Work Text:
Samuel Fraiser was a problem.
He was loud, he was abrasive, and most importantly, he didn’t know when to quit.
Maybe that’s why he ended up dead.
I met Sam at Tether and CO, being that we had offices right next to each other. He was always walking around in the morning, talking with other coworkers and making jokes. I never gave him the time of day, as we were simply incompatible. I liked silence and order, while he was noisy and chaotic.
Still, he’d use every chance he could to elbow me and tell me a stupid joke or ask me some insignificant question.
“Hey, James, where d’you get your suits cleaned?”
“James, what’d you think of that new movie? That one that came out Saturday?”
“Hey–my boy, James, you got a girl??”
It was a wonder how I didn’t slap him some days.
Currently, he was standing outside my cubicle, flirting with some girl. I had to listen to his grating voice make crude attempts to seduce her for a good five minutes.
Fortunately for the woman, she managed to find an exit in the conversation and walked off.
Unfortunately for me, that meant Sam had nothing better to do.
I heard the click of her heels fade back to her desk, and his echoing footsteps walk towards mine.
“Jaaameesss…” Sam walked over, leaning against my desk. His bleached blonde hair hung over his eyes, though he quickly swiped it away.
“What do you want, Samuel?”
“Are you doing anything after work?”
“Yes,” I lied.
“Damn.” He sighed dramatically, then straightened up and dusted off his hands. “Guess I’ll have to catch you tomorrow, huh?”
Or you could leave me alone, I thought, but just went back to the paperwork on my desk. I had attempted to start it quite a while ago, but I kept getting distracted by the smallest of things.
Sam lingered at my desk for a few moments, then frowned. He shrugged, turning on his heel to walk back to his cubicle. Before he fully left, though, he called back one more thing.
“You should get out more often. It’d do you good.”
I scoffed at his comment, rolling my eyes even after he was gone. What would he know about that? He didn’t see me outside of work. He just wanted to pester me, that was all.
I pushed all thoughts of Sam out of my mind then, focusing back on my work in front of me.
⭒ ⯎ ♡ ⯎ ⭒
Over the next weeks, Sam got more attached to me. He would talk to me every morning, come to my desk almost every day, and ask me at the end of every shift if I was doing anything later that day. I never humored him, turning him down every time he asked.
Though as time continued on, something shifted with him.
His eyes carried more emotions than just the smugness that he portrayed to everyone, and his overall demeanor was just… different.
One afternoon I had gone into the breakroom to eat lunch and was met with the blonde sitting at a table, restlessly tilting his chair back and forth. The moment his eyes locked on me he sprang up.
“James!” He called, way too energetically.
“Samuel,” I returned, already pushing past him to get to the fridge.
“Hey, c’mon, I thought we were friends!”
“Do you ever get your work done?”
“Of course I do!”
I shoved my container of leftovers from last night’s takeout into the microwave and punched in the time. Sam came up behind me, way too close for comfort. He poked me on the shoulder, grinning.
“You should come out with me tonight,” He suggested, managing to lean even closer.
“I’m–”
“Don’t tell me you’re busy. You said that last time and you were lying.”
I stared at him, eyes narrowing. How the hell did he know that? I never spoke to anyone about my life outside of the office. I hated people knowing what I did–it was an invasion of privacy. But still, he was aware I’d been lying to him.
“Come on, James, just one night!”
“No.”
“Why not?”
When I met his gaze, I realized I didn’t know what to say. He was watching me with such intensity that I hadn’t noticed my hands were shaking until I pressed the button to stop the microwave.
“Exactly.” He stepped back slightly, and his demeanor softened. “I’m not asking for much. We could probably just go out to a restaurant or something.”
Finally admitting he was going to keep bothering me until I gave in, I relented.
“Fine.”
He looked like a child on Christmas morning with the way his eyes lit up. Sam immediately gained energy, talking a mile a minute.
“Great! I’ll meet you at Le Nouveau tonight. It’s not far from either of our apartments, and it’s a really nice place. They’re really high class, but it’s super affordable.”
He continued talking my ear off, going in circles about this restaurant, the menu, how many times he’d been before, and all the while, I couldn’t find anything in myself to care. At least he’d stop bothering me about it now.
I grabbed my food from the microwave, sitting down at the table. Sam followed quickly after, dropping down into the seat directly next to mine, and leaning far too close once more.
Except now, he was just staring at me again.
That same intense, gripping gaze, one that shot straight through me and made me freezing cold. In those hazel eyes, I could see the hints of a consuming obsession, but I discarded those thoughts. I wanted him to leave me alone. I’d just have to get through tonight.
⭒ ⯎ ♡ ⯎ ⭒
Around seven-thirty that night, I stood in my apartment, fixing my tie. Sam had told me his reservation was for a quarter to eight, and because it took around ten minutes to drive there, I’d have to leave soon. Still, I glanced in the mirror, adjusting my collar.
I tried to encourage myself, but I couldn’t muster anything but annoyance. Unfortunately, this had to be done.
I sighed, grabbing my keys and walking out the door.
The drive there was dull, as the radio was my only companion. I switched the stations a few times, hating every station it landed on. Eventually I grew frustrated and just turned it off altogether.
The restaurant was an elegant building, cleaned and polished. It had an heir of importance, standing out against the other buildings. According to Sam, this was one of the hardest places to get a reservation for. Despite that, he’d managed to get us one the day of. The way he was always able to get his way perplexed me.
I handed my keys to the valet, then stepped through the front door of the establishment.
The inside was just as pristine as the outside, with low lighting and dark walls. In the entry way was a podium, behind which a woman wearing a hostess uniform stood. She glanced up when the door shut behind me and immediately plastered on a fake smile.
“Welcome to Le Nouveau, sir.”
I nod, then glance around the tables. In the very back corner, I see shaggy blonde hair.
“I’m here for a reservation with my friend,” I said, then pushed past the podium and made my way to the back corner.
Before he noticed me, Sam seemed to be in a trance. He was staring at the table, fingers idly drumming on the wooden surface. His eyes were dark, not locked on anything in particular, simply staring off into the distance with a heavy gaze. Then he glanced up and saw me standing there, and he broke out into a grin.
“James! You showed up! I was thinking you were going to just disappear on me or something.”
I sighed, sliding into the seat across from him.
“No,” I mumbled, then unfolded the menu. “Have you ordered anything yet?”
“Nah, just a drink for myself.” He picked at his fingernails before glancing up at me. “You ever been here before?”
“Once. It was a few years ago with my father.”
“What was the occasion?" He leaned his head on his palm.
“I had played at a concert that night.”
A spark lit in his eyes, and he sat up straight. “You play something?” I watched his reaction, trying to determine the source of the excitement before saying anything else. At the time, I couldn’t determine anything more than just an innate excitement at the vague statement, but looking back, he was definitely just ecstatic he was learning things about me.
“The cello, actually.”
“Is that the big one? Like the one you gotta stand up to play?”
I scoffed, pinching my nosebridge. “No. That’s the double base. The cello is larger than a violin but you have to sit whilst playing it.”
“Yeah, yeah, that’s cool, though.” He leaned back, grinning. “Girls love a guy who can play music.”
Fortunately, the waiter swept over before I could snap at him and took our orders. I don’t remember what I got that night. In fact, I don’t remember much of the night besides the fact that Sam was always watching me, especially while we were eating.
“Hey, did you know the meat closest to tasting like human meat is pork?”
I glanced up at him. His chin was still propped against his palm and he was grinning. He’d barely eaten any of his food.
“...I did not know that.”
He laughed. “Yeah, it’s something I learned in middle school as some weird fun fact… You having something with pork just reminded me of it.”
His out-of-the-blue fact unsettled me somewhat, but I managed to brush it off. The rest of the night, the more we talked, the more I began to suspect that he might just be a little odd about making friends.
When we finished our dishes, we walked to the valet stand, and he stood as I was returned my car. He remarked something to me that I don’t remember, then waved as I got into my car. I barely noticed the shutter flash in my rearview mirror as I drove away.
⭒ ⯎ ♡ ⯎ ⭒
Sam wasn’t as attached to me the week following that dinner. He wasn’t around every corner, waiting to ask me something, and he wasn’t hanging around my desk. And, for that week, everything was peaceful. I was able to take a breath without him immediately questioning me about what my breathing patterns were like.
Alas, that peace ended one fateful night.
I was in my bed, finally beginning to fall back asleep after I’d been unable to get any rest from my neighbors. Just when I was comfortable, my phone started ringing. It rung for a moment or two, and I just laid there, staring at the ceiling. Then I begrudgingly wiped my eyes, and sat up to answer it.
Trudging to the kitchen, I noticed the time. It was 2:03 A.M. Who in hell calls someone at 2 in the morning? Either way, I picked the phone off the cradle and held it to my ear.
“Hello?” My voice was husky, laced with sleep.
“J’mes..?”
I recognized the voice almost immediately, despite the fact that he was slurring his words together.
“Samuel?” I asked, blinking to try to wake up. “Samuel, why did you call me?”
He completely ignored my question. “Jamesies… you sh’uld… you should come pick me up…”
“...Why?”
“‘Cause those assholes left me here… I’m at the uh… the payphone by the bridge to… y’know? To main street. I think. I dunno, it’s really dark and the streetlamps are bright.. and..” It was hard to understand him through his slurred speech, especially because he was speaking nonsense. I didn’t really want to go out and pick him up, but it didn’t matter. I had a feeling he would say something the next day if I didn’t, so I just sighed.
“I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Thaank you Jameesss…” And then he hung up.
I grabbed my overcoat, pulling it on over my shoulders. Then I slid into my shoes and grabbed my keys to walk out the door.
The way he was sitting by the pay phone could only be described as pathetic.
He was leaning back against it, gripping onto it like it was the only thing holding him up. It probably was. His head was tilted back, squinting at the street lamps. I could tell even as I was getting out of my car that he’d somehow gotten blackout drunk. When he saw me he attempted to stand, only to fall back down.
“James!!” He stuck his hands out like a toddler.
“Samuel.” I stood there, staring down at him. “Jesus christ… Do you not have anyone else to drive you?”
He narrowed his eyes at me, managing to grab onto my coat. He pulled himself up shakily, then pressed his forehead to my shoulder, making me tense almost immediately. “You’re better.”
“Uh huh…” I settled my hands on his shoulders, pushing him away. Disoriented, he wobbled as I steered him back towards the car. Still, as much as I tried, he managed to glue himself back at my side. It wasn’t until we got to the passenger side that he finally detached from me, and even then, it was just because I forcefully shoved him into the car.
When I slid into the driver’s seat, he reached over, grasping for my hand. I pulled away, then started the car.
“Where’s your apartment?” I asked while beginning to drive down the street.
“‘Dunno… We should just go to your apartment…”
“No. Where is your apartment?”
“Mmm… you’re such a prude…”
“Samuel.”
He glances over at me, pouting childishly. “Finneeee… it’s-... it’s somewhere by the road… or something. I don’t know.” I glared at him, and he seemed to immediately drop it. “It’s like… 34 Morel Road… apartment 236?”
I nodded, turning onto 12th North Street. I heard him mumble in the seat beside me, but paid no attention to him. All I had to do was get him home, and then I could go back to bed.
The streetlamps cast a bright glow onto the road, each passing over the car briefly. The ride was mostly silent, apart from the occasional murmur or groan from Sam. Even then, he was very quiet. Every time I glanced over, he was leaning on the window, zoning out. I’d thought he’d fallen asleep at one point when I suddenly felt him slump against my shoulder.
“You’re too good to me…” He mumbled.
I’m just driving you home, I thought to myself, trying to nudge him away with my shoulder. Unfortunately, that was futile when he simply wrapped his arm around mine. I exhaled sharply and readjusted my grip on the steering wheel so I could drive with one hand.
It wasn’t long before we reached the building. It was average, if not slightly more high class than the apartment building down the block. The streets were bare at this time of night, silent and weirdly ominous. I stopped the car, trying to get Sam to release my arm. He wasn’t budging, drunkenly clinging to it.
“Samuel…” I tried to shake him off.
“Noo…”
“Samuel. I have to step out of the car.”
He glared at me and let go. I got out, then walked to his side to help him out. From there, we collectively stumbled into the lobby and to the elevator. I pressed the button for the second floor, then waited as the machine slowly crawled upward.
he light in the elevator was dim, and I forced myself to stare upward at the climbing numbers instead of at the boy leaning against my shoulder. He was drowsily tracing my arm with his fingertip, mumbling something to himself as he did so. I glanced over to him, just barely pitying him for the state he’d gotten himself into. Even at the time, I managed to muster up the ability to admit that he didn’t really look half bad. Yes, he did look like your average drunk person, but he still had attractiveness.
Then we’d arrived, and it was time to haul him back to his apartment.
As I helped him down the hallway, carefully watching the numbers to see when I got to the correct door. I think Sam was trying to say something to me, as he kept repeating the same string of gibberish.
“J…James.. I wanna… ngh… wait… wait we… wanna…”
“Mhm.” I ignored him, keeping track of the numbers until we hit 36. I propped Sam against the wall beside the door, then tried the handle. It was locked, as I expected. “Where are your keys?”
“Mmm… I dunno…”
“Samuel, I will leave you outside your door.”
“Nooo… wait… it’s under… there… or something.”
I stared at him. He stared back, then weakly pointed at the floor. My gaze followed his hand to the doormat. I bent down, peeling back the mat from the floor. Underneath was a small spare key, which I immediately grabbed. As I unlocked the door, Sam did what I can only imagine was an attempt to hold my hand. I let him do what he wanted, focusing on getting him inside so I could go home. Still, the way his fingers clumsily gripped mine was… not pleasant. I flicked on the light, rubbing my eye with my free hand. His apartment wasn’t much. It was an average, dull apartment with not much in it. He had the bare minimum furniture, and that was pretty much it. A couch, TV, a few kitchen appliances, but not much else.
Sam finally released my hand, stumbling over to his small couch and collapsing face first onto it. I watched him for a moment, then turned back around to begin to leave.
“W…wait…”
I turned back, and now Sam was desperately trying to sit up. Unfortunately, he couldn’t seem to stay upright for more than a few seconds. I rolled my eyes. He was home. What more could he want from me?
Finally he managed to pull himself up and steadied himself on the arm. “Can you–...stay? Pleaassee?”
I narrowed my eyes at him, trying to figure out where he’d gotten the idea that I ever liked him enough to do this. “I can’t. “
“Then c’n you help with uh… like…” He melted back down onto the couch again. The only other thing he said was a muffled, “Bed.” I scoffed. I shouldn’t be doing this.
Looking back on it, I’m not sure why I stayed. I didn’t like him, he was being annoying, and I wanted to leave. Despite that, though, I still walked back and helped him up once more. I really focused on him. He looked obviously incapacitated, but the few times his eyes flickered open he just looked… desperate. I’d never seen him like this.
Brushing away that thought, I began helping him to his room. Once there, he collapsed again, only now he was actually on a bed. I watched him settle back onto the sheets and then walked to the wardrobe, opening it.
For how bare his apartment was, there were a considerable amount of clothes hung up. Things I’d seen him wear around the office, and things I’d never seen before. On the bottom of the wardrobe, however, there was a cardboard box. The flaps were folded closed, and something was scribbled on it in black marker. I couldn’t make out what the words were from the darkness, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to go searching around in Sam’s stuff.
However, glancing back, I saw that Sam didn’t look… the most conscious. And with the nagging feeling that I needed to see what that box is, I lifted the box from the bottom of the wardrobe, opening the flaps.
Inside were 3 stacks of polaroids, all about two inches thick. Besides that there were a dozen folded notes, each written on crinkled lined paper. Barely able to see what the photos were of, I slowly walked out of the bedroom and into the hall. I closed the door behind me, trying not to wake Sam up. Once I had light, I looked back into the box.
To say my heart stopped would be an understatement.
Each and every polaroid was of me. Pictures that I didn’t even realize he’d taken. There were photos of me at my desk, photos of me eating my lunch, and even a photo of my car driving away after our dinner a week ago. The color drained from my face as I flipped through each of these photos. They were all dated, going back to at least two years prior.
With shaking hands, I then picked out one of the folded pieces of paper. When I opened it, I found what looked like some type of journal entry.
I actually spoke to him today ♡♡♡
He’s such a good friend to me. I keep getting this weird feeling when I see him. If I told the guys they’d probably call me a fag but it’s not like that. It’s so much more than just like how a chick likes a guy. Hell, you can’t even compare it to that.
He’s just great. And I want to spend the rest of my days with him.
I wish I could be with him forever. I wish we could go live somewhere remote and we could cook together. I wonder what I would taste like.
There was more. So, so much more. I spent at least ten minutes reading about his every thought about me, each written word increasingly spiraling further into insanity. He was acting like a lovesick child, documenting every little thing I’d done and obsessing over it akin to a fangirl. There were several offhanded mentions of desires of cannibalism, but that really only added fuel to the fire. I could feel goosebumps pebbling across my skin and for some reason kept reading anyway. I was in the middle of reading the last paper when the door creaked open.
I froze, staring down at the paper in my hand with wide eyes, unwilling to look behind me.
I could feel Sam’s gaze at the back of my head, accusing and intense. Unsteadily, I stepped to face him. He still looked half-asleep, though his brow was furrowed and he’d tilted his head.
“James…?”
Silently, I took a step back. After reading everything in that box, I wasn’t sure what he’d try to do.
“James, what’s that?” He squinted at the box, then noticed the paper in my hand and realized. His eyes grew significantly larger. “You… It’s not what it looks like.”
“It looks like you’ve been stalking me,” I finally muttered, the sentence short and clipped.
“You have to understand, I didn’t mean it like that–”
“Then how was it meant? You were taking pictures of me without my knowing. You were writing love letters–”
“They’re not love letters!” He screamed, then immediately went quiet again. The silence following was deafening, and he had to take a breath. Almost immediately he flipped to being a pathetic mess. He managed a few steps before breaking down to his knees in front of me. “I’m not a fag. Just… please, don’t tell anyone. I’ll do anything, just don’t tell anyone.”
“Why?” It was a genuine question. I wanted a proper reason to not tell people about this, but all I got were watery eyes when he stared up at me.
“‘Cause…” He sat there, trying to form an answer. “You–you can’t. They’ll think I’m a homosexual. I’m not, you gotta believe me. Please– you don’t understand, I feel so empty. I just… I need you. I’d let you do anything to me.”
He must have been out of his mind. “I’m not going to… going to do whatever you’re implying.”
“Please, I’m not asking for much…” He shuffled forward on his knees. At this point, he was half a foot from me. It dawned on me that he might be asking for more than just secrecy. Suddenly I remembered the fantasies in his notes. When I stayed silent, he managed to stumble to his feet, grabbing the box from me and digging his hand through it. From his movements, I could tell the alcohol was still running through his veins.
When he finally dragged his hand out of the box, it was closed around something I hadn’t seen under the paper at the bottom.
A knife.
Before my body could process what I was seeing, he pressed the kn1fe into my hands.
“Take it,” He pleaded. “Take it. Cut me. Hurt me. Please.”
I stood there, frozen in shock. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I felt a twinge of warmth. It was odd, but I had no time to act on it before Sam’s face completely dropped. A flash of hurt spread across his face before he masked it with a half-hearted glare. I’d waited too long to answer.
“Get out,” He mumbled.
“Sam…”
He turned from me, walking back to his bedroom. “Go home.”
Following his words, I left.
While I was driving home, something kept nagging at the edges of my brain, but I brushed it away and kept driving.
⭒ ⯎ ♡ ⯎ ⭒
The days following that, Sam completely flipped. He ignored me at every opportunity, went out of his way to avoid me, and stopped showing up at my desk. And for some odd reason, a part of me began to miss it. The day felt much more boring if Sam wasn’t constantly trying to distract me or talk to me.
But, I reminded myself time and time again, it was better that he kept away. The obsessive box that I had found was disturbing, and it would be far worse if he’d kept trying to push his…
It wasn’t love. That’s what he’d repeated over and over. Not love–not romantic love–but it felt like it. He was so adamant that it wasn’t that it was starting to feel like it was.
I sat at my desk one day, tapping my pen against the surface as I stared at the computer screen, not getting any work done. I was still thinking about the situation, but more specifically, about the warmth I’d felt when he’d begged me to hurt him. I’d never felt like that before, especially not with another man. And yet every time I thought back to that, the warmth reappeared.
I glanced up, spotting Sam leaning against his cubicle, chatting with one of his work friends. He wasn’t upset, but he definitely wasn’t as energetic as I normally would see him. He had darker circles under his eyes and looked paler, but all in all he still looked presentable. His friend seemed to have been doing most of the talking, and he really only replied once or twice. My mind flashed back to the notes and pictures I had found, to the knife that he’d begged me to use. Part of me wanted to call it endearing, while the other part acknowledged that that would be seen as an insane thought. You weren’t supposed to think the way that a man presented a knife and asked to be cut was amusing.
Sam finally looked over from his conversation, and I diverted my eyes before it seemed like I’d been staring. I could tell that he wanted nothing to do with me, and nothing to do with what he’d said only a few nights ago. The only problem with that was that he had said something, and that he’d given me no time to react before he’d kicked me out.
I ran my hand down my face. I had no reason to be acting like this, all flustered over words that Sam had clearly taken back. I had no reason to think about him constantly every day following it, no reason to think about what might have come from the conversation if I’d replied faster. I had no reason to be thinking about a man at all.
Despite these obvious truths, my mind was still fixated on Sam. It was infuriating how easily it was for me to get lost whilst staring at him, and I found myself picking out parts of his appearance. His hazel eyes that had an abundance of green to them, the way his hair looked after he’d washed it the night prior made me realize just how many personal things I could pick up from just staring at him. I could tell whether or not he’d slept well the night prior, both because of the dark circles under his eyes and because he tended to lean on his palm when he was tired.
Eventually, staring led to actually trying to learn more. I’d sometimes stay after work solely to go look through his cubicle. It wasn’t anything special, but knowing what his workspace looked like satisfied me. One particular night, I followed his car to his apartment, then watched him walk up the steps and enter. I picked up a relatively cheap camera from some store and started taking pictures. The quality was horrible, but I still had still images of memories I wanted to keep.
After getting the camera, I began a… collage. Similar to the one Sam had kept, except mine was on a small corkboard tucked under my bed. The more pictures I took, the fuller the board got, and the small sticky notes containing short thoughts only served to clutter it up more. Within a few days of starting it, the board was full to the brim.
Of course, my mental state also changed. I thought less about my work and more about what Sam would be doing at that particular time. I was stuck on hypotheticals and what ifs from that night, desperately wishing I had the power to turn back time and fix whatever I had done to make Sam break his trust in me. I even found myself pondering what I would have done had I agreed to play out his fantasy.
In fact, the more I thought about that fantasy, the more appealing it became. Of course, power dynamics are always attractive to those who have the upper hand, but this was something more than that. It was an innate desire that plagued my every waking moment, haunting me and causing me an array of emotions I had never felt before. I could picture the scenario in my mind, with him being bloody and bruised at my feet, begging and pleading for more. His fair complexion would be tainted and stained with his own crimson red blood, torn and cut in places where my blade had touched him.
But that was a daydream. And it wouldn’t be anything more than that unless I acted upon it. For a long time, I was too anxious to do anything. Too scared that something might go awry. But with enough thinking, I finally gained the courage to take matters into my own hands.
Sam had been scared that night. And that was fine. He’d made the wrong decision and fucked himself over in the process. I could help him, though. I could give him the first step towards something more, something better than our current predicament. I could save him.
Through a lot of preparation, I finally acted on impulse one night. I got in my car, driving to Sam’s apartment. I already knew where the spare key was, and it wasn’t that hard to slip past the front desk. I checked the time; 10:48. I was still within the window of time I had given myself to carry my plan out. I climbed up the stairwell, knowing full well that there were no cameras there. As I walked down the hall with my bag at my side, trying to find his apartment number, I rubbed my thumb over my knuckle. It was a nervous habit I’d developed in the past few weeks, and I willed myself to stop before it hurt. When I reached apartment 336, I stooped and picked up the spare key from under the mat.
The apartment hadn’t changed from the last time I’d seen it. I tried to make my footsteps quiet, but with the lack of furniture and the bare floors, I could hear each step echo around the room. My gaze immediately went to the bedroom door, and I wasted no time opening it. I opened it slowly, making sure it wouldn’t creak. Once I had, I simply stood there, watching the figure on the bed sleep.
He looked peaceful. He looked as if there was nothing haunting him, as if there was nothing between us at all. I opened the wardrobe again, only to find the cardboard box absent. I assumed he’d have thrown it out after the confrontation, but I still felt a pang of hurt. I walked to the side of the bed, leaning down to really look at him.
Sam was beautiful. In sleep and in wake, and it was a shock I had lasted this long without being captivated by him. I brushed his hair off his forehead, gently tilting his head further up. Then he stirred, and I had to scramble for the chloroform I had brought with me. Even as I clamped the damp cloth over his mouth and nose, he still had enough time for his eyes to flicker open, and his hazy eyes to meet mine.
Once he was knocked out, I swiftly lifted his body and carried him out to the kitchen. After tying him to one of the few chairs he owned, I began looking through cabinets to find anything to cook with. He didn’t have much besides a few pots and pans, so I sighed before emptying my bag out on the counter.
By the time Sam awoke once more, I had already prepared the kitchen so I could cook. The only signal I got that he was now awake was when he hesitantly muttered, “James?”
His voice was quiet and meek, and it sent a rush through me. I dropped what I was doing, turning to see a very confused Sam blinking at me.
“Good morning,” I tried, my voice unusually soft.
“What are you doing here? Why are you in my apartment?”
“Shh, shh, don’t worry about that.” I walked to him, gently cupping his cheek and tipping his head back. “You asked me to do this, so now I’m doing it.”
His first response was, “What?” but I could see the color drain from his face when he remembered. It was a nice look on him. “James–James, I was drunk. You can’t seriously think that I’d want…” My eyebrows knit together. He was being stupid. He was denying a connection that was so clearly there, but he would see soon. I shook my head, grabbing a knife from the counter. His eyes widened at that, and he tried desperately to press himself back against the chair.
“It’s okay,” I consoled, then kneeled next to where his arms were tied. I pressed the knife against his skin, trying to determine where it was best to cut without killing him. I could feel him tense, his fight or flight response most likely kicking in. And yet, he had no room to do either–not with how tight the ropes were. I finally decided to cut one of his fingers off, and steadied the knife at the base of the knuckle.
I could hear Sam begin to cry, and I looked up. Tears streamed down his face, though he looked like he was being quiet so as not to anger me. I frowned, then ultimately pulled back. He looked immediately relieved, especially when I began undoing the rope.
I don’t know what possessed me in that moment, but I let him free from his restraints. Maybe it was seeing him so upset, or maybe it was because I wanted him closer, but once the last knot was undone there was no going back.
Before he could run, I pulled him into my arms, forcing him still. With nothing else to do, Sam simply sobbed into my shoulder. It muffled the sound, at the very least, and gave me the opening to begin the process. Once more, I lifted his hand up, severing the digit from the knuckle.
Sam screamed into my shoulder, a long, bloodcurdling scream only quieted by the fact that he was pressed against me. His sobbing picked up as I awkwardly cut through the flesh, with it taking a lot longer than I thought it would. Once I was done, his entire hand was drenched with blood, as was mine and my shirt. That was alright.
I picked the two of us up from the floor, stumbling over to the stove. I dropped the dismembered finger into the pan, watching it crackle and sizzle as it cooked. After a long while Sam looked up, his face heavy with fear and pain. He didn’t meet my eyes, instead staring at the pan.
“It’s okay, Sam,” I repeated, voice low. “It’s fine. I’m gonna make the pain go away soon, I promise.” He looked more disturbed from that statement than comfortable, but he didn’t do anything more than whimper a few times. I knew that deep down, he wanted this too, he just needed to accept it.
I let him lean on the counter, watching for a moment as he cradled his hand before I returned to preparing the small digit.
It wasn’t long before the smell of flesh filled the air, and in time it was ready to plate the food. I’d removed the bones from it, and added a few things to the dish before presenting it to Sam. At this point, he was just blinking at me with a glassy stare, his mind struggling to comprehend his current situation. He stared at the plate, then down to his bloody hand. His mouth trembled, and then he looked back up to me, expectantly.
I stared back, then gestured to the plate. I wanted him to take a bite before I did, wanted him to satisfy his urges. After all, hadn’t he written something about wanting to know what he tasted like? Now was his chance.
After a few moments of silence, he finally did it. He picked the finger up, taking the smallest bite. The way his face scrunched up made me smile.
“So?” I tilted my head.
“It’s fine,” He mumbled, passively. Then he passed the plate to me, and I picked it up.
It was a wonder I hadn’t eaten like this before. It was so filling, so satisfying, and I couldn’t stop myself. I ate the entire plate, then picked up the knife again.
Sam’s eyes widened, his gaze tracking my every movement. He clutched his still bleeding hand to his chest, cowering.
“Please, just stop… I won’t do anything…”
Even still, I moved closer to him, the blade glinting in the dim light of the room.
In the end, Sam was wrong. Human meat didn’t taste like pork at all.
It tasted like heaven.