THEY CALL IT ‘EATING OUT’

 

Brigitte is almost asleep when she hears Ginger growl from the next bed. "I can smell it," Ginger says, and Brigitte stills, knowing that must mean something, but what Ginger smells Brigitte doesn't know.

"What?" she says, and wishes her voice wasn't so shaky. Her sister is turning into a fucking animal with moodswings, though, so uneasiness is sort of warranted.

"Your cunt," Ginger hisses. Brigitte can tell without looking that Ginger is sitting up, and also that she's sniffing the air like a dog. Her nostrils suck in little gusts of air and she growls again.

Brigitte forgets what exactly 'your cunt' is in reference to. "What are you talking about?"

"I can smell. Your cunt." Its perfectly clear this time, spat out like poisoned meat, and Ginger's voice is somewhere between disgusted and intrigued. It makes Brigitte wonder exactly what her cunt smells like, and she sniffs discreetly. Nothing, just clean sheets and that strange feral scent Ginger's been giving off lately.

"I don't smell anything," Brigitte says. She realizes its a mistake only seconds after she says it, because thats when Ginger lands on her, turning Brigitte from her side to her back in an instant.

Ginger's eyes are narrowed and...strange. Just strange. Not like a dog's eyes at all, but strangely canine nonetheless. Brigitte knows they probably look like a wolf's eyes, or a werewolf's eyes, but she's never seen a wolf before so she doesn't know. The wolf that attacked Ginger had blood-red eyes.

Ginger leans over and sniffs Brigitte, from head to stomach. "You smell...wet. You've been thinking about him, haven't you." Its not really a question, and Ginger's laugh sounds more like a growl than a giggle. "And fuck you, B, don't lie to me. You've been thinking about that asshole at the greenhouse. I can smell him all over you."

Its true; Brigitte had been thinking about Sam, his eyes and his hands and the way he talked to her. The way he talked. But they hadn't been sexual thoughts at all. Bridget doesn't think about sex, even when she touches herself, which she doesn't do all that often anyway. Ginger didn't use to think about sex, either, but that was before...that was before.

"I don't smell like anything," Brigitte says. "Its been almost twenty-eight days, Ging, maybe you smell your cunt."

Ginger growls again and pins her to the bed--by the wrists, not the shoulders. Wrists are for girls, Brigitte thinks, and wonders briefly why they aren't both the girl in this situation.

Ginger licks Brigitte's ear, and Brigitte thinks, Oh. Shit.

"Ginger," she says, "what are you doing?"

"I can smell you, B," Ginger says. Her hands are sliding up and down Brigitte's arms, and she can feel Ginger's fingernails (claws) digging into her. Ginger's face is buried in Brigitte's neck. "Its driving me crazy. And B, if I don't do something about it, I'll do something else. Don't make me disembowel an animal just because you're afraid of growing up." She says all of this so flip, so offhand, that it makes Brigitte grit her teeth, too frustrated to be afraid.

"I'm not afraid of growing up, Ginger. You're my sister. This is fucked."

"No, I'm fucked, B. I'm fucked. And its all you and your little idiot boyfriend's fault, so just lay back and let me do what I want, okay?" Ginger's sharp little incisors glitter in the dim light from outside, and Brigitte shrinks a little into her pillow.

Immediately, Ginger's face softens (although her teeth don't), and she slides her fingers gently through Brigitte's hair. Brigitte pretends not to be terrified at the feel of claws on her scalp. "B...I just need it. Okay? You've always given me what I need before, and now I need this."

Just for a second, she looks like Ginger again. The real Ginger.

Brigitte shuts her eyes and says, "Okay. Okay. But just this once. And after we solve everything we're not going to talk about this ever, okay?"

"Yes!" Ginger sounds like Ginger again too, but this is so fucked up. Ginger wouldn't say this, Ginger wouldn't be sliding Brigitte's nightgown up to her hips and--oh god--sliding her panties down, slipping them off the side of the bed and opening her legs.

Between Brigitte's legs, Ginger snuffles like an animal, and it makes Brigitte think about Trina, about what Ginger said. Eating her would be like fucking her. They call this kind of thing "eating out," and Brigitte knows why, it feels like Ginger is devouring her.

Brigitte squeezes her eyes shut tight and thinks about death.

 

END