The thought struck him like a hammer to the back of the head, a shock reverberating through every inch of his body. Why would he,howcould he, even imagine such a thing?What the fuck is wrong with me?He blamed the movie. This was why he didn’t watch horror.
But Emmett had always been good at talking himself into food he shouldn’t eat.
He thought of theSavage Hungerexhibition at the Museum of Us. In some cultures around the world, he reasoned, cannibalism was normal. People had been eating each other for millennia—not just for survival like the Donner Party, but for connection to a higher power, even as medicine. Was it any worse than whatever factory-processed slop they served him at the drive-thru? The practice was condemned, like Emmett’s fat body, not for any logical reason, but because society had decided somewhere along the line that it was objectionable. But did that mean he had to too?
Disturbing as the craving was, part of him was tired of feeling ashamed of his desires. He resented having to deny his body what it craved.
The world had put this Hunger in him.
Maybe it was time they faced the consequences.
CHAPTER 32
Emmett knew something was wrong the moment he opened his eyes. He was lying on the floor of his bedroom with a bitter, ferrous taste in his mouth. He must’ve fallen out of bed, bit his tongue. But he’d fallen asleep at Aaron’s. How had he gotten here?
He pushed himself off the floor, entwined in the comforter he’d dragged off the mattress. The carpet came into focus, reddish-black and gluey.
Blood.
It caked his arms in frantic smears, darkened his shirt—he could feel it crusted on his cheeks: raw and scratched and painful to the touch, like injuries incurred during a struggle. An assault.
His pulse quickened as he clambered to his feet. A cry of horror flew from his mouth as if attached to a yanking rope: the room. Blood was smeared across the sheets, scabbed over the doorknob and the overturned lamp he must have fumbled when he came in. He hadcome inlooking like this, sometime in the night.
He had no memory of it. Last he recalled, he was lying in Aaron’s bed chewing over the call with his mom, craving meat. Human meat. Then falling asleep, for he could remember the sick, horrible, hungry dreams that followed. At least they had felt like dreams.
What have I done?
The doorbell rang. Tubbs and Bella went crazy as someone banged at the door. The police, come to arrest him. Panic wrenched through him. He was trapped.
He paused, hearing Lizette’s voice. She shouted at the dogs to shut up and answered the door. Emmett cracked his bedroom door, listening.
“Hey—”
“Is Emmett here?” a voice said. It was Aaron.
“I thought he was at your place,” Lizette said.
“He must’ve left in the middle of the night. I woke up and he was gone.”
Shit.Aaron had come looking for him. He mustn’t find Emmett like this. Thinking quickly, he darted down the hallway into the bathroom and locked the door.
His reflection in the mirror gave him a jump scare. His mouth and chin were caked with dried blood, reminding him of Tanya Swygert’s mug shot.
“I think he just went into the bathroom,” Lizette was saying.
Emmett ran the shower, began to undress. His body was covered in bruises—a reddening welt on his ribs, fingerprints on his clavicle. He threw the bloodstained clothes into the tub and stepped in after them.
Would Aaron wait for him to get out of the shower? What if he decided to hang out in Emmett’s room?
The shower spray splashed off his skin, dribbling reddish-brown water down the curtain liner and shower tiles, drumming the clothes at his feet. Blood pulsed out of them, snaking toward the drain.
A knock at the bathroom door. “Emmett?”
“I’m in the shower,” he called back.
“I’m coming in.”
“No—”
