Page 38 of Hunger

"Are you—" she starts, and stops. She doesn't have the word she wants. There's no word for what I'm in the language she speaks, or in any other language. She has only the dread rising in her face as she begins to understand that what's sitting across from her isn't a person.

"I want to know about your daughter," I say.

The dread sharpens into something else. Fear, but not for herself. She pulls her hands from the mug and folds them in her lap.

"Jenny."

"Yes."

"Is she—"

"She's alive. She's safe. She's at home in her apartment in Millfield. I haven't hurt her."

"What do you want with her?"

"I want to know about her."

"From me."

"From you. You'll know things no one else knows."

She stares at me. Her mouth opens and closes. She's begun to shake but she's holding it down with a force of will that's impressive in a woman who's been awake for fifteen hours.

"Why."

I don't have an answer for her that she'll understand, or one for myself. I sit across from her in her warm kitchen and I look at her face and I can't explain to her why I'm here.

"I love her," I say.

The words come out before I've decided to say them. They aren't a lie. I don't know if they're a thing I have the right to say. But they're the only thing I have to give this woman who's sitting across from me waiting to find out if she's going to die.

She studies my face. Her hands have stopped shaking.

"Are you going to kill me."

"No."

"Are you going to kill anyone in this house."

"No."

"My husband is asleep upstairs."

"He won't wake up."

She nods, slowly. She looks down at her hands in her lap. She looks at the table. She looks at the ceramic salt shaker shaped like a strawberry that sits in the center of the table.

"What do you need me to do."

"Stay still."

She closes her eyes.

I rise from the chair. I move around the table. I crouch beside her and I take her face gently in my hand. Her skin is soft and warm. She's breathing carefully through her nose. Her eyes stay closed.

I tilt her head and find the place on her neck where the blood is closest to the surface. I open my mouth. She doesn't flinch. The bite is shallow.

The blood is warm and clean. I take only what I need to open the door. She sags against my hand. I lower her gently to the kitchen floor and I sit beside her and I take her wrist in my hand and I close my eyes.