From: The Storyteller By:Jodi Picoult
He could hear every beat of her heart. It was almost in time with her boots, as she ran. She should have known better, he told himself. This was all her fault.
When she rounded the corner, He hit her from behind. She landed hard on the stones as he reached for the neck of her dress, Tearing it halfway down her body while he rolled her onto her arm. ( they're not doing anything bad he's killing her btw A/N )
One arm pressed against her collarbone was all he needed to keep her steady. She begged, They always did, But he did not listen. Her heart was racing now, And It was driving him mad.
The first bite was the most gratifying, Like a blade cutting through clay. Her pulse fluttered like an aspen leaf in the hollow of her throat. The skin was soft; It took only a gentle tug to peel it back so the he could expose muscles, The veins throbbing,
He could hear the blood, too, Rushing like a swollen river, And it made saliva pool in his mouth. With years of dexterity he carved through the muscle, Snapping sinew and tendon like bowstrings as he shredded the flesh, dissecting until the sweet copper blood burst from the artery into his tongue.
It dripped down his chin like the juice of a melon as she went limp beneath him, As her skin shriveled. When his teeth struck her spine, He knew she had no more use. Her head, connected only by a strip of ligament, Rolled a short distance away.
He wiped his mouth clean. And wept.
A/N: He killed the girl, And then he cried?! SHE WAS OUR MAIN CHARACTER REALLY DUDE, WELL NO MORE STORY TIME BECAUSE YOU KILLED HER