Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
I should kill them when they are young. At least the blood would be sweet.
But they are so dear. So few.
I begin to imagine a world where there are so many feeders, I could afford to kill them while they are still fresh so I would never have to taste their sour, old, stale blood again.
It’s selfish of me, this daydream. I should concentrate on Rose.
I pull back, the last drop of blood from her now in my mouth. I swallow it, grimacing, forcing myself to keep it down. Then I bite my wrist and hold it up to her mouth.
“Drink me, Rose. You’ll feel so much better. Just drink now. It’s finally your turn.”
At first, she tries to move her mouth away from my wrist. But she is feeble and weak, so I just force the blood inside her. It only takes a few moments for her to begin suckling on her own. Small draws at first. Then longer, deeper ones.
It’s a little bit erotic, even if she is disgusting and rancid.
This goes on for several minutes, then I push her back into position, take my mouth down to her neck, and we do it all over again.
Only this time, I get the purple haze. I get lost in my own past. A past that came after Rose, actually. Two decades, to be exact.
And this past, and the promise of a future, is what keeps me spry these days.
Ryet.
He is the one I imagine in my arms right now. His beautiful, glorious face. His hard, muscular body. And those eyes of his.
They have never looked at me with fondness. But one day they will.
And I can wait for that. As long as it takes.
I drink Rose’s last drop of blood for the second time, then bite my already healed wrist, put it up to her mouth, and she suckles me like a babe on a tit.
Her face is smoother now, some of the wrinkles fading, her eyes just a tiny bit brighter as she gazes up at me, lips busily moving as she draws in my blood.
I smile at her. And we do this over and over again. She changes back to the young woman I remember so well. So pretty. Not the fairest, certainly not, but she’s at least an eight.
“You are pretty, aren’t you? Of course you are. I would have it no other way. Why not, right? Why not surround myself with beauty, Rose? The ugly is waiting for me, just like it is you. And everything ends. Even me. One day. A long, long time from now. One day I will be stuck in the ugly, so I will be beautiful now. I will covet it. And hold it. And keep it.”
I say things like this as we repeat the drinking and sucking.
She ages down to the little girl with the cheerful face.
Of course, this is all an illusion. She feels it though. She feels herself ageing backwards. And I see it because I want to see it. And what I want is really the only thing that matters here.
This blood-mixing is a powerful drug. It’s better than heroin. Better than that new synthetic Chinese crap, too. It’s all-natural. Organic.
I almost guffaw at that thought.
The recycled blood puts us both in a dream state. It makes us drunk. Makes us love each other. Makes her forgive me for all the things I have done to her over the decades.
“It’s just my nature, Rose.” I swipe the hair away from her face and she sighs and smiles at me. Like the little girl I used to bleed in the kitchen in San Francisco.
This next time she pulls her mouth away from my wrist, shaking her head.
“What’s wrong, dear? Don’t stop now, we’re nearly there.”
“You.” Her word comes out as a croak, betraying my illusion for a moment, but I concentrate harder and force her to be my tasty little girl.
“Yes, my sweet, sweet girl. I’m here.”
“You… bastard.” Her voice is light and chirpy now. A child’s voice because I prefer her that way. “You will rot in Hell for what you’ve done to me.”
I smile lovingly down at her. “Of course I will, darling. I am a creature of that place. Just like you. I’ll see you there one day—after I have my conversation with God, of course. We can meet up in some bubbling brimstone pit and have a drink as we chat about the good old days.”
“No!” She’s crying again. “No. You are beyond evil. And I might be a witch…” Her whole body has strength now. But it is just my strength. The power is from me, a gift to her so she can have her final say.
I am so generous to them, but they never appreciate it.
“… I might even be an evil witch. But you have forgotten what I can do, little man.”