My Luella
Marceline #37.1
“A heavenly body requires no heart” by Alex(a) Cruz-Abarca
Her skin is icy cold to the touch and her lips are tinged with a light shade of blue. The warm lips I once partook in, that marked upon my every being, are changed. She leaves me here, bruised and battered from her absence. The once-green eyes gaze into my soul, yet she isn’t looking at me; her eyes have a sort of film over them. She is faded…almost. Gone. And I am to prepare her body, as I’ve done to so many corpses before, but this is much different. She is mine. My Luella.
My duty is to drain the fluids from the corpse’s veins and pump them anew with arsenic and liquor. I sew their pieces back together, then I bathe and dress them to be viewed. I never thought my beautiful Luella would be one of the bodies lying on my chilled table. But here she sits, rotting before my eyes, nature breaking her down. Her honeysuckle perfume and rot sit heavy in the air, creating a heavy weight on my chest.
My Luella is delicately placed on a table of ice, which stops the decomposition that would’ve further taken her appearance. Her body could’ve been a mere feast for maggots wriggling and burrowing under her skin, rotting her and creating a putrid smell wafting around the room. Yet, she smells of nothing but perfume and a light pungent scent reminding me slightly of mold. I still feel heavy. Her arms, her waist, her thighs, and her face that I love. My breathtaking angel, the only one who truly knew me. Oh, how I ache for her.
As I stroke her face, I can still feel the soft hairs above her lips and on her cheeks where yellowed and bruised flesh covered in leaking bumps now sit. I find that the clear fluid is oddly thick as I swipe some away with my bare fingertip. All warmth has left her, she is frozen in time as it continues for me. My heart pangs ever so painfully. I lean over her, wrapping her hand in mine, and whisper, “My eternal love, you will always be mine.” When I place a kiss on her forehead, I feel nothing but a vile chill of ice beneath my lips, resulting in a shiver sent down my spine.
Luella doesn’t look quite like the beautiful woman I knew, I find a new beauty underneath all the rot. Consumption, we all know what it looks like now. An awful ailment it is, she had a neverending cough for months prior to leaving what we had built together. Her nails are brittle, thin, and tinged purple; they appear to be easily broken with a snap, but the same engraved silver ring I gave her sits on her finger. Her eyes used to match the vines and leaves that violently overtook our garden in a plague of sorts. Now they appear bluer, darker, and are covered in a washed-out film. She can’t truly look anywhere, especially at me, but I find that her soft gaze follows me. Luella’s skin on her face, breasts, arms, and legs are covered in small patches of purple and yellow bumps, dripping that same thick, clear pus. Light gray scars in the same round shapes littered other parts of her body. Despite the illness and decay, my Luella was as beautiful as ever. I trace over every part I used to. I still press her lips into mine, yet she doesn’t push back. Instead, I feel the soft bumps surrounding her cold mouth. She is but a corpse. I yearn for the feeling of my Luella pressing back into me. My lipstick is visible on her soft lips, a light red smudge now surrounding her mouth.
My chest tightens as I attach the pipe to a large, clear jar used to catch her fluids. The pain further dawns on me as I pick up my scalpel and slice through the vein underneath Luella’s collarbone, immediately oozing a stream of thick, dark blood; my Luella is gone. She will never come back. I feel a pulsing pain consume my every vein, lighting my body on fire. It burns me for my sins. I’m forced to use my weight to jam the pipe through the bleeding slit and into Luella’s vein. After I succeed, I stroke her curly, brittle hair and watch the blood bead around her wound then begin to drain through the pipe. I am curious to find that I have butterflies flapping throughout my stomach. Are they anxiety, or, worse, excitement? What is this feeling that ravages me?
The jar splashes and fills as I manually pump the machine, squeeze by squeeze, over and over again. My hands dully ache and quiver with every squeeze of the handle pushing more and more blood out of my lover. I squeeze again. And again. And again. My shoulder cramps. All of my being shakes. I feel as if none of the world is still. I can feel my body buzzing and singing. A new form of life is bouncing throughout my throat. As I see the bright red, chunky fluid plop and pour faster into the jar, my throat loses all moisture. It looks lively, cleansing, even. Today, I learn what dehydration truly is. The parchment of an empty throat. A quenching urge. I know what I must do. I don’t desire it, though. Do I? How could I? I love her, therefore I couldn’t.
I stare down at her. “Luella…so pretty, even in death. I could eat you whole,” I mutter to the air, forgotten ever so quickly. I dread the thought of anyone knowing of my sinful desire for Luella.
How I miss Luella seeing me too. I ache for the feeling of her warm lips against mine. A single kiss from her would bless and cleanse me of all sins. A sole touch would heal me of all ailments. A lone night with her would permit me to reach heaven over and over again. I yearn for her soft voice flowing into my ears, telling me she’s mine. But how could I have her? I need her so, I bleed for her. My Luella yearns for me too. I want to devour her as I once did.
The blood begins to slow. *Drip. Drip. Drip. *It fills the jar with my lover’s fluid, her veins are drained empty as my throat is so incredibly dry. A thirst I’ve never felt before this day. A thought consumes my soul. I mustn’t. So I stroke her hair, a few strands breaking between my fingers with a violent snap, and think of her being that swallowed me whole.
I feel empty without her, but I continue. I close the jar of her blood, replacing it with the jar of embalming fluid. I begin to pump the mixture of arsenic and liquor back into her, stuffing her body with waste. It takes a pang of adrenaline to power each squeeze. My hand aches as does my chest, taking over my ribs in a sharp sting focused toward my heart. The pain is a dreaded reminder of her. When I finish the vile pushing, a red, inflamed section marks my hand from where the handpump sat. I ache so very badly. My delicate Luella is now but a memory, an empty corpse lies in front of me. I hate the urge that devours my heart.
I should not get hungry at my occupation, the seeping fluids and stomach-churning smells, the maggots that crawl between organs and burrow under their skin, leaving eggs and husks between veins and skin, the putrid smells that leak on my clothes and linger in my hair for days. Yet, while working on Luella, I am. I am so very famished and so very fearful of the urge that swallows me whole. Humans could be so beautiful, especially my Luella. For why does my Luella look so delicious? For why is my throat so dry and my heart aching like never before?
I glance at the jar. Luella’s faded eyes gaze upon me softly, watching me as she used to, a sort of permission. My mouth drips with saliva, a small stream of drool drips to the floor with a small splash and creates a clear puddle. I am utterly parched. I need it. I must be blessed. I unscrew the lid, a metallic smell quickly flows into my nose and lights my body. A surge of energy shoots through me and causes my fingertips to tingle. Do I?
I must.
I begin to chug, violently gulping down Luella’s life force. I can feel my throat struggling to keep up as I must focus on breathing through the sinful act that suffocates me. The heavy fluid tastes sweet and metallic and excites me so very much. She is my religion. The thought of Luella wrecks my heart. She leaves me with a hole in my soul no other being could fill. My love for her was all-consuming. Her love for me consumed her as she withered away. I must fill myself somehow. An overwhelming pleasure grips me as her blood flows into my mouth and dances on my tastebuds. I gorge on the heavenly feast that is Luella, she is mine, filling me slowly. The chunks I come across are meaningless, I chew and swallow all the same. Any gagging is quickly swallowed away with more blood, even as tears fill my eyes and seep onto my shirt, mixing with the blood dribbling from my mouth. A raging flame lights me.
The godly taste compels me to continue, even as the blood pours down my chin and soaks my shirt in an awfully damp feeling colder than Luella. It leaks down my chest, chilling my nipples, and spatters on the floor. It tickles my skin in various places as it slides down slowly, I enjoy every second. The wetness is cold and makes me shiver, but the urges are as all-consuming as my love. Luella took me wholly, just as I take her now. I gag and choke and savor every second of the desperate gulping and thick, metallic taste. My throat tingles as chunks slide down it and pool in my stomach. I always knew Luella was sweet from the inside out, I love her taste. I devour every clot and feel it gush, blood exploding between my teeth. My mouth is filled with glory. As the jar finally empties, I continue to satiate every drop. I shove my hand in the jar to lap the final drops of my Luella, licking the last red stains on my fingers. Her taste is heavy on my tongue and overwhelms my mouth. It covers my chin and drips down my chest. She lingers on my teeth and breath. The reminder of her is so delicious. It powers me and causes a throbbing pulse throughout my core. It’s not enough.
I am the only one to devour my Luella, the only one who knows her being. She is mine, I am hers.
As I remain damp with her blood, I return to my Luella’s corpse and find her soft eyes meeting mine. She does not look at me with anger, but rather love, as it always was. My love is now a corpse filled with poison, and I am engorged with her blood. But the hunger is not yet satiated. It still rises like bile in my throat, stinging at the back and causing my eyes to well with tears. I glance at her lower stomach. I don’t care for the consequences, for she is a glorious sin worth the sacrifice. My mouth fills with saliva yet again. I must. I know I must, my Luella knows too.
Before I can think further, I’ve lost control and feel myself ripping into her like a starved animal. I’m biting and scratching at her, surprised by the sharpness and strength of my teeth and nails. Her flesh squishes and stretches under me. It’s tough as I chew and gnash the protein creating a thick, wet, fleshy slurry in my mouth. She lights me whole, my stomach flipping and throbbing. It takes effort to swallow, but god, is it worth it. She is so incredibly delicious, tasting of rum, vanilla, and uncooked pork. She is mine, filling my stomach and lighting my loins in a thrill I’ll never feel again. My heart still burns, but her cold, leathery flesh fills me wholly.
I further claw and tear at her pale skin, wet slurping and smacking noises echoing off the walls of the cluttered room. I rip the skin with my teeth, leaving bite marks and bruises on her. The pus-filled bumps dance on my tongue as I drag it across the bumpy texture, a slightly sour taste filling my mouth and filling me with joy. I can smell the alcoholic, floral hints as I taste her. I am utterly obsessed with her. I feel drunk off of her. Loving Luella was always a mere sin, but it remained my favorite one, at that. This hunger that pains me can only be satiated by her. Luella, Luella, Luella. She plagues my every thought.
It’s easier than I had imagined to bite through human skin. The leathery flesh is tough and chilled, but my teeth progressively rip through it easier and easier as I devour more and more of my Luella. My jaw aches from the constant chewing and pulling of her wet, stringy flesh. I am soaked from her fluids. I feel a burn overtaking my throat as I choke her down. My vision is fuzzy and I can feel my body swaying back and forth, I ride the high of my love for her. I snarl and growl as my teeth rip through Luella’s skin, clear fluid popping in my mouth from one of the many bumps. It floods my mouth with a sour taste and leaks from my lips, dripping slowly onto her skin. Her skin grinds between my teeth, squelching and squeaking as I suffocate until it slides down my throat at last. My mouth is filled with thin saliva that drips onto the ground between my love and I. I am drawn back, looking up to her face and over her being as my mouth hangs slightly agape.
I observe the large wound on my Luella. A large chunk of the skin located on her lower abdomen and right hip are missing. A gash fills the space, revealing her dulled insides and a peak of her hip bone underneath. I can see every layer of her skin. My dear is beautiful. I am satiated by my Luella, as I always have been. My hunger for Luella compares to no one else. I am covered in her fluids and consumed by her. Luella, Luella, Luella. It was finally enough. Though she is gone, she is here, within me.
I thread the sewing needle, being cautious not to poke myself, then begin sewing her skin. Though she is tinged blue and cold to the touch, I love her despite her rot. I trace over the remaining pus-filled bumps that cover patches of her soft skin, licking the pus from my finger after. I smile, the threaded needle pushes and stabs through her frigid skin, attaching it with a slight bit of arsenic leaking out between each push. I focus on it, obsess over how her skin looks and feels. One of my favorite things about Luella was always how soft she was. I loved to caress every inch of her and grasp her as she held me. I wanted to devour her then, too. Luella always made sinning feel blissful. I can see the blonde peach fuzz move under my fingers as I glide them over her skin.
I’m finally pulled out of the trance Luella leaves me in when I prick my finger accidentally, with a slight gasp escaping me as a painful sting shoots up my arm, my blood then leaking onto Luella’s skin. Yet I continue to sew, smearing light dots of my blood across her right hip and breasts as I trace over them. I place a large piece of cloth over the remains of my divine feast. I focus on each smaller wound, making it just enough to put my Luella together. I can use her clothing to cover much of my doing. I must make her look as if she had never died, as if I had never chugged and gagged on every drop of her blood and devoured her flesh in a beautiful, carnal feast.
I feel sick.
What have I done? I am a mere sinner, rotten to the core like Luella’s corpse. Though I tasted her rot, I love her all the same. Luella loved me despite my sour core and tainted soul. For what will I do without my Luella? I needed her. I consumed her, as did that awful disease, and I feel satiated. Does the plague, too, feel full? Was it as ravaged as I before taking her? Does it feel the same tingling satisfaction after devouring all she once was? I loved her, though. Are love and consumption one in the same? Luella consumed me wholly, in and out. She bled me out and wrang me dry. I was Luella’s spinning, dizzy mess, entranced by her. I beg for her, plead on my knees, scream for what we call God. I would do whatever her word says I must. I’d sin for her, commit blasphemy for her. I am only hers. I need her. Do I feel filled enough? Will I ever feel filled again without her?
Despite my sins, though, Luella’s corpse still looks at me with love, her Belladonna. Luella wanted me to. Luella understood me like no one else, it’s why I loved her so. Her body is still beautiful, still purer than I. As I observe her, I notice that Luella would not desire the patches of blood on her, so I wet a rag and begin to lightly scrub her reddened skin, a slight nausea flooding my stomach. The skin over her breasts is covered in small spatters of my blood and dark beads around the vein I sliced into. I am delicate with her, as I was before she was a corpse.
I am not ready to part ways with my Luella yet, but my job is soon finished. She is colder than ever, the ice underneath her doing its purpose and slowly melting over time. I peck her forehead, feeling the same bumps graze my lips lightly. As I lay my head on her bare chest, my hair draping over her, I imagine how it felt when she was alive. She was so lively, she reminded me of the sun. It didn’t matter where we were, she was the prettiest sight. Luella’s hair used to be softer, her skin smoother and warmer, her laugh lighting the stars. Her cheeks were always dashed with a tinge of pink, and the way she gripped me brought me to life and left me dazed. I would listen to her heartbeat as I laid on her chest often, the pulsing rhythm brought me great comfort. Everything about her made me tingle with excitement. All was well before the consumption started. Though the burning in the back of my throat never left, it worsens now.
Luella, Luella, Luella. I wish my darling didn’t consume me so. I need her. I miss her metallic taste in my mouth, spurting and melting between my teeth. I miss her love devouring me. I stand covered in her blood, a lasting memory choked down. I must finish the last steps.
I struggle a bit to gently pick her up, yet I used to do it easily. I place her on another table of ice with an exasperated sigh then drape her clothing and jewelry I had set aside over my arm. The silk is smooth and looks luxurious as I dress her body in a blue dress with white lacy trim. It further brings out the blue hue over her skin, but it was my Luella’s favorite. Her faded eyes remain open, watching me from somewhere. I hold her head up as I drape her cherished pearl rosary around it, placing the cross perfectly between her breasts. She does not look as she did when she was alive, it could never look the same.
A sudden pang of pain that rots me to my core. A sharp stab in my stomach feels as though a maggot is wriggling through my skin. A burning nausea fills me whole, stomach acid lighting the back of my throat. I was delusional. The taste of flesh could never replace the sound of her laugh, how my stomach flipped and spun with her gaze upon me. Her blood didn’t taste as sweet as her tongue dancing throughout my mouth as she explored my inner being. My Luella was more than a glorious feast, she was my love. I must admit it now, her corpse was not the same, the rot changed her. I changed her. The white veil I drape over her casket can’t hide the oozing bumps or her washed-over eyes. Her consuming love marked upon my soul, never leaving me. My Luella, as I knew her, is gone. She is but an embalmed corpse, by my doing.
My abdomen hurts ever so painfully. Watery saliva fills my mouth no matter how many times I attempt to swallow it away. I curl over and begin to cough and violently dry heave. I am plagued with pain. What if her plague was a punishment for our sins? What if this is a punishment for mine? I am finally forced to empty the contents of my stomach, a mixture of blood and stomach acid with chunks of Luella’s flesh. It leaves a sour, alcoholic aftertaste in my mouth. My sin is expelled from within, leaving me with a fiery burn ripping through me like hellfire. I dread the thought that I may finally be made to pay for my blasphemous crimes. I feel a slight choke as my heart throbs with the emptiness of losing her. My stomach prongs and aches as I hunch over myself.
Why must it hurt so bad? I cannot bear to be reminded of Luella much longer. I can hear the rhythmic pulsing calling me as my vision slowly goes in and out. It blurs, then fills with static, and my head hangs oh-so heavy on my neck. The pulsing reminds me of Luella’s soothing heartbeat. The emptiness desires me, just as I desire it. It feels comfortable, like home, like Luella. Breathing is becoming more and more difficult, and I find myself battling for my ribs to expand in labored breaths. I hear a high-pitched wheeze escape my throat whenever I breathe in, disturbing me greatly. It sounds of a light scream echoing from my lungs, pleading for air. It rattles and gurgles when I exhale, more fluid filling the back of my throat as I attempt to breathe more. Was this what Luella’s last moments were like? Last months? Luella ravages my heart and burns through my core. Her perfect face haunts me. Her love plagues me. The sound of her laugh bellows through my ears and echoes in my soul, ruining me. I am a sinner. I am rotten. Nothing but maggots and flies and dirt.
I should be where Luella is, it should’ve been me.
I feel a warmth buzz through my being, I am hotter than I’ve ever felt before. My hands are clammy and shake as I try to bring them to my face. A memory of my lover caressing my arm as she holds me burns through my core. Though I fight to continue standing, to hold Luella’s hand one last time, I stumble and end up lying on the cold floor. A rancid smell surrounds the room as I lie next to my vomit and spatters of mine and Luella’s blood. The chilled floor and wetness are a nice contrast to my now hellishly hot body. I feel Luella’s presence warming my soul.
I think of her as I close my eyes, a sour, firey taste bubbling up through my throat and further laboring my shaky breathing. I am gasping and struggling to consume any air, it denies me any relief. I can feel bubbly fluid fill my throat as I try to cough, but it only spills from my mouth and onto my chin. I can hear a gurgling escape my throat between the ringing in my ears. Even as I grab at my head and attempt to sit up, it doesn’t stop. None of it stops. My love for Luella poisons me, a proper punishment for my sins.
Though I can still feel myself choking and gurgling, I am now so very calm, the calmest I’ve been since she left. An ocean of relief overtakes my body as all the pain vanishes, it is nothing but numbness and tranquility. I don’t fight my loss of breath or the fading of my vision. Instead, I think of how my name sounded in her voice. I think of her soft, blonde hair and the dimples that showed as she laughed. The pain of losing her hurt the most out of everything. My Luella rots me from the inside out and into something new. It will all be the same again, soon. I will feel her warmth again despite my sins. I obey her, I’d follow her anywhere.
Oh, my dearest Luella, how I loved you so.