My boyfriend is eating a human heart.
His hands hold it like a ripe mango, juice dripping down his chin, his wrists. His tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth with every swallow. His fingers press so hard against the organ I fear it’s going to pop.
It’s a heart, I think to myself. It can’t pop.
I sit with my back against the door. The house is as still as it’ll ever be, but everything feels loud—the creak of old floorboards, the whistles of snoring down the hall, the static buzz of a lightbulb left on, the rusty twinge of a door left ajar, the pop of the candles on my altar.
The loudest sound of all is the slick, wet sound of Maks devouring. He seems both thrilled and terrified. Every few seconds he stops and looks at me. His eyes wide and begging for answers I don’t have, his chest heaving as if I should stop him, save him from this.
When Maks is finished, he sits and looks at his red hands. There is nothing like staring at your open palms, blood filling the creases like rivers across a barren land. He rubs his thumb across his fingers, like a reminder that, yes, those are his hands.
“Maks?”
I think about what my dad and Nova said. The note in the box. Abomination. Casimuerto. I don’t like the way those words sound on my tongue.
I pull at my magic. It’s a weak pulse, weaker than it has ever been. I let it flood through him and I search for the one thing to reassure me that he’s still Maks—his heartbeat.
I can hear it, feel it, beating to the same rhythm as mine.
“Lula,” he says, his features contorting into confusion. “What’s wrong with me?”
I sit on my knees and brush his hair back. I pull him close to my chest. How can I tell him everything and make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone?
“There was an accident.”
“I can’t remember anything.” He wraps his arms around me and holds me tightly, and deep down I recognize the desperation that he clings to because I’ve felt that too.
I shut my eyes, hot tears rolling down my face. “I know. We’ll fix that.”
He touches the bloody mess around his mouth. He frowns at the sight. I grab a candle from my altar and take his hand.
“Come,” I say.
It’s well past midnight but I don’t want to wake anyone up. I also can’t leave him anywhere by himself. Not after his violent outbursts, not after he lunged for Rose. I take him into the bathroom, leave on the vanity lights because the ceiling ones bother his eyes. I let the water fill the tub with suds.
“Everything aches.” He takes his shirt off and groans with the stretch of his muscles. He strips down his pants and steps into the hot water, his legs parting the suds as he lowers himself.
I grab a face towel from a shelf and kneel at his side. He rests his head back on the tiles, so still I press my finger to his shoulder to bring his attention back to me.
“Sorry, I was trying to sort out my memory,” he says. “I’ve never felt this way before. It’s strange, like I’m far away from myself. I can see these are my hands, but they don’t feel like my hands. I can feel my heart but—” He turns to me.
“I know. I don’t feel like myself either,” I admit. I dip the towel in the soapy water and clean the blood off his face. He shuts his eyes and leans in.
“This feels familiar though,” he says, smiling like his old self. “I could get used to you taking care of me.”
I try to smile, but I can’t. He said that before, like a record that’s scratched. What have I turned him into?
He pushes the bubbles in the bath around and frowns when he finds the scars on his torso. “Why did this happen to us?”
Why does anything happen? I think.
Because cars collided and people died. Because no matter how hard we pray or how much we believe, the gods abandon us to ourselves, to the whims of others. Because it was meant to be but we weren’t. Because life is a series of inexplicable accidents and we don’t get to choose the good or the bad. Because I made a choice.
I wring the towel over the tub. The water turns pink. The blood on his face is all gone. His bone structure sharper.
“It just did,” I say.
When I look into his eyes, they’re the same blue I fell in love with. Eating the heart seems to have helped him recover the pink in his cheeks and the warmth of his skin, but for how long? Now all I need is a lifetime supply of human hearts until I can figure out how to fix all of this.
He holds his breath and sinks below the water. He stays down there for a few seconds and then comes back up, sucking in a mouthful of air.
“How do you feel?” I brush the wet hair out of his eyes, revealing the long scar across his forehead.
“Stronger than before.” He takes my hand, the washcloth falling into the tub, and presses it over his heart. “I don’t remember getting this scar. But I remember you, reaching out to me. Like you were the only thing I could hold on to. I know that doesn’t make any sense.”
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
For whatever comes next. “For never introducing you to my dad. And for being different the past few months.”
“We can get through anything, Lula.” His finger traces the length of my jaw, bringing me toward him by my chin.
He kisses me swiftly, and for the briefest moment, it feels like it was before. Before. Before. I’ve wanted to go backward for so long that I don’t know what it’s like to move forward.
When I pull away, my body shivers from the coldness of his touch and the metallic taste of his lips.
? ? ?
I give him clothes to change into after he towels off. He runs his hand through his black hair. His cheeks are red from the hot water, and his face is riddled with pearly scars.
I shut the lights off behind us and walk down the hall, back to my room. Maks goes in first, but before I can follow, I hear a footstep warp the floorboards behind me.
I snap around and see Nova standing in the hall, the door to the infirmary open behind him. I assure Maks I’ll be right in and turn to Nova.
He runs his hands against the shaved sides of his head, swearing under his breath.
“I should’ve known,” he says, a scoff trailing bitterly. “All the questions you were asking. The reason why you were so cagey now. Are you going to tell me what was really in the box, Lula?”
Oddly enough, having Nova talk to me like this feels like I’ve relieved a great pressure from my chest.
“I think you know,” I tell him. “I wanted to contact you. I figured if anyone could give me an answer to what’s happening, it might be you. But Alex—”
“Alex didn’t want to see me.” He rests his hands on his waist and walks closer, the muscles of his chest rippling and tense. “How did this happen?”
“Nova, please. There’s so much to explain. I know I have no right to ask you this, but I need your help.”
“No.” He crosses his arms over this chest and shrugs. “I can’t get involved.”
I place my hand on his arm, so warm compared to Maks. To me, even. “I can’t go to my parents or the High Circle. The Alliance would lock me up. The hunters would have my head. Alex and Rose know, but this is beyond us.”
In the dim light, I can see him shaking his head, and a soft, frustrated sound escapes from the back of his throat.
“I figured if anyone knew what I was going through, it would be you,” I whisper.
“Was he the one who attacked us?” Nova asks.
“No, I swear! He’s been here for the past two nights.”
Nova’s quiet for a while. The sounds of the dark return, louder than before. Something pinches at my side, like nails grabbing hold of my skin and twisting hard. But I’ve gotten better at hiding my pain, so I stand and wait for Nova’s word.
“I don’t know much, but I can contact people who might. After that, I’m out. I don’t want to be involved with you guys any more than I already am.”
A wave of relief crashes over me.
Nova doesn’t return my smile and turns his back on me, heading down the hall to use the bathroom. In the dark, he says, “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
One thought echoes through my head as I return to Maks: I hope I do too.
18