Feeding the beast

Panting and sweating but completely satisfied she rolled over as he lit two cigarettes. He handed her one with a stupid grin on his face. She accepted it with a polite smile. Trying desperately to not boost his ego by letting her face portray how much she had enjoyed herself.

As he puffed on his cigarette his face turned slightly solemn.

“Listen,” he said in a pensive tone. “I have a very strange request.”

She rolled over to one side, visibly weary.

“Remember how you said you usually don’t sleep with musicians because they’re too weird?”

She just nodded.

“Well,” he stammered, “there is something weird about me.”

“Oh god,” she exhaled in a puff of smoke, “please don’t tell me you hum in your sleep or something?”

We almost grinned before he rolled over to face her. “No, even weirder.” He said looking almost ashamed. “I’ve never slept with anyone.”

She almost dropped her cigarette as she spluttered: “You mean you’re a v…”

“No!” he gasped. “It’s just that I don’t usually bring girls here.”

She frowned before asking: “So, you just fuck them in the cab home or something?”

He just shook his head. “It’s not an intimacy thing.” She sat up, clutching the sheet around herself.

“Then what is it?”

He rolled back onto his back. “It’s just that I sleep with my bass.”

She was dumbstruck for a moment and it must have shown on her face because he answered the unspoken question:

“Yes, I sleep with my bass.”

She just frowned and moved to the edge of the bed saying: “I can just go…”

“No!” He said taking a hold of her arm. “I like you,” he mumbled. “It’s just one of my many quirks.”

“I’ll say…” she spat back trying to free her arm from his grip.

“Please?” he whispered before perking up and saying: “I have a fantastic guest-room. And I’d love to spend the weekend with you.”

She couldn’t detect any humour in his tone but answered: “I really wouldn’t mind going home. I mean: we’ve both had a good time. Why ruin it?”

Pain crossed his face as she said this.


“That guest-room better be awesome! Because you’re cute, but not that cute.”

His face lit up as he jumped out of bed saying: “It is awesome!”


After having inspected the king-size bed, the big-screen TV and the walls of DVDs and books she had to agree that the room was indeed ‘awesome’.

“You don’t mind if I don’t have the urge to sleep with a bit of wood and some stings, right?” She asked playfully.

He chuckled.

“No, that’s fine.”

“If only you weren’t so damn cute…” She muttered as she got into the large bed and he kissed her.

“I’ll devote the rest of the weekend to making it up to you.” He said as he left the room.

“You better believe it!” she shouted after him.


“I have had the most fantastic sleep.” She groaned stretching as she pushed open the door to his room. “Also: this shirt of yours, I’m keeping it!”

The cup she was holding splintered into a million pieces as it hit the floor, although the sound of the cup breaking was drowned out by her scream. As her scream faltered it was replaced by absolute silence. Perfunctorily broken by the steady drip of blood on the hardwood floor. The young man she had though might have made her whole lay there; halved.

The instrument by his side splattered in blood as one enormous string stuck up at an odd angle. Droplets of blood running down the string to its scroll, as if the instrument itself needed sustenance.

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