I think I remember the sixth man, whose soul I took.
We were buzzed, not drunk. I wanted to have more, to take away the pain, but he took us out of the bar before I could get very far. In the middle of the night, we walked to the park with the bridge that went over the highway.
In a way, he was nice, but also too eager. I thought that he probably didn't know what he was going to do with his life, but who was I to judge? Maybe he just wanted to have a good time. Maybe, on the inside, he wasn't nice at all, and I was doing the world a favor. Probably not.
When we got to the bridge, I looked over, my arms hanging over the fence, and stared at the cars racing beneath us. If he said anything, I didn't hear it. I only heard the engines whirring by. My eyes unfocused, and when all the lights were just a blur, I became aware of the summer night's air, warm, yet my skin still felt cool. For a moment, there was some kind of peace. I could breathe clearly. If I fell backwards, it would be into his arms. If I fell forwards, the dark dream would be over.
And yet, later, I doubted even that. I was no longer human. I was a witch. A fall would not be enough to kill me anymore.
I turned around, and we smiled at each other. I remember him, probably, because his smile seemed so genuine. He seemed to recognize the value of the moment, and seeing it reflected in my eyes somehow made him happy. When I realized that, it was hard for me to look away.
Whenever I went out to drink, I told myself I was doing it to ease the hunger. It hardly ever worked, though. I think, rather, it was the hunger telling me to drink, so I could find men like him. Vulnerable boys, who had no choice but to accept the love I gave them, because it was nothing they had ever felt before, and everything they had ever wanted. When I thought of kissing them, feeling them, pleasing them, whatever feelings of guilt or sorrow I had felt from before were erased from my memory, replaced by an unquenchable thirst for life. It was supposed to be a blessing, a force to drive me to become a true witch. And yet, now, it felt like a curse.
Sometime not long after midnight, we entered his apartment. He lived alone in a one-bedroom unit. There were no decorations, nor were there any messes, just a simple place-- though it was saved from blandness by some modern looking appliances: a chic lamp, an electric kettle, and a knife holder, to name a few.
He said something about the apartment unit. He got a good deal on it. He was moving out soon though. He was trying to get a job somewhere in Sacramento. It was hard to ignore his body. I couldn't keep track of everything he was saying. I didn't really want to.
Instead, I looked him in the eyes. I touched him, and he touched me.
His hand held my arm. He drew himself closer to me, and I let him. On my neck, he kissed me.
I felt that thin needle of despair run through my blood, because there was no going back, but more than that, I felt relief, and pleasure.
Because there was no going back.
A dark sensation grew in my heart, spreading through my veins, into my mind and body, relieving me of all doubt, fear, and reason. His hand ran down my back, hastening the feeling, and I wrapped my arms around him in response. My hands went under his shirt and felt his warmth, a warmth that was no longer his.
From here, wouldn't it play out exactly as I wanted? He held me tighter, and kissed me more desperately. He could not stop, because my body had robbed him of all free will. I could not stop, because of my unyielding hunger. And so, we were both helpless in each other's arms, his fate to be shackled to mine, and mine to shackle his.
He guided me to his room, and together we fell on his bed. He continued to kiss me, stopping only for brief moments to remove my clothes, moving himself each time to taste the newly exposed flesh. He unveiled my breasts, and loved them, unknowing of the sacrifices that were made to them. He knew only what he could see, feel, and taste; his tongue slid against the left, and his hand grasped the right.
My vision blurred. The world seemed to be made up of only feelings and sounds. I heard his moans, and he heard mine. It felt good. I wanted more.
"Let me."
We stood up, and I took his shirt off. His body was sturdy, like a sculpture of muscle and bone. I was down to my underwear, though I wouldn't need to take any more off. I had him with his back against the wall, while I unzipped his pants. I could take everything from here.
"You're quick," he said.
It wasn't my first time anymore. My mouth was salivating, too. Such a slut.
His cock came out, in front of my face, and gently, I used my hands to pleasure him. My cold fingers against his warm dick, the sensation of exchange; they made my heart beat faster, and my lust grow stronger.
Still gently, I began to use my tongue. From the sound of his moans, I could tell he felt the same as I did. A lust that could not be stopped, only slowed, until we could take it no more. What I was doing now, swirling my tongue around the tip, tasting him, before the final act, it was just courtesy to me, wasn't it? I could barely hold myself back, but for his sake, I wanted his last moments to be...
"Fuck..." he said, "It's good--"
I cut him off there, by filling my mouth with his cock. Back and forth, my mouth and my tongue, moving simultaneously. I took as much of him as I could. Why did I want to? Why did I need to prove anything to a man who would be gone in a few minutes? Why was I still walking the line between a witch and a human being? They're just a source of energy to us. No, why did I become a witch in the first place? Why can't I decide? Fuck it, I'll just suck him off like the soul-stealing slut I am.
"You're like-- fucking-- heaven--!"
His words added to my resolve. They sealed his fate. My saliva covered every inch of his cock. The sound of it, every time his cock reached the back of my mouth. I looked up, into his eyes, to a scene that I had gotten used to, a man paralyzed by the pleasure I had given him. At some point, I had moved my hand down to pleasure myself, too. My own touch felt better than it should have. The hunger from before was no longer a painful or aching feeling, rather, it was a force that drove me. It felt good. I could feel it, my body was beckoning his soul to leave him, to join me.
"Shit-- wait--!"
He must have felt it too.
He tried to back away, but there was only the wall behind him. His body slid down, in some kind of desperate attempt to escape, but I simply kept my lips wrapped around him. We were on the ground now, his moans somewhere between pleasure and pain. I couldn't stop. I put as much of his cock in my mouth. It was swelling in me, and I knew it was time. I twisted my tongue around him, repeatedly, relentlessly, and sent him over the edge.
I think he screamed, while I drank it all up. His soul, I tasted it, the joy, the misery, the feelings within memories that couldn't be told in words, but-- it was only for a moment. I couldn't stop myself from swallowing before I could savor him fully; that's how ravenous I had become. He stopped moving. I brought my head up, basking in the pleasure, while still on my knees. No more pain. No more hunger. Just the unmistakable euphoria of a human soul, sliding down my throat.
And then...
The unmistakable guilt.
---
I sat in a ball at the foot of his bed. His body was still there, breathing gently, but his soul wasn't. Like this, he would die slowly. Even though he didn't have a consciousness to feel it, the sight of him half alive made me feel worse. How did the other witches manage to take their life and soul in one go? Maybe I was doing it wrong. Didn't he scream? Was it painful? Would it have felt better if some other witch did it instead?
