Jul. 28th, 2025 10:46 pm
jersey - part of chapter 2 i wrote
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cheesecakecjThe brick wall is plastered in old flyers, soaked through and peeling like dead skin. The alley is quiet. Sarah leans against the wall, still giggling. The sound is too loud and out of place outside compared to the bar. Her lipstick is smudged, so I reach out and wipe the smeared part off with my thumb. The darkness and loneliness of this alley make the moment more intimate. Sarah looks at me with heavy eyes and wide pupils.
“Sarah,” I say gently, “Do you want to sit down?” She drunkenly nods, way too out of touch to realize the drink from her hand is missing. I took it away from her before heading out here. She slumps against the wall as I guide her down with my hands. A cold and hollow breeze hits us, and I realize she must be freezing out here like this. I make sure to zip up her jacket. “Sorry,” I mutter, mostly to myself. The moment before is always the worst. When they stare up at you with delicate eyes, they don’t ever expect to be hurt. Right now, Sarah resembles a deer, but I am the car with the headlights. I am her ultimate demise. She welcomes me gently.
“Are you... are you going to kiss me?” She mumbles the words out drowsily like her tongue is a paperweight. I give her a small, sad smile. I lean in. I can feel her pulse before I even make contact with the skin barrier. She closes her eyes like she tastes death. My teeth sink into her tender flesh. The skin gives in before I even feel my fangs piercing it. A wet kind of give, like poking rotting fruit. I taste her skin first; it is progressively getting colder the longer she sits outside. The faint tang of perfume coats my tongue. The smell of it almost grounds me before I get lost in the taste of her blood.
She tastes fruitier than the average drunk person, I can taste the alcohol. Peach schnapps maybe—it is artificial and sugary. The thin veil of alcohol wears off, and the familiar taste of blood rushes into my mouth. Underneath the extra “add-ons” of perfume, sweat, and alcoholic beverages is the thick blood. The pulse beneath her collarbone slows down as I take more of the sweetness from her veins. It is warm as it slides down my throat, I try to be gentle with her but there is so much escaping from her body I try not to choke on it.
Sarah’s breath hitches, her knees start to slide forward. Her body is giving up. This is the moment where I decide if I will spare her or not. I don’t. She is the best tasting human I have had in a while, and I need to ration her blood to last the long gap between now and the band’s next show. I suck more until the blood coats the back of my teeth. I can feel the shift in her body under my touch. These are the final moments. Stone cold skin, a quick drop in the pulse, a sickly unnatural paleness. It is routine now. I whisper a phrase under my breath. It is instinctual, ancient, as I press my fingers against the marks on her collarbone. The blood is already turning a rust color, in the dark it looks black. Within seconds she starts to collapse inward. Not like a person falling, but like a balloon deflating. Her flesh sags. Dries. Fades. All that is left of what she was is compacted into tiny specks of dust on the dirty concrete. From far away, there is no sign of her existence. Up close, she appears like cigarette ash. It’s not pretty, but it gets the job done.
“Sarah,” I say gently, “Do you want to sit down?” She drunkenly nods, way too out of touch to realize the drink from her hand is missing. I took it away from her before heading out here. She slumps against the wall as I guide her down with my hands. A cold and hollow breeze hits us, and I realize she must be freezing out here like this. I make sure to zip up her jacket. “Sorry,” I mutter, mostly to myself. The moment before is always the worst. When they stare up at you with delicate eyes, they don’t ever expect to be hurt. Right now, Sarah resembles a deer, but I am the car with the headlights. I am her ultimate demise. She welcomes me gently.
“Are you... are you going to kiss me?” She mumbles the words out drowsily like her tongue is a paperweight. I give her a small, sad smile. I lean in. I can feel her pulse before I even make contact with the skin barrier. She closes her eyes like she tastes death. My teeth sink into her tender flesh. The skin gives in before I even feel my fangs piercing it. A wet kind of give, like poking rotting fruit. I taste her skin first; it is progressively getting colder the longer she sits outside. The faint tang of perfume coats my tongue. The smell of it almost grounds me before I get lost in the taste of her blood.
She tastes fruitier than the average drunk person, I can taste the alcohol. Peach schnapps maybe—it is artificial and sugary. The thin veil of alcohol wears off, and the familiar taste of blood rushes into my mouth. Underneath the extra “add-ons” of perfume, sweat, and alcoholic beverages is the thick blood. The pulse beneath her collarbone slows down as I take more of the sweetness from her veins. It is warm as it slides down my throat, I try to be gentle with her but there is so much escaping from her body I try not to choke on it.
Sarah’s breath hitches, her knees start to slide forward. Her body is giving up. This is the moment where I decide if I will spare her or not. I don’t. She is the best tasting human I have had in a while, and I need to ration her blood to last the long gap between now and the band’s next show. I suck more until the blood coats the back of my teeth. I can feel the shift in her body under my touch. These are the final moments. Stone cold skin, a quick drop in the pulse, a sickly unnatural paleness. It is routine now. I whisper a phrase under my breath. It is instinctual, ancient, as I press my fingers against the marks on her collarbone. The blood is already turning a rust color, in the dark it looks black. Within seconds she starts to collapse inward. Not like a person falling, but like a balloon deflating. Her flesh sags. Dries. Fades. All that is left of what she was is compacted into tiny specks of dust on the dirty concrete. From far away, there is no sign of her existence. Up close, she appears like cigarette ash. It’s not pretty, but it gets the job done.
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