Human Heart with a Garnish to Top

Warning: Cannibalism. It pairs nicely with a love story, don't you think?

_____________________

Human Heart with a Garnish to Top

_____________________

“How did you know you loved her?”

“You know you love someone when you have an insatiable desire to serve their pancreas on only the finest silver platter. Or when you stay awake at night, contemplating just how to kill them so they feel the least amount of pain.”

Jarrett looks at me with such intensity from his blue eyes. He reminds me of a child: wide-eyed, curious, intent on listening, even if it be to the cannibal that of which he shares his cell. He stares at me, unblinkingly for a moment, before turning away.

“Well, I’m not sure if I felt the same love you did then.”

I crack a smile and tilt my head. “Oh?”

He shakes his head. “No. I showed my love by tattooing her face above my dick.”

We both erupt in laughter. I can tell he’s glad to have pleased me, to have further dissipated the thick air in the cell between us since I arrived a week ago. He’s good natured and great company; he does not judge because he himself is scared of judgment. This is why I find myself attracted to him, willing to share my thoughts.

“But I know I felt something for her,” he says after a minute, turning his head so he’s gazing at the ground. “Otherwise, I don’t think I would have shot everyone that I heard she was screwing.” He’s silent for a good minute before looking at me. “Four. That’s how many.”

I have sympathy for him. I would not know what it would feel like to have someone you love cheating on you since I ate everyone I felt affection for, but I certainly know it is hard. I have no words of condolences other than, “She did not deserve your love if she was willing to share hers with other men.”

He doesn’t say anything. There’s silence until I murmur, “I can tell you my story, if you would like. From the moment I heard her laugh serenade my ears till…”

“You ate her?”

I smile. “Yes.”

_____________________

When I first saw the love of my life, she was shivering in the rain. The storm that had come on that day was unexpected, and she was unprepared. Her black hair was plastered to her face, dark strands like cracks against her porcelain skin. Overlooking the drenched clothes, trembling, and slightly runny makeup, I could see she posessed natural beauty.

So, as any proper gentleman would do, I shared with her my umbrella and, with her consent, took her home to warm up with a fire and a meal.

You should imagine my surprise when I learned that not only was she attractive, but quite intellectual. She was a young woman, in her early twenties, and astonished me with her ability to hold a conversation with a person like myself.

We did not simply talk about the economy or the news, but of our lives. She was open to me, telling me of her divorced parents and how she buried herself in books and school. She said she did not want to become like her older brother, whom had distanced himself with drugs even when she needed him.

“My brother had a drug abuse problem as well.”

The light from the fire had caught her green eyes right then, making them sparkle like candles reflecting off of water. She brought her glass of wine, the first of many to come, away from her lips so she could whisper, “Really?”

“Yes. I still loved him, even though he brought our family grief with his involvement in criminal activity. I wanted desperately to shield him from the things he saw and experienced.”

"I'm so sorry," she had said, reaching out and touching my upper arm gently. I smiled to show I appreciated the gesture and to cover up the fact that it had sent electric currents up my spinal cord.

I was also unable to tell her how I had killed my brother and eaten him.

We bonded that night. Before we knew it, it was getting late and she needed to get some sleep for she had class early in the morning. When she left, she thanked me for the wine and said she would love to come over again sometime.

“I do not believe I ever caught your name,” I added as she was crossing the threshold.

She stopped, her dainty hand resting on the wooden door-frame, and replied, "Carmen Stewart."

“Charles Gideon. What a pleasure it was to have you over, Mrs. Stewart.”

She smiled, her soft pink lips slightly stained burgandy from the wine. “What a pleasure it was to be here, Charles."

From then on, nearly once a week, she would come over. I began to become familiar with the small gestures she made, the sound of her voice when she was remorseful or joyous. I grew so accustomed to her presence that when she left, I was empty. Even though we both knew that we shared a connection, I do not believe it had simply formed when we had shared a drink, but yet, when I had first seen her.

In only a couple months, we had swapped life stories. I knew every detail of her past, but she did not know every detail of mine. She had no idea that the number of people I have consumed cannot be counted using merely one hand, or that I was musing over pairing her with a spicy garnish to accentuate the sweetness of her skin. She did not know that I was trying to think of the quickest ways to kill her, or that when she would come over and we would share a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, it would be her last.

She would be confused, perhaps a bit hurt, but only for a few seconds.

Our friendship could have continued but I already knew all there was to know about her life. All that was left to find out was what her heart tasted like.

I had looked in the mirror before I left to walk her home from her last class of the day. I had been dressed in my finest suit, brown hair glossed back and bowtie straight. I wanted to empress her, more so tonight than any other. I wanted to wear this outfit in the future and remember the night I had worn it and shown dearest Carmen my love.

After dinner, we went and sat by the fireplace: our custom every time we were together. We sipped from our wine glasses, talked, and let the heat from the fire and the warmth of the alcohol fill us with the boldness to lean over and kiss.

I could taste the robust flavor of the wine on her lips. I inhaled the scent of her plush perfume. She felt soft to the touch and so fragile, like a china dish. And easily broken was she, when I cupped her face between my hands, giving her a passionate kiss that lingered after I pulled away and snapped her neck.

Even though her head was twisted in an odd position and the life was slowly draining from her emerald eyes, she was still the most stunning and magnificent woman I had ever seen.

But I could not waste time wishing that I had spared her for one more night. I had promptly took her to the bathroom, setting her down in the tub and beginning to extract her organs. I would eat them over the next few weeks, savoring their taste and remembering my darling Carmen, until the police would arrest me for the death of her and countless others.

The taste of her heart, heightened by that spicy garnish I had planned, was divine.

_____________________

“Wow,” Jarrett breathes.

I raise a hand and frivolously touch my lips with the tips of my fingers. I draw in a deep breath. Oh, how I miss you immensely, Carmen. Our intellectual conversations still reminiscence in my ears. My pallet still recalls the taste of your liver. My eyes are forever imprinted with your face.

Jarrett swallows, timid to speak, but knowing that he can be forthright with me. “What about all those other people you killed?”

“They were family. Friends.”

Jarrett is sitting on the edge of his bed, twisting his tattooed hands in his lap. He is burning with interest and asks, “Why aren’t you in an institution for the criminally insane or something?”

I grin. “I am not insane, my friend.”

He licks his lips, filled to the brim with questions. “Then why did you do it? Why would you eat someone you love?”

Every family member and dear friend’s faces flash in my memory.

Carmen’s is the freshest, most vivid of them all.

“To protect them from the harshness of the world and the ache it brings. They only needed to experience pain one last time, and now they are all safe.” I close my eyes.

“Safe, and with me forever.”