Hearteater - Part 1

“I’m in love with you right now, it’s not even funny,” she said. Her hand touched my shoulder and she leaned close to whisper. “Anything you want, just tell me.” Saliva built in my mouth. It’s been a while since I ate, and she proved to be an especially difficult girl to unlock. The waiting improved the appetite, but wait too long and you die. I needed to survive.

Her name was Samantha, a very basic name for very basic person. Human characteristics blended together when I was acting out of love. Samantha had been marinating in pheromones of joy for a week now. I have to be patient as she fully blossomed in love, enriching the threshold of flavors. It was a cruel game, but it was about my survival. She will live on after I fed, yet it would be a lonely existence, if I was to eat her heart.

“Come closer,” I said. My mouth watered. No matter how many times I tried to starve myself, I ended up feeding again. My mom told me repeatedly that it wasn’t a burden, but a blessing. How did she manage to restrain herself from eating my heart? With love that of a child to his parent not as delicious? That wasn’t true. It was the tastiest of hearts. “Close your eyes.” She did so.

“I’m all yours, Ledeon,” Sam said.

“I need you, Samantha VadRines,” I said and she gasped. My hand glided up her arm and to her neck. The index finger trailed her collarbone, and slid down the middle of her chest to the heart. It was racing, and her eyes were on fire, the final blaze I’ve seen so many times before, before forever being robbed of the metaphorical heart. “And from you I take this heart.”

Her chest glowed in the shape of the human heart, how bright and delicious it looked underneath the skin. I wanted to tear it out, ripping the flesh quickly, but I feared killing her, as I have done so in the past. My index finger pressed gently to the center of the glow and pulled away slowly, extracting and orb of light. Samantha fainted from the surrender of her heart. It was mine now, my meal.

I laid her down on the bed, and brushed my lips on her neck. She needed to sleep more, as I fed. The orb was beating as if a real heart. I licked it, and tasted euphoria of flavor. Her love secreted a sweet taste of honey. My fingers trembled from excitement. I wanted to consume it whole in one bite. Hunger tempted me to hastily ingest all the work I put into this moment. Twinge of regret pierced my mind. She was so young, so quick to fall in love. Now she would never trust anyone again. I took her heart away.

“I’m sorry, Sam,” I spoke knowing full well she couldn’t hear me, “But I need to eat.”

I bit into the squishy orb, welcoming an explosion of taste. I felt pure ecstasy of food making its way, drip at a time, into a system craving it so. The first bite was the sweetest. All the joy and pleasure I have built up in her, flowed out of the liquid core. It dripped on my jaw, but I could let none of it escape. The flesh of this fruit was opaque, with a tinge of peach pink, but the liquid was Rose in color. I said was more bites, savoring every piece until only the thin coat of rose-colored flavor remained. I licked my fingers until no miniscule droplet remained between the ridges of my finger prints.

My lips soothed her into a sleep so that she could morph into her new state of mind without panic. I’ve made that mistake once. His name was Brian. He was awake when I extracted my food and watched in horror as I ate it in front of him. It was the caffeine in his system keeping him awake. I saw the fear of me sprout from his eyes like lances meant to impale me. His metamorphosis occurring in real time as fear and sadness took control. There was no time for me to ease him into sleep. These raw Emperor emotions took hold of his body and threw him out of his window. I never made that mistake again.

Samantha would wake up alone, but the emotions would not drive her to these actions. Her emotional guard would be up and she would never love again. How could she? I consumed her heart, the central part of her emotional network. Her life would be a lonely one, perhaps filled with regrets and missed opportunities of a better one. It would be kinder to kill her now, but I’ve stopped that practice. My mother still did that, but we haven’t spoken since I left home years ago.

Gathering up my things from the room, I made my way out. I never wondered if they would remember me after I ate their hearts, but I glanced back at Sam for a moment. She was a good person. Now she would be a hollow shell of one.

The door to her place closed on that chapter of my life. I told myself I’d never forget her, but I said that before. The past hearts have tasted weaker. Some hid the rotten, broken past of the person and I had to keep them down. It was food, and I was learning to eat. There was casework to do before drawing out their hearts. The more pain and sorrow they experienced in their life, the longer it took to marinate them in love, and was almost always only barely edible. There was nothing sweeter and juicy than a heart of first love. I’ve made the mistake of having feelings for her, too. Before I realized, I devoured her heart. My mother helped me detach, but that girl’s name, Anne, engraved itself in my brain. She was proof that I can never fall in love myself, for I would end up destroying that connection.

It was night, my time to hunt. If I were to feed again, I have to find another heart, marinate it until it was ready to eat. It was rare to find a heart ready to eat on the spot. The person had to be euphoric for it to work. Even then, their heart belonged to someone. Ripping it out and eating it would be just too cruel. The person would become different around the significant other, and eventually, their relationship would end, explosively or otherwise. I’ve never gone through that with eaten hearts, but my mother had, and she taught me not to do the same.

Lonely individuals were the perfect prey. They’ve been struggling to connect to others, resulting in souring of their hearts, but if marinated in sugar of happy emotions, they became a refreshing meal. As they were alone, not many would notice when their hearts got eaten. They often stayed at home, but on Fridays, they dressed up and sought a connection to another of their kind. They showed their bellies in surrender to me.

“Hi, Miss,” I said sitting beside one of them at a bar of name I would not remember. I didn’t look at her yet. She was looking, scanning my Armani suit and strikingly beautiful body features. I could feel her eyes move to my face, mouth and lips. She was caught, but she didn’t know it yet. It was time to look at her. I turned my head. “My name is Ledeon. Would you care for the refresh of your drink?” I motioned to the bartender before she answered. She nodded.

“Ledeon, huh?” She asked. I smiled and turned. A smiling profile was a move I often used. It showed slight embarrassment, but also that I was used to it. “That’s a strange name. I bet people say that a lot.” Her eyes locked with mine. The pulsation of her joy was warm with hope. It was like a sweltering sun being born.

“Your eyes intrigue me,” I said. A well-timed complement was enough to keep her from fighting as she was reeled in. “The depth draws me in closer, and closer.” I leaned gently in, eyes open, lips parted. The scent of her perfume invaded my nostrils and played an Ave Maria on my right cerebral hemisphere. She hesitated for just a moment recollecting past hurtful breakups, but broke through it and connected us at last with gentle ridges of the lips that fit to each other.

“Wow,” she said parting for breath. Her voice stopped. She was speechless. The first sprinkle of sugar fell onto the sour fruit in her heart. That was the beginning. “You’re a great kisser, Ledeon.”

“Beginner’s luck,” I said. “That was my first kiss.” She was shocked at that lie, but I knew it worked as I’ve used it before. They were shocked about the reveal, and questioned themselves if this was a line or truth. The bartenders of the place rolled their eyes. They could not believe such a cheesy line. It was a malleable idea still. I could add a dead girlfriend for instant grief points, or gender flip it that it was the first girl kiss I’ve had. It’s all relied on reading her reaction.

“There is no way that you kiss this well the first time,” she said. I smirked. Neither option was necessary. She had a bad first kiss and it engraved itself on her memory. “First time is messy and strange.”

“I take you experienced that your first time,” I said. “Well, I am glad I gave my first to a professional then.” She smiled and her eyes lit up, caught in my web. Now there was just marinating of courtship to arrive at a time of her joy and bliss, so I could eat. “I have yet to ask your name, stranger.” Saying that word built intrigue, gave her a ripcord to save herself. I would not know who she was, nor would I search for her again. It was the last safety net she had. If she didn’t open that parachute, everything she was and had, laid bare to my eyes. I hope she would open it, with my whole horrible being. I would move on to search for a new lamb for slaughter of the heart. Instead she took off the parachute mid fall and sought me out as one.

“My name is Diane,” she said and sealed her fate. She was no woman awaiting a one-night stand, and neither was I. The evening progressed gradually as we talked and by the end she was pulling toward me to come into her apartment, but I had to let the sugar I sprinkled on sit in place, not to be shaken off by a wild night in bed. I played the gentleman I was to be.

“Would you like to come in for some tea?” She asked. The invitation was welcome. It confirmed my efforts have not gone unnoticed.

“That would be to forward, my apologies,” I replied and bowed. “I would love another and goodnight kiss from your master lips however.” She smiled and glided a hand on my neck toward my chin. I could feel her heart beat warm with starting thoughts of love. I could devour her here, forget the wait of marinating and fill up on this sweetly scented heart, but I had no way of knowing what lay beneath that coat of glaze I slathered over her heart. I resisted it as our lips met and endless ridges of our lips fit together as puzzle pieces.

“Wow, again,” she said after catching a breath. “Good night, Ledeon. Call me whenever.” Her lips were still glazed and matched her eyes in that. Ascending the stairs, she turned at the top to see me touching my lips with eyes closed. It was a move I’ve seen work wonders before. She would turn and ask what I was doing and I replied.

“I was instilling that kiss into the deepest parts of my memory,” I said. That would make her melt. When I left and looked back, she had her back against the wall and was also instilling the kiss. That was all I could do that night with her. It was time to return home.

What did a creature such as I, not interested in human sexuality, do with my free time? I hardly slept. My functions came alive after a meal. There existed far nobler things I could do with the pent up energy, but noble was overdone. I sought no money, mother had that covered. She did not simply eat hearts, but stole their lives, and targeted the rich. Upon the moment she would feast, the food was at a point of handing over their riches to her. I had no interest in it at all, but she was protective of me from afar. I feared her.

It was when I was still quite young. I just fed the first time on my own, much to my grief, for I had no idea the girl had but one true heart to give, and I had eaten it. Mother saw me bursting with energy and love for her, and she tried to eat my heart. Watching my true heart escape my chest, I felt what I imagined every meal must have felt to the prey. It was a sense of worthlessness and doubt, as if nobody could fill this gaping hole created. It took my mother everything she had to return my heart into my chest. I seen her only once a year since then, but the money flowed in endlessly.

I didn’t seek fame either, yet I found myself fighting for both money and stardom. Where else could I vent this excessive energy. They called me MidKnight, as I only appeared after midnight. It was a crude sport, but I hardly felt pain. When fed, my pain threshold was greater. With each next opponent, my chest shuddered with excitement, until it was over. The crowd cheered, but all I could hear was the sound of those excited hearts trembling to be ripped out and devoured.

With the night ending, I vanished before the fans swarmed me and offered their rotten hearts to eat from where I vented. Their hearts were filled with anger and violence, leaving salty taste not easily vanquished with joy. If in need of a meal, I could always eat there, but it was unhealthy. Part of my dining preparation was finding the right heart among all that could marinate in the sweetness of joy and alleviate past pain. What would a human think of such a creature as me, a monster on many levels who took away trust and hope from the fragile hearts? I found humans do so too, yet for other means than food. They seek pleasure and greed, but only rip at the true heart, stealing bits that can be revived with hope.

After a while in one city, I have to keep a record of hearts eaten, or risk stumbling into an empty person. They had forgotten, yet they felt a pull to their true heart, residing as a tiny bit of mine. To them, I was the only one they saw in color, a hope beacon, making them dangerous at times. My mother advised me to kill them after taking their hearts, but I could not. Once it became a hassle to avoid them all, I had to change cities, snacking on the way in villages and towns. This led me to the realization that one day this world have to change generations for me to keep feeding. I wondered if someone was tracking me, hunting me. I wished and feared it so.

I was not the only one like this. Survival was against my race as we had hearts too and could become hollow shells, but there have to be someone beyond me and my mother with this accursed hunger. If we had died, I would share grief with joy. I would never wish this existence onto anyone, and yet, I grew lonely, devouring hearts to survive, creating those hollow humans. I was the plague, but I wanted to live. How could I exist without hurting anyone else? I wished there was a way.

The rest of the night I occupied myself with the recording of my thoughts, pondering of human life and mine, how I fit into it all. I’ve invented many theories, from the preposterous, that I was a God walking among humans as they were my food, to the conceivable, that I, or rather, my race, mutated from humans, existing slightly above. That thinking demanded more than one mind, so I looked where I could not be, the Internet. They knew me as HRT< on there and among them was a few misunderstood geniuses. AlphaMail was one of them.

“I got another theory, RT,” he messaged on my forum post. “What if you’re an experiment of some sort, just a test-tube baby gone wrong?”

“Would explain my mother, Alph,” I messaged back.

“Oh, right,” he messaged. “Second generation test-tube baby!”

“Pass,” messaged another fiction thinker, Zedes, “I’d still push some messed-up mythological creature.” Her name, given it was a her, was a cross between Zeus and Hades. She was into mythologies and homosexuals. In the case of the latter, I fueled her with my encounters of men’s hearts.

“Not a chance,” messaged Dracula’s’al Gul. “I’ve been saying RT is a vampire forever now, just one that takes hearts, not blood.” He was a mind-bank on comics and the supernatural. It was a strange little team, but their infinite minds and schedules accompanied the nights, lessening the bite of loneliness. I never meet them in person, for I feared that as close friends, they would end up as food in the end.

“Still,” I messaged. “Do I have a right to exist in this world?”

“Of course you do, silly RT,” Alph messaged.

“You are far better than some humans are,” Zed added. “They kill and greed for everything. That is the curse of mortal men and women.”

“You’re too cool NOT to exist, RT,” Drac messaged. They took me as one of them, a kid lost in his own fiction fantasy. It was better that way. They would fear me in they knew this curse was more than my imagination. A curse!

“How about a curse?” I messaged. It was a viable choice. My mother was cursed, and she passed it on to her son.

“Nah,” Alph messaged.

“Overdone,” Drac added.

“Too simple,” Zed wrote. “You’d have found a cure or something by now, or your mother would have. Curse is not likely.” The sun was rising.

“Thanks guys,” I messaged back. Another day was starting and all my wounds have healed.

The night were east to entertain, but when I logged off, there was much time in the brightness of day that I had to spend somehow. The morning could not be harder. I could not contact Diane yet. Even though she said to all any time, there was a waiting period. For the character I played, only one day would suffice, but not in the morning. Best timing was the evening, after work hours. That way a simple text message could become a second date. I would text her tonight, but there was a lot of time until then.

There was one place I could go anytime, and that was my job. I had no need of money, nor did I seek fame the profession could bring, but under the wing of Madam Zivaria, I could model fashion any time of day. Many at her studio adored me for my beautiful body, but I played a human without interest in women at work. I did my best to avoid the male models, explaining I only saw them as competition.

“Ledeon!” Madam Z said when I walked in. She looked me over and frowned. “You’ve been fighting again, haven’t you?” She brought a hand to my chin and looked it over. The bruises on my face took longer to heal. With a flick of her finger, five makeup genies swarmed me to beautify my face. In a few minutes I was bright and glowing.

“I fight every night,” I said. “I told you that already. It’s not like they can land any hits unless I want them to.”

“You’re a little masochistic sicko, aren’t you?” Madam asked. The wardrobe ladies already had my shirt off. Z glided a hand over my bare chest and undid my belt while looking me in the eyes. “But you’re my little sicko and I love you, Ledeon. Now strip him!” The pants came off and just as an assistant begun sliding my underwear off, Madam Z intervened.

“Halt!” Z said. The girl let go of the underwear which almost cleared male anatomy.

“New girl, huh?” I asked. She looked away from my glance.

“Susan, I think,” Madam said.

“Sarah, actually,” the girl corrected.

“No matter,” Z said. “More importantly, are those the new Calvin’s?” She pointed at my slid underwear.

“Got them promo,” I said. “Someone there likes me, I guess.”

“Keep them on,” Madam said. “I want a few in them. Chop-Chop, ladies!”

“No peek for you today, sweets,” I said and winked at Sarah. She blushed as I was rushed to set.

Hours later, I picked out any of the clothes I wanted from the rack and left. It was only midday, but there was a limit to how many photo shoots I could do. It was something about conflicting contracts or some other limiting factors. The women flirting with me at work bothered me more. To maintain an image of a gay male model, I had to resist temptation. Madam Z loved to pose me in anything.

What could a sad soul like me do all day? Games could entertain me, but it was a mistake going to some public place to play. Gamer girls flocked me instantly. I was quite the eye candy to the high tech graphics. Instead, I visited museums and art exhibits, enjoying the blooming art that hugged the dirty city. Any old crevasse could be filled with color, or beautified. Many remained dark and gloomy. The museums were quiet during the day, save for a few tourists. They filled over weekends. Attending them so often, clued me in to new arrivals and exhibits.

I never had a thought to make art of my own, but ingesting so much new creativity and old historical art, I could regurgitate masterpieces. Sometimes I met with artists to give them money, or rather bought their work. I donated most of it or kept it tucked away in forgotten storage. It wasn’t about admiring their craft, but funding their future. One of those artists could depict the true me in time, expose the monster beneath my existence.

Outside of the routine, my body only sought to survive through those fantastic hearts I pulled from chests of women and men. Like humans, I craved the sweet, though few remained a structured pure sugar concoction. Only those with undamaged minds contained a crystal heart, a rarity of great proportions. To a human, the value of such a heart, would be the weight of it in jewelry, a gold heart. Everyone held onto some sour and bitter memories, but the hunt allowed these to marinate to the point of being edible. That was the real trick to my magic.

As night arrived, the city lit up in brilliant colors, attracting humanity out of their cages and into the wild dazzle of imitated brightness. It was my hunting grounds for Diane. Enough time had elapsed since the net was cast upon her. Was she still thinking of her freedom struggle, or was my grasp all she now desired? After the next time we met, the human mind she once possessed would seep into the fantasy of love I spun.

The struggle was mine for survival, more than hers for connection, though I often wondered how it would feel to be fulfilled by love alone. Humans were food, but they had it easier. Thinking so reduced them to what they needed to be, a food source, directed and trapped. Everything came secondary to staying alive.

Just twenty minutes after five, I texted Diane with a simple welcoming message and a question for dinner. It was a honey trap. At this time of day, the system craved food. She would say “yes”, I was sure of it. She responded: “I’d love to, Ledeon. :)”

We met up at a restaurant of my choosing, tailored to her tastes with the help of internet. The more in common we had, the faster would the heart be ready for my consumption. It was best not to target famous individuals. Diane was just a designer in a large company responsible for creating web advertisements. The famous had too many demons hidden away, from selling their bodies, to darker means of obtaining fame. Seeking out my next meal was an art, a very strenuous art which kept everyone away for fear of emotional attachment.

“You look spectacular,” I said as Diane walked up to the table with an escort. “Right out of work?” She smiled.

“I stopped by home to freshen up,” she replied. “And thank you. You like charming as well. Is that a different suit?” That was a probe question, meant to gauge my wealth. She was wearing a scarlet sweater turtleneck with a very comfortable pair of jeans. The fluffy garment made sure to define her chest. If I was human, I would find that motivating to see the garment leave her body, but only one thing ran inside my mind. It was her quickened heartbeat. Every pulse made my stomach grumble. There was still so much to do before she offered me her heart.

“I have a closet full of them,” I said. “I try to each of them at least once.” A waiter dropped off the menus, but I caught his gaze to remain. I looked at Diane.

“Sore red wine?” she asked.

“A bottle of your oldest you have,” I said. A show of no restraint would put that question into her mind. The waiter left with a smile. A big spending client often meant a hefty tip to look forward to. Five more seconds until the question came out of her lips. I counted down as I did before.

“So I take it money is not an issue for you, Ledeon,” she said. “What line of work are you in?” There it was. I smiled as the waiter put down the glasses announcing the vintage and name of the wine.

“I’m a part-time fashion model,” I replied. “I also do fighting in spare time.” Her beautiful eyebrows raised in surprise. It was not a combination one might expect. Most models had ot care for their appearance, but I healed too fast too fast to care.

“I’ve always wanted to do fashion,” she said taking a sip. It proved quite good. Maybe the venue deserved a spot on my regulars list. The meal would determine that. “This wine is delicious, isn’t it?”

“So that line you used at the bar the other night,” she said. “Do you use that on all the girls?” She was still smiling, but exposed their meeting as a lewd lie. There were options to go from here. I could take the offense, sticking to the first kiss story by creating a fantastic tale. Another option was to laugh it off and tell her I just had to speak to her somehow because she drew me in. Five other choices remained, but none fit the bill. Not many would believe a man of late twenties to be so unadjusted. Option two was fine for now. Adding a bit of humor got me closer to her.

“Was it that obvious?” I asked. “I suppose it was a lame tactic, but it got me here, right?” She smiled and shook her head.

“The good night kiss did that,” Diane said. “You wouldn’t believe how many guys expect to get lucky the first time.”

“Obviously, they have no idea how wonderful it is to be in the company of a beautiful woman.” Her lips curved as the wine glass. Once we ordered, I small-talked her to reveal what she liked about me. In her eyes, I had a soul of an older person. That much was true. I did not age like humans did. I still remember when all women tasted bitter before equal rights. That was a season for men. They had juices of success back then, but finding ones who liked other men was a struggle. Everything had to be under a pretense of friendship. That had not changed in many millennia, or so I’ve been told by mom.

We left the restaurant hand-in-hand, talking about worlds where we became different people, lived out in the winds, or deserts, or mountains. It was too obvious she did not enjoy the city, but when I asked about it, she laughed it off. She had so much life ahead of her. I almost resisted going after her heart, but survival always won out in the end. Emotion always took the backseat.

In a week, Diane could be just as Samantha was, ready to face anything for me. Women had a tendency to want more out of life in terms of fun and family. Guys I could eat, were a tough find. Most wanted a quick way to get off. I tried to string them along, turn the flame up on their lust, but it did almost nothing to their gross hearts. Only pure emotions tasted good, and many men had sealed those away with commitment to obtaining simple pleasures.

“Ledeon?” Diane asked. I got too involved in the morality brawl. “You ok?”

“Yes, of course,” I replied. “I was just thinking of the past of all things. It catches up to us sometimes, whether we like it or not.” She pressed up against me with her breasts cradling my arm.

“I know a way to tell the past to go fuck itself,” she said and kissed me. We were just outside of her place. “Come with me and I’ll show you.” I circulated some blood to show that I was interested, but it was a trick. My system did not receive the same chemicals into the brain to urge reproduction, but it was easy to pretend I was turned on. It played better to be the gentleman the first few times, especially to the hearts I hunted. Those who wanted a rough man, were already too far gone to consume. Diane could take care of her cravings on her own for now.

“You’re drunk,” I said. “I don’t think I should.” She pulled on my arm and put my hand on her chest. The beat of that joy and lust squeezed my stomach. I had to remind myself the sugar scent of it was just a glaze. It had yet to seep into her being and mask the unpleasant memories. My eyes gave me away. The hunger in them could be misunderstood for lust.

“Liar!” she said. “I can see you’re ready to devour me with just your eyes.” She leaned in and whispered. “Don’t fight it.” My throat legged for the taste of wet emotion as I had tasted two days ago with Samantha, but it was not yet time. It would be worth it in the end.

“I am interested,” I said. “I am very interested and crave it as any man. Nevertheless, I want you to be fully aware of choosing to do it, without alcohol convincing you to.” That was not true. When the time came to devour her heart, I needed her the most pliable, exhausted. I often drew multiple climaxes from victims so their energy was all but spent the second I cut all emotions out of their system. They were prey, and I the cunning hunter, seducing them until they showed their bellies in submission.