I bought her at candy store; I liked her wrapped, but I loved the faked shades of her sweetness, her sweetness beneath her wrapper. She was every colour of the rainbow, fused and melted together.

I bought her with the change in my pocket, and I took her home to enjoy her.

I peeled her naked, once we were alone. I wanted to get her in mouth as soon as I had her in my hands; I wanted to devour her right there on the street, but I knew she’d be too messy for public consumption.

But once we were alone, I stripped her down, and revealed her form to me, all angular curves and artificial colourings and well, basically, exactly what I wanted.

She was so sweet she made my teeth ache. Too much of her and I’d be on the floor, vomiting up my soul and breakfast. Too little of her, and I’d be angry for days. Months.

She was hard enough to crack a tooth, soft enough to get all sticky on my tongue, like wax melting against my body. Sugary wax, flowing over me, coating me.

I ate her like a snack, yeah. And now I can’t get the taste of her off my lips.

I like her way too much. Always have. I’ve had a thing for her, since she was too young for me in that Halloween costume. She’s older now, and I like her even the more; don’t ask me why, because I honestly don’t know. Is it just that she’s beautiful? Nah, it’s something else. She bugs me in the best of ways. Gets under my skin like tattoo ink.

She got in trouble the next day for what we’d done that night.

I was drunk. I never know quite how she shows up in my arms, but usually it starts with me being a little fucked up.

I had hands on her, mouth too. She said something like, “you won’t do it.” She giggled and struggled and said, “you won’t.” She was so sure I wouldn’t, and I wasn’t, so I did.

My hands went tight on her throat. My lips smiled unpleasantly, revealing wolf-like incisors that went straight for the jugular, or maybe one of those big tasty veins around the side.

She was good for about a second a half. “Okay,” she said quickly, “you will.”

Of course I will. How was that ever in doubt?

She’s nice in my hands; no, she’s not nice. She’s a wild animal I’ve tricked into staying still long enough for me to ensnare. She’s the happiness that is a warm gun. Maybe she just makes me happy because I like bad things. 

I got a message from her the next day…

“i got to enjoy my boss schmearing anti bacterial gloop on my neck today and giving me a lecture.
thank you, captain dracula”