The Taste Of You 14 Fourteen

I'd picked Dr. Parrish out of the phone book four months ago. Actually, it might be more accurate to say that Will picked him out of the phone book. Will chose him, asked around about him, and then called and made my first appointment.

Will thought I seemed depressed. He never used the term suicidal around me, though I knew he thought it.

Will also came to my apartment half an hour before that first appointment to make sure I was dressed (I was impressed that he'd taken himself away from the lab at that time of evening—Will had very specific rules about work time and play time, and work time lasted until there was no more work to do, and then Will planned a party).

Will escorted me to Dr. Parrish's office and sat in the waiting room with me while I filled out paperwork. Then Dr. Parrish's secretary told me that I could go in.

"I don't want to go," I told Will.

"It's good for you, Annie."

"You going to make me eat broccoli, too? Let's just go. Let's go see a movie. My treat."

"Annie, look at me."

I did, but not without making faces.

Will grabbed my chin. "I would not have brought you here if I thought you didn't need it. d.a.m.n it, the only utensil in your whole house is a stainless steel carving knife. And yeah, you're an idiot for leaving me alone in your kitchen. And your hunting is…well, it's not healthy, the way you do it. I'm afraid of what that will lead to. I can't lose two best friends, and I'm worried about you. Now, go talk to this guy because I love you and I'm asking you to."

So I did. I went for a month and a half because of Will. And I went the two and a half months after that because by that time, I'd realized that he was right.

I got rid of my kitchen knife and the three others I had hidden around the house. I started sleeping better. And I acted as normal as I could when Will was around.

Will thought Dr. Parrish was a miracle-worker, a real saint of psychology. He thought that the doctor was helping me "fight my demons" and "deal with my issues."

Maybe. Or maybe I'd just been lonely. And now I had a twice-week friend who would stick around as long as I needed him to.

Either way, I hadn't expected that breaking into Dr. Parrish's office would screw things over for me so badly.

So on Thursday morning, I bought a nice thank you card, wrote a nice note of apology and repentance and nicotine hysteria, and I took the bus to his office and left the note with his secretary.

I went to Will's apartment afterward, but he was either gone or asleep. I stood at his door for ten minutes, willing it to open. But it didn't.

And I didn't have anyone else.

I left, pulling my hat low to block out the sun, keeping my hands in my pockets. I walked up and down every street in the area, thinking maybe Will was out somewhere. But I didn't see him.

I wanted to talk to someone. I needed someone to acknowledge my existence. I thought of the floppy-haired, big-nosed man who'd pa.s.sed me outside the convenience store, and I started wis.h.i.+ng that I really had taken him to bed because maybe now I could call him and he wouldn't be too busy to talk to me.

I walked up the streets and down the streets.

I wanted to cry, but I couldn't of course.

So I did what I did when I couldn't cry. I hunted.

Two old white guys, a woman who was yelling at someone on her cell phone.

It was daylight, but who could stop me? I s.n.a.t.c.hed and devoured like an immortal monster from a Greek myth.

A man with a gold Rolex watch. A man with bruised knuckles.

I consumed the life force of humankind. I was the destroyer of worlds.