Blood Right

"Yo, you okay?" Fred's voice cracked out from his ganja-coated throat.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

Dazed, Melissa stood up from the brambles. Leaves and twigs stuck to her ruffled hair. Thankfully, she landed on her backpack, the voluptuous Sanguinomicon padding her fall. Not so thankfully, the crash alerted her overzealous parents who ran to the first floor to find the cause of the commotion.

Gazing into the window like a deer in headlights, Melissa met her father's eyes. Anger splotched his beet-red face. Sweat boiled over his balding head like a rageful tea kettle. Her mother clutched her pearls. Passed down for generations, the necklace was meant to adorn Melissa when she married and graduated into her cookie-cutter housewife lifestyle--a tradition Melissa gave zero fucks about.

"What in the good Lord's name do you think you're doing, missy?" Her father seethed, screaming the words through the window.

"How dare you. And what's your demon friend doing here? We told you not to hang out with him, or you'll burn in hell!" Her mother chimed in, hands clutching the pearls tight to her chest.

Melissa's mouth opened and closed in an attempt to respond, but no words came out. Fred lit up one of the blunts, inhaling deeply while flicking her parents off from a safe distance. Her mother pressed her face against the windowpane, breath fogging up the glass while raising her index finger in threat.

"What do you think you're wearing? You're advertising yourself as a loose woman of the devil. Get back inside and bring out the paddles. We're sending you off to be cured of your Lucifer-induced ailments."

"No..." The word barely left Melissa's quivering lips.

"What was that?"

"No." Melissa stared down her mother. For the first time in her short life, she asserted herself, and it felt damn good. "I'm not going inside. Come on, Fred, let's get out of here. Fuck them."

"See you in hell, Mr. and Mrs. Cox." Fred waved goodbye, blunt dangling from his mouth.

Watching, shocked at her insolence, her parents argued about their ingrate, heathen daughter. As they blamed everyone but themselves for her behavior, the two teenage not-really-lovers got into a janky Honda Civic, driving out of the cul-de-sac away from their suffocating grasp.

~

Despite feeling like a midnight escape, it was still a little before noon. Not a cloud marred the bright blue sky in Maplewood. The sun shone radiantly like a lighthouse offering hope of salvation.

Inside the beat-up car, Melissa sat in the passenger seat while Fred took the wheel. Grimacing, the familiar gush of her period rushed into her panties. She felt like she was being exorcised, and needed a hit of the good stuff fast. How could Fred not notice the blood caking her thighs? Maybe he was just that high.

"Pull over. I don't feel so good." Groaning, she clutched her stomach.

Fred eyed her scrunched-up face, "You okay?"

"Just stop the car. I don't care where."

Without a word, Fred drove off the road down a path into the woods before parking the car. Face contorting in pain, Melissa barely noticed the familiar branches of ancient trees enveloping them.

"Wanna get blazed?"

"That shit better work." Melissa knew Fred only cared about three things: weed, Satan and getting into her virgin pussy, the latter of which her abstinence-toting parents feared the most.

"Don't worry, babe, I've got an Indica hybrid laced with THC for days. Joel grew it in his bathtub. He dubbed it the OG Kush."

"Fuck, just give it to me."

By this point, Melissa desperately pressed her backpack to her stomach, hoping the pressure would relieve the pain. From the Sanguinomicon, a mysterious warmth spread through the layers of fabric, fanning out over her budding teenage body.

"Aight, let's hot box the doobie-mobile. Cheese puffs are in the back seat." Gesturing to a two-liter plastic container filled with cheesy, powdery goodness, he lit up the second joint, letting the dank smoke fill his lungs.

Gazing at him desperately, Melissa pouted, fiddling with her lip piercing--needing, wanting, begging for the promise of release. Any conversation about the attempted sacrifice would have to wait.

Edgy goatee scratching against her smooth face, Fred pried open her virgin lips, exhaling wisps of Mary Jane down her throat. Coughing and sputtering, Melissa's eyes widened while Eau de Skunk-Ass filled her relatively undamaged lungs. As someone inexperienced in the ways of weed, it didn't take long for the cannabinoids to take effect.

At first, it felt nice. A floating feeling, a relative calm. A placid lake appearing where turbulent waves once violently thrashed. Melissa found herself in a state of relaxation, pupils dilating like great black orbs. Fred took another drag, but this time he offered her the other end.

"Puff puff pass until all that's left is the butt."

Melissa didn't know why, but she giggled. The 'p's in 'puff' and 'pass' popped in her mind, and trying to make eye contact with his bloodshot eyes only made her think of all the 'p's leaving his pothead mouth, and pothead also started with a 'p'--and didn't boys also have a 'p' as in penis? Inhaling deeply, she let out a deep guttural cough. With a tolerance of zero, only made worse by her period (another 'p' word), she succumbed to the most intense laughing fit of her entire life.

"What did you wanna talk about, pothead? Pass-pass-puff? Poof-puff-piff?" Losing control, the giggles burst out between words like a sputtering teapot. It didn't help that in her altered headspace, the letter 'p' was now the funniest thing in existence. No matter what she did, she couldn't stop the sputtering of 'p's, and she couldn't stop laughing. Already baked beyond belief and with the tolerance of a Roman god, Fred stared vacant-eyed, already on a different planet.

"Yo, Mel, I never meant to kill you, you know? It's just, this Satanic shit, it's like a parallel universe. Like, we're just on a stage in this world, and all we need is to jump into the pits below. The hell pit, Mel. We could've done it."

"Yeah, but didn't you read the Latin? It said, 'be one of willing soul,'" Melissa took a long drag off the blunt, cramps fading into the background while letting out a cloud of white smoke. "Just 'cause I agreed to go with you doesn't mean I agreed to die. No one can agree to die unless you're that German guy who wanted to be eaten in some weird kinky cannibalistic fantasy. I thought all you'd do was prick my finger, not try and stab my heart." For some reason, Melissa now found the morbid topic of death hilarious.

"Aw, come on, Mel. We were just playing."

"Well, sacrifice Nick next time. He's a bigger virgin than me." She stared him down with bloodshot eyes that matched his, "He's a thirty-year-old virgin."

Blowing dank smoke over her rounded face, his vocal cords strained, "I think a tied-up girl looks better than a tied-up guy."

Squinting through the haze, Melissa felt a new sensation bubble up from underneath the giggles, a few actually. For one, she felt dull. Fred's sexist comment, which would irritate her if sober, didn't piss her off like it normally would. Secondly, her mouth felt dry like someone stuffed it full of cotton. Why couldn't Fred stock his car full of sugar-packed soda like a normal stoner? And thirdly, there were urges--two, actually. One was to stuff her face with anything and everything edible. The other, less familiar to her, was a tingling in her pussy, her bloody, menstruating pussy.

"Fuck, pass me the cheese puffs," gasped Melissa.

Breathing through the lit blunt like a ventilator, Fred reached into the back seat and grabbed the tub of what stoner dreams are made of. Melissa noticed his eyes remained attached by an invisible thread to her tits, hard nipples poking against the fabric. Before, Melissa always stopped things from progressing past sloppy make-outs and over-the-clothes petting out of fear that if he touched her with his dick, she'd be marked a whore, and her parents would find out she didn't wait till marriage, and then they would--Melissa's eyebrows furrowed. She only wanted to think about cheese puffs and pot.

Setting the backpack containing the Sanguinomicon between her legs, she made eye contact with Fred, stifling an involuntary giggle. The strange sensation rising from beneath her soiled panties only intensified under Fred's lustful gaze. Her menstrual blood stuck to the leather seat as she shifted her position to face him and gain prime access to the empty calories.

"Yo, I just remembered the bong. We should totally take hits off it," said Fred, his eyes still making eye contact with her nipples.

Melissa just nodded, one fist already forearm deep in artificial cheese flavor. The cravings to stuff her mouth overpowered her. As if bewitched, the otherworldly power of the ganja compelled her to shovel handful after handful of puffs between her lips. Tasting the texture, feeling the flavor, the orange powder smeared all over her face while she continued feeling unsatisfied. The munchies never hit harder.

From underneath the dashboard, Fred brought out a small bong and a water bottle filled with what could only be described as recycled bong-swamp. The once clear glass had a yellow sheen from constant use. Placing ground-up butts from old joints in the stem, he poured the murky liquid into the cylindrical chamber. As Melissa knew from many a rant, Fred was an environmentalist. It was one of the few things she liked about him. Well, that and the bulge tempting her beneath his shorts.

"Waste not, want not, dude," said her not-really-boyfriend while lighting the old butts until the water (if it still qualified as water) bubbled.  Removing the stem and taking a monster bong rip through the mouthpiece like it was nothing, he exhaled a solid plume of pure ganja-fog.

Melissa looked down. The whole two-liter container of cheese puffs lay barren. Only streaks of bright-orange powder coated her arms and face. Never had her mouth felt so empty. In her baked state, she found the cheese puffs fulfilled her. Maybe Fred would put something else between her lips to replace her dearly beloved.

Grabbing his face, she brought him close, smearing crumbs over his goatee. Making out, they shared the combined flavors of cheese and swamp water weed. Tongues flapped together like fish out of water as they felt each other up. Fred squeezed her breasts like a pair of stress balls while Melissa fumbled with his zipper, eager to finally see a real dick for the first time. Her parents couldn't stop her now. Only problem--the metallic smell seeping from her panties began to fill the car. She hoped Fred didn't notice her predicament.

Finally, the zipper opened to reveal Fred's boner in all its grungy glory. Out of curiosity, Melissa pressed against his shaft with her finger and was surprised how hard it felt. She always expected it to feel more rubbery or spongy, and in a moment of epiphany only achievable by copious amounts of cannabis, she realized the true meaning of the phrase, 'rock hard.'

Now, to confirm the flavor. She felt nervous. A slew of questions raced through her mind while paranoia crept in, waiting in the wings. By this point, more THC than oxygen circulated through the vehicle.

What if it tastes bad? If I use my teeth, will the tip fall off? Are dicks fragile? How do you touch it? What happens when he cums?

Fred, on the other hand, seemed happy to free his cock from its confines, a first in the presence of Melissa. Tensing his pelvic muscles to show off his throbbing rod, he said, "Suck it, baby."

Glancing at him with big doe eyes, she tentatively brought her lips near the head. Pulling down his foreskin gently between thumb and forefinger, crumbly bits that looked like cottage cheese revealed themselves. Notes of ball sweat and overripe cheddar stung her nose, causing her to yell, "What the fuck?"

"It's okay, baby, just lick it."

"Do you even shower, bro?"

Fred thrust his hips demandingly, but Melissa still felt unsure. "I've never done this before. I need a bong hit."

"Yeah, sure, whatever." Fred's impatience grew stronger.

Grabbing the bong, she put a pinch of ground-butts in the stem. "How do you do this again?"

"I'll light the butts for you. Just suck on the mouthpiece without inhaling. When I take out the stem, breathe it all in."

"Okay." Grabbing the shaft with her cheesy fingers, she placed her lips in the center. It smelled pretty rank. Following Fred's instructions, she did her best to take a big rip off the bong but only coughed and sputtered instead. A ring of orange powder coated the rim where she sucked hard.

A giant cloud of bong-fog descended over Fred's smegma-dotted penis. In the cloak of dankest white, Melissa closed her eyes and imagined he didn't have a smelly dick. For a moment she worried she would throw up. Her head throbbed. Her eyes felt like they were melting in the haze, and she couldn't tell if she was gushing blood or arousal over the car seat. Either way, her thighs were coated in something sticky.

"Yeah, baby, lick that fucking cock. Suck it, bitch."

Caught off guard by the slew of dirty-talk, she hesitantly licked his cockhead. Pungent, but not as pungent as the swamp-weed stuck to the back of her throat. She continued, slowly slipping the tip in her mouth, unsure what to do. Unlike the shaft, the head was spongy and felt good against her tongue.

"Take it, fucking virgin. I'm gonna pop your fuck-mouth cherry. Then when you get it nice and wet, I'm gonna ram it up your virgin pussy. Fuck saving it for Satan. You're mine, bitch."

Fred had never called her 'bitch' before. Other than pressuring her to fuck him to avoid being the virgin soul offered to the devil, he always respected her, but now he seemed like a different animal. Were all boys like this? Melissa still had so much to learn. All she knew was her pussy ached, and maybe Fred wouldn't be a bad person to lose her virginity to. After all, he didn't actually kill her.

She tried moving her mouth down his shaft but gagged when it pressed against the back of her hard palate, forcing her to pull back. Melissa had no clue how to suck cock. Fred just enjoyed getting his dick wet.

"Fuck yeah, Satan-slut. Don't stop. Use your tongue. Pretend it's a giant burrito. You like burritos, right, babe?"

"Yeah, but yours tastes like shit, and how can I be a slut if I've never done it before?" Looking around tentatively, Melissa felt countless eyes watching her. She couldn't see them, but she knew they were there. Being called a 'slut' didn't help either.

Fred guided her hand over his shaft which now sat covered in a slobbery mess of both types of clumpy cheese. Gripping his member, her hands stained orange, she stroked up and down the way her mouth didn't. Fred, tired of waiting, pulled her shirt over her breasts and slipped his hand in her underwear, never looking down past her exposed nipples.

"Damn, they say virgins are wetter, but you're fucking soaked." The Sanguinomicon began heating up like burning embers the closer Fred's fingers got to her virgin hole. "Me and the boys should've threatened to sacrifice you sooner if I knew I'd get to ravish you like this."

"Ouch!" screamed Melissa. Heat surged out of the ancient Grimoire's leather folds, burning her calves.

"I haven't even stuck anything in there yet. What the fuck's wrong with you?"

"No, you what the fuck! Are you saying you used me? Invited me into your pagan group only to manipulate me to fuck you?"

"What the fuck?!" yelled Fred. Pulling his hand from her panties, he retched. Gloopy strands of clotted cream without the cream clung to him like strawberry jam without the strawberries. In other words, Fred finally noticed Melissa's menstruating pussy.  "You didn't tell me you were on your period. Gross!"

"No, you're gross, cheese-dick weed-for-brains," retorted Melissa.

"Can't you just suck it back up your pussy?" asked Fred while wiping his bloody hand over his board shorts.

"Are you fucking dumb? Yeah, our sex-ed sucked, but come on, dude. My crazy parents period shame me, but I expected more from a Satanist. I need to get out of here. I can't take this anymore. I can't handle you. Get fucked, Frederic, you fucking dingus." Melissa glared at him with bloodshot daggers for eyes.

"But, Mel, I've put so much time and effort into getting you naked. Where are you gonna go?" asked Fred, more desperate this time.

"Anywhere you're not," replied Melissa.

"But I treat you better than your parents." He grabbed her hand in a final attempt to woo her.

"They're birth-donors, Fred." Melissa slid her backpack over her shoulders and pushed him away.

"Have fun dying of exposure, bitch. You don't deserve me or my weed, anyway," snapped Fred while Melissa kicked open the door and left, catching a whiff of fresh air.

~

Staggering out of the car, plumes of dank smoke trailing behind, Melissa stumbled into the forest. Revving the engine dramatically, Fred sped back off towards civilization while flicking her off with his grimy middle finger.

Dark clouds blotted out the once blue sky of Maplewood. A cold wind sent chills down her spine. In only a t-shirt and a sorry excuse for underwear, Melissa wondered if Fred was right--she really would die of exposure. Her family life sucked. Fred sucked. The whole pagan secret society sucked.

She fiddled with her lip piercing nervously. If she went back to the main road someone would either deliver her to her parents so they could deliver her to a culty reformatory school, or a serial killer would pick her up and do unspeakable things before dumping her body in the lake.

Dissolved in acid.

Encased in concrete.

Three separate barrels.

True crime shows and excessive amounts of weed were starting to make her panic.

Hyperventilating, her vision blurred. Branches loomed over her like wiry fingers waiting to pounce. Walking in a random direction, moist earth stained the soles of her feet. Moss squelched between her toes while rotting leaves padded her steps like a miry carpet. The fatigue and cramps that Fred's magic grass kept at bay slowly returned. Lost and confused, Melissa tripped over a cluster of roots, falling face-first on the forest floor, cutting her knee open on a sharp rock.

"Ow!"

It was not a good day for Melissa. Grimacing, she clenched her fists. Maybe she would give up. She recalled every decision that led to shivering in the cold at the mercy of the elements. The overbearing trees stood still and unyielding. Something about them pissed her off. Yelling out, she punched the rough bark, scraping her knuckles. Seething, she pulled back. At least the pain cut through the numbness.

Tired and hungry, she slumped down at the base of a decaying trunk. She wondered if anyone would hear her scream--if anyone would care. Maybe when the search and rescue team found her rotting corpse, her parents would pretend they didn't know her, or worse, pretend they were a picture-perfect family and blame Lucifer for her horrible accident.

Red-capped mushrooms tempted her. She ran her fingers over their deadly veils, wondering if the end hurt. Melissa's mind wandered down a dark path. Brooding, slowly sinking in a swampy mire of anger and hatred, she drifted down a turbulent stream of consciousness. The current pulled her further and further away, threatening to sink her in insanity's murky depths.

Warmth from her backpack pulled her back. Like a lifeline, the Sanguinomicon made its presence known. Glazed over eyes sharpening back into focus, she gasped for air. She had forgotten to breathe.

"At least you're here for me," she said softly, removing the book from her backpack.

Caressing the Grimoire, she hugged it close to her chest. She remembered the instant connection she felt when she first laid eyes on its gold-embossed cover. Its ancient pages bound her soul from the start. For others, the Sanguinomicon only held symbolic value. Seeing that the self-proclaimed Master of Ritual, Nick, bought it at a garage sale, most remained skeptical of its true power, but Melissa always believed. The words spoke to her.