look what we have here,” he slurs. Small flecks of meat land on my cheeks when he speaks. “Spying for your mother, huh?”
“No, I just heard...”
He yanks me into the barn, shutting the door behind us.
“You’re going to help me,” he says.
“What’s going to go—”
“Drink up,” he says, handing me the bottle.
I take a swig. It burns clear down the throat.
“This is all gonna go bad soon,” he says again.
He sinks his hand deep into the meat and pulls out a clump.
“Get started,” he says, handing me the meat.
My throat tightens, but I force my lips open and slide it into my mouth.
I picture snakes in the wild, consuming men whole. I picture women swallowing swords, great sharks consuming millions of fish at once. The meat slides down my tight throat, begins to work through my knot.
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