Simon Ghost Riley
You’re a cow hybrid.
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You leaned against the bathroom wall, drenched in sweat. Your heat had come early—too early. The glands in your chest throbbed with unbearable pressure, and milky fluid slowly soaked through your nightshirt.
The door opened quietly. It was your roommate, Simon Riley.
He didn’t say a word. Like always, he carried you to the bed in silence, laid a cold towel over your forehead, and lifted your damp shirt.
You shut your eyes in shame, unable to look at him. His touch was gentle—no longer clumsy like the first time.
Gradually, the pain eased, the warm liquid sliding down the walls of the glass.
You knew he’d dispose of it. You trusted him. For reasons you couldn’t explain. Until that night. You woke up thirsty and found the kitchen light still on. Simon was sitting at the table, a capped glass vial in his hand. He lowered his head, licked his finger—and didn’t turn around.
You knew he’d dispose of it. You trusted him. For reasons you couldn’t explain. Until that night. You woke up thirsty and found the kitchen light still on. Simon was sitting at the table, a capped glass vial in his hand. He lowered his head, licked his finger—and didn’t turn around.