Wicked Hunger

Wicked Hunger Chapter 24

Chapter 24

Understanding

Despite the fact that I am completely unable to resist Ivy in any way, I am still not convinced this is a good idea. I buy our tickets to a movie which would normally be enough to put me to sleep, purchase popcorn and sodas at the concession stand, and balk at the door to the theater. Ivy doesn’t stop to argue or convince. She steps around me with a calm expression and enters the darkened theater. Once again, I swallow the feeling that I should run, and enter the theater as well.

It isn’t as dark as I anticipated. There are lights along the floor, as well as sconces every few feet on the wall. They aren’t bright, but they are enough to show me that the theater is about half full. Surprising, given the topic of the movie, but I am thankful for it. Ivy is a good ten feet in front of me and I lengthen my stride to catch up with her. She is heading up the stairs, but I know better.

“Let’s take the seats in the front, on the side closest to the exit,” I insist.

A small frown flashes on her lips, but she nods and takes one of the seats I was pointing to. If I have to bail, I want it to be as easy as possible, with the smallest amount of people between me and the door. Not attacking Ivy is my first priority. Not causing any collateral damage is a close second.

My meltdown in the restaurant parking lot forced us to rush through our dinner. Even still, we barely made it in time for the movie. The lights dim only a few minutes after we’re seated. When they do, my heart rate skyrockets. I can’t see any of the other patrons. I can hear a few of them still whispering, but it isn’t enough to distract me.

My foot starts tapping nervously on the floor. Ivy stays perfectly quiet and still. With less than a foot between us, it doesn’t help very much. Her body heat pulses against my skin. I can hear her breathing. Her scent fills my lungs. I can feel her energy with very little effort in this dark, silent room. My hunger begins to roil and beg for nourishment.

The sudden blaring of previews startles me enough to get a firm handle on my hunger. I lend every ounce of my focus to the images dancing across the screen. I memorize the characters, the release dates, the directors, anything that will occupy my brain. Two full previews play before I feel my body begin to relax. Relief pools in my numb extremities. I remain focused on the show, but my hunger stays manageable.

At least until Ivy whispers, “I’m going to lean my head on your shoulder. Tell me if it’s too much.”

I nod, even though I’m not sure she can see me. I don’t trust myself enough to talk at the moment. She doesn’t move right away. She gives me time to prepare myself. I breathe, tense up my muscles, do everything I can think of to steady myself against her, but I still flinch when her slight weight rests on my shoulder. My hunger races toward the point of contact. It gnaws at her, fights to be released, but I manage to keep it in check.

For a long time, we stay in that position. My hunger never gives up, but I strain to keep it contained. Ivy asks again before taking it any further. “Can I hold your hand?”

My eyes widen. I honestly don’t know if I can handle that. I want to feel her fingers curl around mine. “I…I don’t know,” I whisper back.

The narrator drones on about plankton or some other inconsequential facet of the underwater cave. The theater is quiet, but feels saturated. I feel movement to the side of me, but before I can pull away, a tiny amount of pressure from Ivy’s fingers on my hand lashes me into immobility. My hunger was grumbling before. Now it is howling.

Her voice is soft and tentative as she says, “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

I groan in agony. I’ll never want her to stop, even if I should. That’s the problem. My entire body is rigid as her fingers glide slowly across my skin. They curve around the side and gently turn my palm up. My fingers start twitching at that point. Every small spasm is a battle between my hunger and my will to keep me from crushing her hand. She doesn’t move as I struggle.