He caught my eye and gave me a look. Not a good sign. I leaned over him, pressed my mouth to his, and it was as if I could feel his soul down the long tunnel of his body, as if I knew how to reach in and snatch it away. He moved his body so that he could trace the outline of my body against the mattress and sheets.
She looked away then, stared out at the parked cars and the gawkers being kept back by the uniforms. I knew what was wrong, it felt too alive. I was supposed to be immune to this crap, if this was how I was feeling, what must the women connected to I saw the endless stream of women that he had fed on, like pages in a book, a blonde, a brunette, the one with a tat
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