It's been about a week since I'd last set down and talked about our food rations with the doctor. A week ago, however, there had still been food in the pantry.

        Now, though, I was waking on the couch once more knowing that there wasn't' any more canned foods in the cabinet- and a half of a corpse in the fridge. He wasn't picky with it- and he was sure as hell waiting it out. It was almost how an environmentalist will find each and every possible use for something of little to no value- he was putting each and every drop of blood to use.

        It was disgusting at this point, now that the organs had begun to decompose into mush- and the corpse had already bloated despite its containment in the fridge. Even stepping into the kitchen would leave you with a vomit-inducing scent that was difficult to drive out of your nostrils.

        It was beginning to creep into the main living quarters as well, and I was honestly shocked it hadn't done so any sooner.

        At this point, it was merely a challenge to see how long I could go without eating anything. Which, considering my depriving time in the labs, should be a while. I should at least make it through the week to come, anyway.

        If I could go that long in the lab, I could sure as hell do it here. I still had access to our water supply, after all, and so long as it didn't get contaminated or anything of the sort, I should make it just fine. All I had to do was last long enough to outlive the meat in the fridge.

        According to Damian, anyways.

        I sighed a little bit beneath my breath, sitting up a tad from my position on the couch. Slowly, I popped out my back, craning my arms out in front of myself- then, coiling to touch my elbows behind my back. Not that they could actually touch or anything- but it vaguely looked about that way.

        I yawned, then begrudgingly got up to my feet, striding back over to the window to check the time. Sure, I wasn't perfect in spotting the sun and it's position in the sky and spitting out a time down to the second- but I was confident I could at least determine the vague hour of the day.

        From where it was now, I could assume it was about ten in the morning, meaning I'd woken up a bit late. But, to my amazement, it seemed the doctor had too. Quietly, I turned back around to look the room over, thinking of how I was to occupy my first day of fasting.

        It was ominously quiet in the house, though, when was it anything but? The fire still crackled silently across the room, leaving the area a bit warm and almost smokey in scent- though not in a bad way. I much preferred the smell of the smoke over the smell of rotting flesh.

        I don't remember lighting the flame, but then again, I don't remember putting it out. Dangerous? Perhaps, but honestly, I don't think it matters.

        Even so, I don't think the doctor sleeps.

        If something caught fire, he'd stop it, surely.

        If something caught fire...

        I found myself staring toward the fireplace almost intently, though blankly, nevertheless. My face held a dull interest for the flames as the wood diminished- breaking in the pit and crumbling beneath the heat into an ashen pile.

        I cleared my throat, finally drawing my eyes away from the licking warmth of the flames, looking now toward the bedroom door across the room.

        It wasn't that I hadn't initially been allowed inside, but after declining to sleep on the bed multiple times out of discomfort, (I personally found sleeping in the same room I knew someone was recently murdered in irked me), he'd turned it into his private space.

        It dawned on me now, what might be behind that door. I found it should be the least of my worries currently, however. In the end, I should be finding a way to remove as much of the human flesh in the kitchen as I could possibly manage. before he woke up, at least.

        Quickly, my objective altered to fit this idea, pivoting back around toward the kitchen. I huffed a little bit before I stepped over the threshold in the doorway, but even coming close the air reeked with death. It was nearly unbearable.

        Stepping into the kitchen now, though, I was nearly overcome with the god awful smell of decomposition. My nose scrunched up in a physical cringe, pinching my fingers quickly over my nose as I started into the danger zone.

        It's not that the kitchen was particularly dangerous, nor was it unclean or messy in any way. Not any more than the rest of the house, anyways. In fact, it was very well kept for what it was. Though, for the doctor to be able to stand such an odor was absolutely miraculous, he had to have been noseblind, because it was utterly sickening.

        Slowly, I glanced around, walking to the cupboard as I continued to hold my nose. It made my eyes water it was so bad.

        I pulled a bowl from the cabinet, closing the door as carefully as I could before turning back and sparing a glance toward the friend. I knew what I was going to have to do, and I hated it with a passion. I cleared my throat once more, trudging back to the silverware drawer and pulling it open.

        The racket of the contents merely from the pull of the drawer startled me, hoping it hadn't been enough to drive a certain plague doctor in the room, despite the noise not truly being that loud.

        Forks, spoons, knives. I didn't know which I was going to need- at least I could subtract a fork from the equation.

        I nearly gagged at the thought, though. Spooning out the mushy innards of an expired body definitely wasn't a pleasant thought- but considering that I hadn't seen the body in a while, that's probably what it was going to come down to. I grabbed the spoon hesitantly, accepting my fate from that point out- but grabbing the knife just in case.

        Gathering my items, I clambered back over to the fridge, taking a deep breath in an attempt to prepare myself. Through my nose and all, considering that I knew once I was pulling flesh into a bowl- by spoon or by blade- I wouldn't have a free hand to cover my nose. That and clothespins were nowhere to be found, unfortunately. So now I stood with busy hands in front of the fleshy goliath, taking in all of its glory.

        It was horrid, honestly, but I knew the quicker I worked, the more I know I'd be able to potentially escape.

        I swallowed hard, then opened the fridge.

        And god, it was worse than I'd imagined.

        Thankfully, I think, since the body had been so generously preserved in the fridge, it wasn't as horrendous as if it had been laid out in the sun for the bugs. No maggots, just waxy skin that was pulled ever so tightly over the bones.

        But, in the same sense, the fact it hadn't deteriorated the way mother nature commanded it to- but wasn't properly preserved, either- it resulted in a very haunting image.

        The face of the body was sunken in and grotesque- the visual blotches of pooled up mushy innards inked the skin to where it ended- having been mutilated and mauled away just below the ribs. The skin fringed there in stringy, torn layers- looking horribly disgusting as it had a frigid stiffness to it. I'd have expected intestines to ooze from the corpse- but deterioration had long since turned them to chunky slops of bleed, muscle, and any other fecal matters tucked away inside.

        I was right to have grabbed a spoon. Maybe a bigger one would have been a smarter investment, though.

        I nearly vomited, covering my mouth and averting my gaze the other direction. Not just the view was horrific, however- the smell was at least ten times worse upon opening the refrigerator door.

        I paused, finding myself unable to hold it in any longer- and easily threw all of my contents up into the large bowl in my hands.

        No, no, no.

        I was spelling out my own doom, now, certainly, low on time. I'd emptied all of my food provisions into a disgusting chunky mess- and unless I planned to spoon the half-digested food back into my mouth- I was going to have to work faster.

        Panic settled, and in the heat of the moment, I leaned into the fridge and started scooping what was of the flesh mass from the bottom of the fridge and into the bowl with my vomit. It was chunky- some of the organs still intact but sopped limply into the revolting solidified puddle of blood and thick decomposition.

         Every now and then, I'd hit a chunk that still strung up into the ribcage, dragging out a big sloppy chunk of fleshy meat that splattered with blood and god knows what else.

        I cringed, continuing to gag and choke up on nothing in particular until the bowl in my hands was full to the brim with flesh and puke. I closed the fridge, wrenching my teeth together in an attempt to keep from dry heaving, shifting now to dump it in the sink.

        I cleared my throat, sopping some of the chunky liquid in, reaching my hand over desperately to turn on the garbage disposal.

        It erupted in a loud, chunky noise- blood splattering out every time it hit something that wasn't completely deteriorated.

        I tried not to think about it- more or less focusing on the fact that I was washing away time for error, knowing the less there had been of it, the less I'd have to wait to get out.

        Despite this reassurance, about halfway through the bowl, I heard the door creak out from the living room. My heart started beating so hard in my chest I could hear it in my ears- nearly drowning out the guttural snarl of the garbage disposal. I flipped the switch to make it stop, setting the bowl on the counter before moving fast to start the sink- rinsing the blood away with water. Just as I was turning to cram the bowl in the fridge, I turned and bumped right into another body.

         A shiver ran up my spine as I looked up to meet the eyes of the doctor, scowling and watchful. Time seemed to slow back down, and I suddenly felt aware of everything in the room. The sound of silence- plagued by the faint crackle of the fire in the other room. The horrid scent in the air- lingering like disease. The cold sweat I felt that matched my quickly beating heart- all dragged to a stop with eyes as cold and piercing as ice.

        "D-Damian-" I stammered, but he interrupted me before I could say anything more.

        "I see you've finally come around." he nearly praised, looking to the bowl on the counter, "Cook it first, it's not good for you raw."

        It wasn't good for me regardless, but I wasn't about to tell him that.

         I cleared my throat out in nerve-wracking silence, "I don't know how to." I simply murmured, watching him closely. I felt frozen.

        He hummed a bit, grabbing the bowl in his hands and skimpering passed me, opening the fridge. I didn't move, I just shifted to pull myself nervously onto the counter. I sat there in silence, feet dangling over the side as I looked at the floor.

        "Don't worry. I'll always be here to help." he coos gently, his voice a gentle ripple in an ocean of danger.

        "I'll cook plenty. We'll have a fine lunch." he nodded to himself. I cringed more. Not only was there human remains in that bowl, but my own vomit.

        God, I was going to be sick again, if there was anything left in me to come up.

        "Thank you, Damian." I sighed.

         God help me.

(A/n): sorry it's a day late! This chapter is double the size I normally aim for, and took a bit more time to complete. Sorry it's a bit choppy in some places, but I hope you enjoyed it nevertheless!