Lapse

Monroe was alone, in the dark, hidden away from the world and judgement.

He grinned to himself and licked his lips, staring at the arguably most delicious snack he had ever tasted. He was excited about it. Not too long ago, it had been alive, peacefully living out its life in the outdoors. But Monroe found it and, in a moment of weakness, stole it for himself.

But he was trying to compose himself. He had tried to convince himself not to do it, not to eat it, but eventually, he lost the battle raging within his mind.

With a final smile, he woged. His lips curled away from his sharp teeth right before he bit into the flesh of his victim. His teeth cut easily through the fuzz, straight to the best part. Monroe's senses were overwhelmed as he took in the chewy, moist texture of the flesh and the tantalizing scent of the fluid that quickly seeped from the morsel of which he had just removed a chunk. Monroe groaned with bliss as he chewed his first bite and let the sticky, bright, colorful fluid drip down his chin. He swallowed his first bite ravenously, too impatient to savor the moment in its entirety, and buried his fangs into another mouthful of luxurious flesh. Feeling the same bliss as before, Monroe wildly took another bite before he had swallowed the previous one. Monroe licked his lips, unable to completely clear away the thick liquid and life essence that soaked his fur. He ran his tongue over his teeth, dislodging skin and fuzz.

The night went on like that for a few moments longer before his prey was completely eaten away.

Part of Monroe was disappointed. Part of him was guilty. He hated giving into the power of his hunger, but something about it did, in fact, feel very, very good. Monroe retracted into his human form, taking a few deep breaths, mentally preparing himself for cleaning up the mess he made. There should be no evidence by the time he was done; he didn't want to get caught.

Before he could begin, he heard footsteps coming down the stairs. He was standing in the kitchen of the house he shared with his wife... His wife who was coming down the stairs, approaching, getting closer to uncovering his secret.

"Monroe?" he heard Rosalee whisper into the darkness.

Monroe's eyes widened, he stood up straighter, and scrambled over to a paper towel roll to quickly wash up his face and maybe the counter... and his shirt....

"Monroe?" Rosalee repeated. She found him standing over the sink, wetting a messy handful of towels under a stream of water. "Monroe, what are you doing?" she asked confusedly in a volume a little louder than a whisper. The slight sound filled the room, begging for Monroe to give his wife an answer to her question.

Monroe was startled and jumped high enough to almost smash his head on the ceiling. He spun around. "Rosalee?" he said. "Uhhh." His eyes shot around to all of the corners of the room that revealed the truth of his actions.

Rosalee looked at Monroe's sticky face and shirt before her eyes made their way to the remnants of Monroe's meal; the remaining parts were sitting on the counter without a plate under them. She raised her eyebrows with surprise at her husband. "Monroe, what did you do?" she asked quickly, walking further into the kitchen to examine the evidence that surrounded them both.

"I'd say nothing if it were true, but that isn't exactly what happened," Monroe said, ashamed. Rosalee paused, waiting for more of an answer. Monroe sighed guiltily, looking at the floor as he answered. "I may have had a lapse in self-control" Monroe suggested uncomfortably, trailing off and letting his thought vanish into the tense air around them.

"May have?" Rosalee asked, standing with her hands on her hips, looking disapprovingly at her husband.

"I had a lapse in self-control," Monroe admitted, shamefaced.