shit, to the point of gasping for air.

Sleep still clings to you as my hand on your shoulder brings you back to earth. Were you dreaming of a void you could shape with your will, a multitude snared in the realm you created? The real world contains your bedroom, incense-spiced, and two heartbeats other than your own. The waking hand’s partner rests gently upon your closed eyes, palm tickling your eyelashes. You recognise my scent, trust me, and so keep yourself blind.

A kiss closer to home… “Ow, ow, too hard, too hard!” You feel the stab of pain under your rib immediately stop as I flinch away, looking stricken. “Sorry. You’re that sensitive?” I hover my hands over your belly, implicitly asking permission. You shuffle yourself back on the couch to sit up a little straighter, then take those hands and place them against your swollen tummy with feather lightness. You feel me barely moving the simple black T-shirt you’re wearing, barely touching your skin, but each brush makes you aware all over again just how full is the organ right below the surface.

Your lipstick is still pristine when we get home. You know I’ve been longing to kiss it. But you keep insisting I did such a good job that you don’t want to mess it up. You’ve been in a jovial mood ever since I saw you, which is dangerous and unusual when you’re on a diet. The first thing I did when we got home was disappear upstairs to the sound of rushing water.

After the jogger you call me. You sound relaxed and contented on the phone. “It happened again.” I know something is up. “Did you break your diet?” “Noooo~” You sound dreamy. I picture you lying on your back, tummy gurgling as you imagine shapes in the clouds. “I was good.” You didn’t know you could hear someone pinch the bridge of their nose through the phone. “Be a little more specific.