In the low, low light, across the table, I love him. I want to say it, but it gets trapped in my throat, a motionless red lump, worthless as a heart.

“I SHAVED,” I WHISPER AT JARRED WHEN he passes me in the hall.

I watch the back of his head for a reaction. His body doesn’t change, his shoulders don’t tense, he doesn’t flinch. It’s as if no one has spoken, as if I am a ghost.

Later, a note on my desk:

Let me walk you home today.

Heat flushes: Our mouths together again, the skin beneath my skin, his skin above my skin, the warmth, the warmth a new small sun between the legs.

AFTER SCHOOL, WE WANDER THE ACRES.

“I like it when you listen to me,” Jarred says.

“I want to show you something,” I say. “Have you seen the Meat Quarry?”

“No,” he says. “Where’s that?”

“Just out this way,” I say.

I guide him down the road until we reach the gate.

I slide my key into the lock until it clicks. He follows me inside, his eyes flicking over the flesh walls.

“What is this place?” he asks.

“The Meat Quarry. My brother and father discovered it. It’s ours.”

“What do you do down here?”

“This is where we harvest the meat.”

“Weird,” he says. “Smells like hell.”

“It’s my favorite place.”

“Come here.”

I walk to him, body more electric. He shoves his mouth against mine. It’s rough, the way he does it this time, his teeth against my lips and tongue, his hand on the side of my face.

He lets out a low moan and slides his hand up my skirt, past my underwear, his fingers on my bare skin.

“Good, good,” he says.

The heat between my legs grows, glows, turns white. He presses me back against the meat, the walls soaking blood into my back and hair. I don’t mind, I tell myself I don’t mind.

He slides my dress from my shoulder, a mouth to a breast, his hands roving over my knot, then his fingers finding the space between my legs and pressing inside of me so deeply that it hurts.

I let out a small cry and he smiles.

“Too much?” he asks.

I nod.

“Oh well,” he says. He wraps his teeth around my earlobe and shoves his fingers in deeper.

Panic begins in my chest. I push his shoulders back, away from me. He steps back to peel his shirt off, then he’s on me again, his skin against mine, the blood from the wall soaking me.

“Oh, no,” he says. “We’ve come all this way.”