Perfect girl

Delia didn't know she wanted to kill Sarah Silver until she was already doing it.

Sarah Silver, perfect Sarah, with the clear smooth skin, like porcelain, naturally pink lips, tall but not too tall, thin but not anorexic, breath that smelled like strawberry candy, glowing clean smile, hair from a shampoo ad. Everybody liked Sarah, they wanted to be friends with her, date her, fuck her, be part of her world. They sort of hated her too, because nothing bad ever happened to her, her life ran so smooth it was ridiculous. Pretty people had it easier, anyone who said otherwise was a fucking liar. And Sarah was pretty, with soft edges and soft skin. She was nice too, which in Delia's opinion just made it worse. She felt like a bitch for hating sweet Sarah Silver, who smiled at everyone, who only had kindness to give, who was probably the final girl in every horror movie, the girl you always rooted for, pretty and smart and sweet, every guy’s dream girl, the star of every single fucking wet dream. Fucking Sarah…

Delia wanted to wear her fucking skin. She wanted to strip Sarah's own flesh from her body and put it on like a full body suit, like some weird Silence of the Lambs shit. Scoop her insides out of her skinny little body and eat what made her beautiful, the bloody matter of her, perfect revitalizing meat. Eat your skincare! Everyone on the internet said, what better skincare than Sarah Silver’s flesh. Maybe then things might actually work out for Delia, people would be nicer, they would bend over backwards to help her. They would want her so much it made them stupid. Women like Sarah Silver ate whatever they wanted, said what came into their heads without worry, their jokes always landed. Women like Sarah Silver were the missing girls you saw in the news and actually felt sorry for. Pretty perfect girls that got gigantic search parties and their photos on the front page of the newspapers. Who your parents pointed at and said, “You should be more like her.”

It all happened at a party. Sarah Silver was drunk, but a cute drunk, giggly and tripping over her own words, shiny under the harsh lights. The house was hot like a sauna and it smelled of teen sweat filled to the brim with hormones. The wooden floors were sticky with beer, and Sarah was laying in an empty tub in the bathroom, pink heels dangling from her dainty feet. Her perfume was sweet and flowery, she giggled constantly, pearly white teeth in a perfect smile. Delia wanted to open Sarah's mouth wide to see what made her so perfect, maybe cut her from chin to navel, to see the beating of her perfect heart. Like a scientist studying an incredible specimen, shining a flashlight on every small detail.

There were so many things in life that Delia really, really wanted. To be like Sarah Silver was the main one, the only one that really mattered, to know even for one day what it felt like to be that pretty, that loved. It was just the two of them in the bathroom, maybe Sarah could tell her how she did it. Delia wouldn’t tell anyone else about it, she knew how to keep a secret. She was a good girl like that. Sarah didn’t even have to say it loud, she could whisper in Delia's ear. Just between them, just between Delia and Sarah Silver. Maybe they could even become friends. Friends who shared secrets and threw slumber parties, who coordinated outfits and the color of their nail polish. They could braid each other’s hair and secretly feel superior to one another, but on the outside they just smiled and laughed and were friends, true friends, the kind that lasts: maid of honors, godmothers, and birthing partners.

It’s not what happened.

Sarah was so drunk she was kind of incoherent, so silly it was fucking annoying. And she was so fragile, trembling like a leaf. One push and she broke like a porcelain doll, all the perfectness dripping out of her, the red fountain of beauty, like in the movies, just one rush of red. Delia could be the new Sarah, if only she had a little of her inside. It would be more special if it was just her, no other girl to steal some of the attention, no one to be compared to. Just her, once simple and boring Delia, wearing perfect Sarah until nobody remembered someone named Sarah even existed. She just had to eat and drink up everything that made Sarah Silver into Sarah fucking Silver. Blood rose to Sarah’s mouth, choking in herself, her very own perfect and beautiful self, crimson dripping down her chin.

Delia opened her mouth wide, teeth shining in the white light, sharp canines being useful tearing flesh, one sweaty hand pushing against Sarah’s mouth, drowning out her pain, smearing blood all around her face, her broken body in pieces like a doll, frozen in horror, the sharp taste of alcohol pouring out of her skin, sweat and fear overwhelming her scent. Undoing her, taking her apart like a car, looking at all the parts that made her so important, stealing them, hiding them, inside Delia’s own mouth, down her throat, warm and filling inside her stomach. Everything drowned out by the loud music and the voices while Sarah Silver became nothing, not a perfect girl anymore, not even a girl or a person. A thing to be eaten, morsel by morsel, piece by piece, made harmless by something... someone bigger than her, harsher, eager, and meaner. A slab of meat, with no skin, no identity, no beauty. Nothing that made it stand apart, just food for the hungry.

Maybe that’s what Delia meant to do from the start. Maybe that’s why she followed Sarah to the bathroom, why she locked the door, why she bent over that perfect body, watching, mouth watering, stomach rumbling, starving... Just starving.