Despite having not really slept I’m buzzing as we walk back to my place. It takes effort to keep from talking loudly enough to wake the dwellers of the rows upon rows of terraced houses we pass. By the time we get there it’s gone half four. As we enter the living room I practically pounce you and enfold you in a hug so tight it pushes your arms out to the side and squishes your belly flat between us.

When I met you, you were slender, with just a hint of a belly. You look gorgeous at all sizes. I know this. You know this. But you had been even thinner not too long before. Here’s the story of a New Year’s Eve, a couple of years before ever I crossed your path. You’d got separated from the girls. Shanté had got way too hyper for someone who doesn’t drink.

For once, it’s me waking you up with a phone call in the middle of the night. I’m so agitated I don’t even thank you for picking up at 3am. “Raven,” I say, my voice a little shaky. “I think I fucked up.” You sit up in your bed. In a brief second of silence you picture all the ways I could mean that. Was I in trouble? Had I brought trouble to you?

Sometimes, you just have to dance. Getting lost in the music is a pale echo of the pleasure of feeding, but it’s still something you crave. You spot him by scent, maybe. Cropped blonde hair, eyes like bloody marble. No doubt the woman he’s dancing with sees innocent blue. Your lips twitch down at the corners with distaste. In a room filled with music he is a bum note. The city is getting a reputation.

“Raven…” The pain has diminished but it’s still enough to keep you from sleep. After an hour and hearing concerned ringtones coming from the changing room I decided to bring you home, fearing that someone else might come. I would simply have had to kill them. You’re surely too full to eat. But when I last expressed such a concern you gave me that fond smile… “What did you mean when you said you forget I’m only prey?

Emily’s far enough gone that when her feet are scrapped by the jagged remnants of the larger bones of her colleague she doesn’t particularly react. The dull, brown eyes stare at you in quiet supplication. You sometimes meet her gaze and sometimes simply close your eyes and lose yourself in the sensations of devouring this woman. She’s firm in a way only lean men are usually firm. It makes her wide hips feel fresh and novel as they stretch out your throat; makes the twin fatty treats of her tits demand attention as they flatten against your tongue.

… The brief vocalisation you make in between a swallow and the blood filling your mouth again is part gasp, part moan. You reach back to slap your own arse, indicating a place higher than where I’m buried. I get your meaning, but deny your request. “No. Flesh-eaters get fucked in the arse. Vampires get fucked in the pussy. Give me your cunt. And rock forward. Emily can almost watch…”

“Oh,” comes a voice from the entranceway. A bag clatters casually to the ground. I whirl around, aghast. “Hi Andrew. Are you Becky’s private? Where is she?” “Hi, Emily.” My voice is calm, but my mind isn’t. I can hear you hum a self-satisfied little tune to yourself. You’re going to be fed again. “She nipped out. Could you, uh, help Raven dismount? I think she’s stuck.” Emily strides quickly over, thin, blonde and no-nonsense.

Once Becky goes quiet you feel digestion bite hard. Blood leaves your brain and you become a giggly mess. “Raven, we need to get out of here, I think there’s a class starting in half an hour and the instructor could arrive any time!” “Can’t go.” You’re spinning slowly, red and purple wrapped tightly around parted thighs and arms. “Upside down.” You’ve been inverted for a while now. You peer at your midsection and clench and unclench your stomach muscles, consciously sloshing and squeezing liquifying Becky inside your tummy.

“I bumped into my old pole-dancing instructor the other day.” “You pole danced?” “Very badly. I mainly did it as a form of exercise. It’s fun! I—” “You pole danced!” “Yes. Stop laughing, Rey. It’s perfectly normal to—” “Wait, wait, where’s my purse? If I stuff a fiver in your jeans, do you twerk?” “…” And that’s how we picked tonight’s dinner. “Thanks for fitting us in, Becky. Raven’s only over for a week.