The Taste of Truth

Don’t tell anyone. Like it was that easy. I still feel his lips – I still taste iron.

Kids at school used to call me Syd the Snitch because in the third-grade I told on a semi-popular girl, Lauren Fraiser. She was copying off her neighbors spelling test, and I guess I felt it was unfair for her to succeed off of someone else who worked hard. It was innocent enough of a nickname, in a childish sort of way; Tattle-tale, Blabber mouth and Syd the Snitch were all tame in retrospect. It didn't stay innocent once we hit middle school, when we learned to curse like sailors; It became Snitch-bitch. We’re Seniors in high school now, it’s still Snitch-bitch.

That’s warranted though, and I kind of wear the name with pride. Not that it doesn’t hurt because it absolutely does, but I earned that name by keeping good graces with my adult peers. I’m a good kid, a smart kid and I have my whole life ahead of me – that’s what everyone says.

My record is clean. I’ve never had any secrets to keep, which was a good thing considering I’ve never been good at keeping secrets anyways. My dad told me that it was better to be open and honest, you make good friends that way. God was he wrong. I feel good being as honest as I am, but I do wish I was invited to parties.

Now, John wasn’t a friend per se, but he was someone I was openly attracted to. He was stupid pretty, the type of pretty that was distracting – like the glare of the sun in the rearview mirror. 

Back in seventh grade I used to scratch his name into the pages of my diary, detailing the wedding we’d have. I’d sit behind him in class if I could help it, cause it was easier to watch him that way. Even the back of his blonde head was beautiful, with long waves that rolled off his back and curled around his shoulders. In the afternoon sun he’d shine gold, and I’d find myself entranced.

And I think he knew that, which was why he asked me to keep this on the down low. This. This. It’s been exactly four hours, thirteen minutes and who-gives-a-fuck many seconds since it happened. His face is burned into my brain, everytime I close my eyes I see his smile and I keep catching his sigh in every creak of the house. My heart jumps with every moment I catch his laugh in the howling wind, if only this storm would stop.

I’ve showered four times now but I still feel filthy. My skin can’t take another scalding shower and my hair is falling out in clumps from all the scrubbing. Why did I have to wear my favorite shirt today? The light blue blouse with the frills on the sleeves and seagreen ivy embroidered on the collar. I think I’m honestly going to have to burn it now, to liberate myself of what it’ll forever remind me. 

My nails are down to the bed, and some of my fingers are bleeding. After biting the flesh till it’s raw and open, I’ll watch the crimson bubble to the surface.

I’m a good kid, a smart kid and I got my whole life ahead of me.

What compelled me out into the woods? I never liked the woods, despite growing up around them my whole life. I always found them to be creepy. It got too dark at night, the world turned black in between the trees.

The day leading up to that moment had been so regular, so routine. I’d find a new profanity written on my locker in sharpie, and brace the constant shoulder checks from my fellow classmates. Day in and day out, classic bullying. But when it was fifth period – Biology Lab– everything changed.

John Parker sat in front of me with his hair tied behind his head, crimson beads weaved into his golden strands. It was beautiful. One of his friends tried to give him shit as they passed by but he just shrugged it off. His sister had done it for him, he said. Then the teacher commented on how nice he looked, before telling the class we’d be splitting up into groups of two. He turned around in his seat, smiling at me in such a fond way like he’d known me forever. 

He pretty much has, but not in any meaningful way outside of sharing the occasional class together. His eyes were the most striking amber color.

“Hi.” He folded his arms over the back of his chair, “You wanna pair up?”

On top of not being able to keep a secret, I can’t lie, “I’d like that – a lot.” My face burned so hot.

His laugh was clear, “Cool.”

The assignment was some worksheet, I don’t even remember what it was. All I could think about was that he got up to sit next to me, and his arm would press into mine here and again. He smelled like pine and jasmine. He always smelled like pine and jasmine to an extent that was overwhelming. His shirt hugged his torso in a way that was enticing, when I wasn’t watching his face I was shamelessly watching his chest, or the curve of his biceps in his sleeves.

“You live on White Stag Road, right?” He asked me, out of the blue.

“Yeah, that’s right.”

He bit down on the butt-end of his pen and grinned, “Yeah I thought so – I thought I saw you the other night.”

My skin crawled, “What?”

“I live nearby - I was out for a walk when I saw you takin’ the trash out.” he said, setting his pen aside, “Or at least I thought it was you.”

I tried to think about when he could be referring to, “Wait - when?”

“Like a couple nights ago.”

“Oh - yeah…what were you doing going for a walk that late?” I’d forgotten to take the trash out and rushed to do that before I faced my dad’s wrath the next morning. It was like – two in the morning.

He reached behind his head and pulled his hair out of the ponytail, shaking those pristine locks free. It was hypnotic, “I needed to get out of my head for a second…I couldn’t sleep…I was bored.”

I just nodded. I didn’t question anything.

“...Do you find yourself in the woods often?” he asked.

I remember frowning, “Uh – no, not really? That’s - a really weird question.”

He laughed again, and I forgot he even asked.

If I could go back, I would save myself from agreeing to ever let him partner up with me. I’d tell myself it was for the best. I miss who I was this morning, barely any time has passed and I already feel lost. My poor blouse, it was a great thrift and lived a good life.

My dad was still out at work when I decided to take a walk myself, hoping I’d find John on the way. Not my proudest moment, but if he was as close as he implied - it gave me another reason to cling to the idea of him. This – ‘boy next door’ fantasy. 

What compelled me out into the woods?

“Sydney Taylor?” he asked, hunched over the ravaged body of a woman's corpse, “Hey-!” 

His smile was all teeth and dark and dripping off his chin. He waved his hand and the moonlight lit it scarlet. He greeted me like I was an old friend, and not someone he’d ignored for a majority of our childhood and adolescence.

I stood there, frozen. I felt the first drop of rain hit my forehead and looked to the sky where the dark clouds began forming.

“Hey, what are you doing out here?” He asked, sitting up straight, hands plunged into the torn chest of Jane Doe, “It’s ‘bout to start storming.” The snap that emitted from deep within her body echoed through my ears, he raised what may have been a rib to his lips.

I just stared.

He blinked, and wiped his mouth somewhat clean on the back of his hand, “...You okay? You look pale.”

Teacher - teacher – dad? Police? Fbi?

He placed the rib in his mouth and snapped it in half with his back teeth, and he chewed and chewed and chewed. We said nothing until he’d finished it, and I asked;

“What’s happening?”

He laughed and wiped his hands on his pants – stained a deep crimson, “I thought you didn’t like the woods...or – didn’t go out in em’.”

He tore something soft off, the squelch of her flesh tearing rang  in my ears harshly like nails on a chalkboard. Again he raised it to his lips and chewed and chewed and chewed.

I asked, “...Are you – a vampire?”

He paused, and looked away - licked his lips - and sniffed, “...Sure!”

It was easy to see he was lying.

“Who…is that?”

“Does it matter?” he asks.

“The…police might – look for her.”

His grin was akin to that of a wolf's snarl, “There’ll be nothing left to find.”

“Why are you doing this?” Why are you doing this to me – you know I’m weak.

He stood up then, and started his way towards me, “Don’t worry about it. It doesn’t concern you.” He stopped in front of me, “You’re not going to tell anyone…are you?”

I would - I have to - I need to.

But then he’s cupping my face in his hands, “...Please…Don’t tell anyone…Sydney, I can’t help what is in my nature…”

And I can’t help what is in mine, which is why I let him kiss me. Which is why I kiss him back.

I slipped in the mud trying to escape him, he fell on top of me trying to catch me as I tripped. He apologized and laughed and I kicked and scratched and hit him. He just smiled and said my name again and again, “Syd – Syd – Sydney!” I punched him upside the jaw, I scratched my fingers down his chest – I kissed him again. 

My dad came home thirty minutes ago, and the words are burning on my tongue.

I’m a good kid, a smart kid – I have my whole life ahead of me.

My dad gently opens my door, and startles to find me still awake, “Hey,” he says, “I didn’t expect you to be up…You okay?”

A tree branch strikes my window, and I startle, “Yes.” 

It's the truth.