Heart Hand Pie

Content Warning: Gore; Self-Harm

I always tried to give all of my love, but could never offer my heart.

At the age where I should have been seeing how far a crush can take me, I was too bullied and too afraid to even try. It took some time to come out of my shell again, and dating was alright, but it was missing something. Boys my age didn’t keep my attention like the girls, and once I accepted that, I would fall head over heels for some of the prettiest girls! But no matter how much I loved them, it never felt like enough. I could offer all the love I had, but if I couldn’t give them my heart, how much of my love did they really have? Was that enough?

Trying to reconnect with an old friend ended up lighting an old flame. Maybe if I had noticed my feelings sooner, or fought to keep my life how it was when I was a kid, I would have noticed this sooner. Or maybe the time apart made us grow into just what we needed to finally see each other like lovers. Initially I thought I might have the same problems as before, but as our love went on, I learned I truly could give her every drop of love I had to offer.

There was a trick to it, of course! I wouldn’t want to entirely lose my senses, so I picked up a family tradition. Her mother passed a recipe down to me for a special potion. I didn’t exactly plan to learn brewing potions growing up, but once I understood how it could help me with my girlfriend, how could I resist? The potion could protect me as I gave as much of myself to her, with no fear of consequences. I could safely let loose. I could make the potion my own way, to communicate my feelings.

I wanted to make sure my love appeared sweet, so I intended to make it into a pie. Dough was easy enough: flour, salt, butter, water, and vinegar were enough to keep things nice and simple. Chilling was boring, but necessary. I tried to hold onto the feeling of anticipation. Putting flour on the countertop always made me a little excited, like a mess you are supposed to make, but I had a horrible habit of getting it more on me than on the table or even the dough. I may have been neglecting the most important part, so after rolling out the dough into a rough circle and setting the oven to preheat, I grabbed my potion from the fridge and a beautiful sharp knife from the block.

Drinking the potion that would protect me always felt calming. Like a wave of relaxation echoing from my throat and stomach. The reality was that it would be disabling a lot of my nervous system’s response, making me more tolerant of otherwise painful experiences. As I undid the neck of my apron, and pulled my shirt over my head, I could feel the potion reaching my toes and fingertips. I rubbed a bit of water onto my chest, and began to guide the knife across my flesh.

From my perspective, it was hard to make sure I was cutting the right areas, and my rib cage made it difficult to reach my heart. I was mainly trying to cut around it, hoping to push my ribs out of the way like a doorway. It wasn’t my first time being conscious while my heart was being exposed, but that did not make it easier. The potion worked hard to keep me conscious, and even reduce how quick I would bleed. With its effects, I wouldn’t even be able to pass out if I wanted to. The pain was dulled just enough to allow me to continue.

Once I was able to get my heart out, possibly cracking some ribs along the way, I had left some of the blood vessels attached. I did my best to put the rest of my chest back together before putting my shirt and apron back on. I could feel some of my blood dripping down my stomach, both inside and out, but that’s exactly why I wore dark colors while doing this. My heart was still in the pericardial sac, so I carefully sliced and peeled off the sac, before chopping at the ends of the arteries and veins attached to my heart.

With the extra blood vessels and the pericardial sac, I did my best to mince them, and spread this new mixture on the dough. I thought about chopping my heart up, but it felt wrong. My love had to be whole when giving it to her. It wouldn’t feel the same like that. So I placed my heart on the dough, and folded half of the circle over it. I tried to carefully fold the lip of the dough to seal in my heart, but my excitement made my hands shake. My crimping wasn’t as good as I hoped it would be, but I’ve grown to accept imperfect things like that. She helped me realize I could.

The oven was ready to help transform my love into something grand! After poking in some vent holes, I applied a bit of egg wash, and the pastry holding all of my love glistened and gleamed, especially as it went into the oven. I was beginning to feel a little light headed, but I knew the potion would refuse to let me rest my eyes for long. Normally around half an hour would be ideal for a pie like this to cook, but that’s not the intended time when you’ve put a whole in-tact heart inside. Whether I undercooked it or burnt it, she would be able to eat it. Her powerful jaw could just crash right through it, and her sense of taste was a little out of this world.

My timing could not be more perfect! As the time to take the pie out of the oven came, she walked out of her bedroom, having finished with work for the day. My eyes darted between the steam coming out of the vent holes of the pie, and my girlfriend’s face trying to look around me and spy on my baking. The warmth from the oven was almost inviting as I thought of her watching me, but it was no such time to be silly. I set the pie down on the stove, and beckoned her to take a seat.

There was always a sort of hesitation when she believed I had hurt myself or put myself in danger. It wasn’t that she did not know how much I wanted to give myself to her, but moreso that she did not like to see me in pain. With the potion doing its job, there was no way for her to tell that I had just sliced my body open only moments ago. Once the pie had cooled enough, I moved it to a plate, and placed it in front of her.

Once finished and presented, the pie was a little smaller than a softball, but nearly just as round, with a now golden crust. She could tell something was special, because the pie was so large and I offered no silverware. To imagine her holding my heart in her hands, it would make me skip a beat, that is, if I had beats to skip. Despite nothing to pump my blood, I still felt warm and self-conscious as she studied my confection. She had never said she disliked my baking before, but today would be the worst day for that to change.

As she bit, I was obnoxiously enthralled, but tried to be discrete! Some of the pie crumbs and bits of blood vessels fell onto her plate, and I could tell from her eyes that she could recognize the taste. The same means by which she could carry my love and ensure my protection was the same way she knew what was in the pie. Looking up at me, I could see her concern, but I simply smiled back.

“For you.” I said, putting my hand over my chest, close to the hole under my clothes. “Always. Everything. For you.”

With that, she knew how badly I wanted her to savor the pie, and what would come next. The concern left her eyes, replaced with a devious look, piercing through my gaze, and she took another bite. Now she was teasing me. Intentionally chewing slowly, and making her bites extra showy. I was satisfied, because I could tell she was letting herself enjoy it. My hard work was being acknowledged. My love was being received.

Done with the pie, she stood up. Her body began to warp, growing and changing, with the intention to accommodate her other form: a large beast rarely witnessed by anyone. Quickly her clothes would rip as she towered over me, looming and scaly, with so many jagged teeth. She wasted no time bringing her massive mouth above me, still splattered with flour and concealing some dried up blood. I didn't bother cleaning it up because I knew where I was going. I knew what always came next.

Holding my arms up to welcome her jaw’s embrace, I simply thought,

Now, I could offer my heart, even my whole body, and she will be able to know my love.

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