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Enoshima laughs dreadfully as I plunge my teeth into her flesh again.
It’s the same spot every time—two tiny pinpricks in the crook of her neck, worn by what must have been tens, if not hundreds, of bites. Enoshima feeds my cravings, and in exchange, I feed hers. That is our agreement.
It goes something like this, usually:
I release my grasp on Enoshima’s shoulder and straighten my posture. I mutter a polite “thank you,” and she smiles and tells me it’s no problem.
“Can I pick your brain for a little bit, Mitsume-chan?” she asks me. My end of the deal, my silent obligation, is that I must say ‘yes.’ It’s never the same question twice in a row, but it’s always something of that caliber.
I agree, as I understand that I must do, and she begins rambling about one of her seemingly infinite musings on life, interspersed with the occasional, “You think so, too, right?” and “Don’t you agree?” I always answer honestly.
This time, she’s in my bed, legs crossed. She tugs at the hem of her sweater, and I reach a hand out to her wrist. “Don’t.” That comes out more harsh than I intend for it to. “You, um. Don’t have to do that today. I have...a different favor to ask of you.”
She giggles. She laughs terribly frequently, just one of the mysteries about her I’ve yet to fully wrap my head around. I don’t see the humor of the situation. “And what might that be?” she asks.
“I just have a question.”
“Of course!” she grins. “Fire away, my darling.” If I didn’t already have a topic in mind, my first question would be why she always calls me that.
“Why are you never satisfied?”
She tilts her head. “I’m not sure what you mean, Mitsume-chan.”
“Our...arrangement. You’ve never asked to stop seeing me. But you must know everything you want to know about me by now. Don’t you?”
Enoshima laughs again, this time sounding rather shrill. “Do you think that’s why I keep coming back?”
“Yes.” It’s why I keep coming back, after all. But not everyone’s like me; the fallacy of thinking otherwise has caused me many social blunders.
“I don’t want to know anything, Mitsume-chan. I want to see. Does that make sense?”
“Not at all.” To someone else, maybe it would. But not to me.
“I want to take you apart. Not to understand you, but to watch you break.”
“...Are you threatening me?”
Enoshima smirks. “You only asked for one question. If you want another answer, I’d like something in exchange. Keeping it fair, you know?”
(When I repeat the question, her blood is dripping from my fangs. This time, she answers.)