The Creeper by Tania Carver

And when he became unhappy he became angry.
    And that wasn’t good. For any one.
    Rani was back home. Which was good. He was looking forward to spending some quality time with her. Just the pair of them. The way it should be. But that wouldn’t be happening. Because she’d brought her friend with her. Without asking.
    This was their place. Didn’t she understand that? If she wanted to bring people back she should ask him first.
    Or accept the consequences.
    But no, there she sat, in the living room, the blonde one who thought she was really pretty, drinking, not going anywhere in a hurry. In fact, she had brought a bag with her. Looked like she was going to stay.
    The Creeper’s irritation tripped over into anger. That wasn’t right. Not right at all.
    He had only just found her again. After all this time. There was so much they had to say to each other, so much catching up to do. So much time to spend together, just the pair of them.
    That coiled snake began to writhe and twist inside him once more. Zoe shouldn’t be there. It should be Rani and him. Only him. They didn’t need her. They didn’t need anyone.
    He watched, shaking, as Zoe went into the kitchen, began to prepare food for her and Rani.
    The snake slithered, spat. That’s where he had left his present. And now this whore was going to find it. Not Rani.
    Poison spread through him. His hands flexed and unflexed. Saliva foamed and frothed round his mouth, as he breathed through clenched teeth.
    Not for her . . . not for her . . .
    But there was nothing he could do, just watch.

    Zoe went into Suzanne’s kitchen, filled the kettle. Tea. That was what was needed now. Not coffee, tea. It was warming, soothing. It destressed you, brought back happy associations from when you were younger, made you feel like you were curled in a chair, safe and warm. And if you had chocolate HobNobs to go with it, so much the better.
    Zoe took the biscuits from the canvas carrier she had brought with her. When she had gone home to grab some clothes, she had popped into Sainsbury’s on the way, put a few essentials together, the makings of a meal for the pair of them, something for them to share in the hope it would take Suzanne’s mind off what had happened.
    She arrayed the food on the counter. Looked at the biscuits and felt immediately hungry. She wanted to open the packet, start in on them right now. But she wouldn’t. She would take them in to Suzanne, open them in front of her and allow herself only one. Or perhaps even a half. And make sure Suzanne took them and put them away. Somewhere Zoe couldn’t find them.
    Her stomach felt like a ravenous, cavernous space. But then it always did.
    She loved food. Loved the sheer sensuality of eating, the feel of it in her mouth, the smells, the tastes, the textures. The way it slipped down her throat and into her stomach. The act of putting something inside her body, satisfying herself, her hungers and cravings, feeling it gradually fill her out. Wonderful. Nothing to touch it in the world. For Zoe, food was her sex.
    But like so many of Zoe’s early sexual encounters, she ended up feeling bad about it afterwards. Guilt-ridden, hating herself and what her hungers had led her to do.
    And that’s when her problems had started.
    She’d never been anorexic, never been one to starve herself. That was something, she supposed. But sticking her fingers down her throat to bring it all back up again . . . to let her body feel cleansed, guilt-free and empty . . . that made perfect sense to her.
    University for her had been about secrets and lies and double lives. The happy, extrovert - even exhibitionist at times - Zoe who was never short on friends or boyfriends. And the self-loathing, toilet bowl-hugging wreck that she really saw herself as.
    Thank God she wasn’t like that any more. Thank God for her friends - or rather Suzanne. She had been there for her, helped her out, shown strength when Zoe didn’t have any of her own. She