Making peace with the prey

I deleted her phone number. Eliminated her from my Facebook. I even deleted her from my gmail contacts so she wouldn't show up on the chat list. She told me never to contact her again. That was the easiest out I could have asked for, all the reason I needed to ensure that she wasn't worth the time, the patience, or the rage. She was one less distraction in my life.

But it's a lot harder to never speak to someone ever again than it used to be.

Everything had taken on a clearer shape since I'd given a name to the hunger. I'd revealed justifications for actions that had scared beautiful things away, and also come to accept the times that the hunger wasn't controlled properly. Sometimes the sweet flesh ran off for her own safety, and thus, was owed an apology by the man who was supposed to keep the hunger on a leash.

I called Emily, who had introduced me to Karen in the first place, but only got voicemail. Instead I found her on Facebook once again. I despise the website and avoid it strictly, until it provides me what I need. I found her after a quick name search, and offered her a chance to talk. A rainy Sunday found us the time, and a lunch-date in Park Slope offered the venue.

She walked into the Taqueria on 7th and Union in a mish-mash of colorful tank-top and cardigan with the tight jeans that always revealed her less-than curvaceous ass. I remember sinking my teeth into it and wishing there were more to the bite. I chased the thought away, it would offer me nothing but distraction during this farce of romantic diplomacy and we sloughed through the small talk of which I don't remember a single word.

"I wanted to talk to you about our... brief relationship... It started fast and intense. It ended the same way, and I'm happy that it did..."

"Why"

"Karen... There's a hunger that lives inside me. I know you saw it. You pulled at it. You dared me to show you more." Claw marks on my lower back. Teeth marks in my right shoulder. And a raging stampede of horses inside my head urging me to wrap my hands around her throat an choke the regret out of her for opening that door with reckless abandon, not knowing where it lead.

"I know that if it continued at that pace, it was going to go to a dark and violent place. It's a place that I need to visit, but I need to keep It under control too. I've learned a lot about myself recently. About what I want, and about how to let it out. It takes time, and it takes trust. I don't think you realize where it was leading. You came at me with lust. This is a very different creature than lust."

I got to the Taqueria early and my burrito was already mostly eaten. Hers sat on her plate, picked at and nibbled, but not explored. I've been hungry recently, all the time, day and night, and food doesn't really seem to help.

"You scared me. Do you realize that? And I think... I know that I wanted it and I pulled at you for it... but when we were there... it wasn't a good place. So I guess it's a good thing you ended it. Even if you were an asshole about it."

"I think 'asshole' is very generous."

I will eat you alive.

We both nodded, and tried to find where the words were supposed to go next.

"I'm looking for something." I ventured. "Something that lets me let myself out. Something that I love-" I gulped after voicing the dangerous word "And that trusts me and cares for me enough to release myself without the danger of causing harm. And I don't know how to find it. The way you pulled at me for more, it made me think that maybe-" She stopped the wander through the woods while the path back to the cottage was still in sight.

"This thing you're looking for? It's not me Leon. I'm in a very awkward place right now. I hate my job, I'm scared about money, and I can't put that sort of trust in anyone right now. Let alone someone who wants to... hurt me."

"Hurt but not harm" I wanted to say to her. Some people can understand that, but some can't, and trying to talk about it in a Brooklyn Taqueria was simply foolish. We nodded again. We talked about work, we talked about living spaces. She promised to pick up my recently published story, and I promised to come see her play electric violin with her band. We ended it in peace and some semblance of post-lover NYC 'friendship.'

I got back on my bicycle and let the hunger lead me to the next beaten path.