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Crystal sucks on her hair, sliding it through her mouth as she stares out the window. The sky is a big blue lie, looking bright and promising, while the trees give it away with their whip and sway. “I’m tired of being afraid of the outside,” she says in a monotone voice, controlled as she stares frozen.
“Why be afraid?" I ask her. I’ve been pulling apart green and red-haired leaves and arranging them in my striped glass bowl, black resin stuck like tar to the inside. She doesn’t say anything, just continues to stare. I continue with my own task, ignoring her ignoring me.
Finally, she sighs. “The cold frightens me. I just want to feel the warmth of sun on my skin,” she explains, still biting her hair. Still staring at the sky.
“One day it will be warm,” I say, and hand her the bowl. She grabs it and smiles at me, acknowledging the favor I have just done by letting her go first. She grabs a lighter from the coffee table, and lights my night’s work. The familiar and comforting numbness comes over her face, and she hands the bowl to me as she exhales slowly, in spurts. I do the same, coughing lightly as I exhale. Some things never get old.
Later, we’re sitting around the living room, staring at the TV like its food instead of mush for our brains, when Crystal starts to itch all over. She scratches her back, stops, then starts scratching again. Then her leg itches, and she scratches that too. Every place she scratches herself has a different sound and pitch, but it’s all equally distracting. She scratches her hair, her chest, her stomach over her clothes.
“Are you okay?” I ask, though I really want to scream, “STOP!” She looks over at me like I did yell, then squints and makes a face. “I feel weird,” she mumbles, and continues to itch and writhe until one of her eyelashes falls off. It’s oddly noticeable, and we both stare at it, sitting in her lap. She feels the set with her finger, and then, in some undefined rush of wind, they all blow away, and she is left with none.
She looks up at me with fear in her eyes, and I notice her other set of lashes have also unlatched from her eye. Some rest on her cheek, and I brush them off with my fingers. Her skin feels different, and when I pull my hand away, it clings to me. “Oh shit!” I cry, and pull my hand toward me, holding it to my chest. “That was too strange.”
“Strange?” she cries, and her voice has changed. It’s become higher pitched, almost too hard to hear. “Baby, what’s happening to you?” I whisper. She closes her eyes, like she feels the need to cry, but no tears come. She sits there, whimpering, and when she opens her eyes back up, I scream.
There, staring back at me is my Crystal with multiple black, soulless eyes. Together, it’s a large mass of wet shine covering half her face, and I want to vomit. I can see my scared face reflected back at me, and I try to compose myself.
“We need to get you to a doctor,” I choke out, and her army of eyes stares at me. “Nooooo,” is her shrill response and I cover my ears, cover my whole head. I’m too high for this, I think. “I’m hideous!” she screams, and runs away to our bedroom, slamming the door. At this point, I have no idea what to do. The good boyfriend in me thinks to comfort her, but I start to wonder if I want to even touch her. The memory of her skin sticking to mine makes me shudder, when I hear a sound in the bedroom. It’s sort of like the pitter-patter of tiny feet, walking very fast. I get up and slowly walk to the door.
When I’m standing right outside, I put my ear to it and listen. It’s that same sound, but its combined with a sort of whooshing, like concentrated wind blowing out of a small tunnel. “Baby?” I ask through the door meekly, “Are you okay?”
Shrill sounds of nothing pierce the air, making me jump back. “Is that a yes?” My voice is a wet piece of paper, thin and wavering. The shrill sounds continue, and I decide to do what my mind is screaming against. I open the door, peering in, and what I see almost makes me swallow my tongue.
Crystal is sitting on the bed, full transformation complete. There are the eyes of course, but she is now also covered in a fine fur, and her arms have multiplied, four fold. Her mouth is slightly open, as if she has too much teeth, and small fangs hang out, glistening with her new saliva, tinted brown and green. I take a step into the room, and immediately feel trapped and unable to move. “What the fuck?” I shriek, and look up to see a myriad of strings, interwoven and hanging from the ceiling, surrounding me. I look over at Crystal, who is now rubbing her hands together and looking at me.
She walks over to me slowly, and stops when she is right in front of me, breathing in my face. I can smell her glands, her insect body, and I gag. She looks up at me with anger in her eyes, and spits on my face. It starts to burn immediately, the pain growing warmer with every second. I try to open my eyes, but everything is blurry now, shapes of colors that never stand still. She is pulling something from the bottom of her body, white string that she starts to wrap around me. I can feel it going around my legs, tighter and tighter.
“Don’t you love me?” is the last thing I can muster. The spit feels like acid on my skin, and I’m starting to feel dizzy from the blurred vision. Crystal stops momentarily, peering into my eyes. She bares her fangs, nuzzles my chin. “I love food,” she whispers.