Second Cut – by Rose Dantis

Silver spoonLast week SAVN posted “Communion” – an article about a sanguine Vampyre and a Swan meeting for the first time, describing their very first feeding together. Rose is a donor to a sanguine Vampyre, Aura. Both are members of the SAVA and live and work in Cape Town. In her follow-up article on her new blog, Rose provides her personal insight into some of the lessons learned through their subsequent communions, and the bond that is developing between them.

As much as I understand and accept that sangs need blood to sustain themselves, I truly believe I need to cut in order to keep myself in a normal, calm head-space. I feel horrible when I don’t cut. Doctors and scientists say the body becomes addicted to the rush of endorphins and serotonin. I can accept that.  Broken down into the simplest logic possible, it feels good when I cut, and it feels bad when I don’t. So I keep cutting.

Two weeks had passed since Aura and I met and she last fed. A few days after our first meeting, I went to Johannesburg to visit my father and during that time I deliberately held off from cutting for those two weeks, so as to build up my blood supply again. After our first feed, Aura walked me back to work and we said goodbye, and she left for the train station. I felt decidedly queasy, and felt like I’d lost far too much blood. I went to the bathroom and checked my bandage – and sure enough – I’d soaked through the bandage and gauze pads. I wrapped a second bandage around my leg and went back to work. I felt a sense of dread that hung around me for the rest of the day, but if I showed any outward signs of this, my co-workers didn’t notice, and neither did my mother when I got home.

During the time I was away, I kept having dreams of razors, cutting, filling up bottles, etc. Two weeks without cutting was a long time for me – by the end of it, I was feeling edgy, jittery, and irritable. We had arranged to meet on the Monday again. We sms’d each other, counting down the days until I was back in Cape Town.

She was very quiet and subdued when I saw her – a very different Aura to the one I’d met two weeks ago. We met up at the same place we had last time. The coffee was lukewarm, the service was slow, and I was itching to get the blade onto my skin.

We agreed after our first time that the bottles were a bad idea. Too much blood that could have done Aura some good had been spilled while trying to fill them. I’d thought about buying a funnel, and draining the blood into the bottle from the funnel, but I couldn’t find a funnel small enough. She suggested using a spoon, and ditching the bottles completely.

We went to the mall bathroom together, and squeezed into the tiny cubicle – me first, then Aura. I put my bag down on the toilet seat, and readied myself – I took out some gauze swabs from the packet of 100, unrolled enough micropore to cover the gauze, and a blade. Aura politely stared at the roof as I unbuckled my jeans and unwrapped the blade.

“Spoon please” I said quietly. She pulled a large silver spoon from her jacket. The absurdity of the situation suddenly struck me, and I giggled. “SHHHHH” Aura hissed. It was spookily quiet as I sliced into my left leg. I was amazed at how effective the spoon was in collecting all the droplets, and I said, “Oh my God, this is so cool!” “Shut up! They’re going to think we’re doing drugs!” She gestured, with one hand over her mouth, for me to keep going. By pressing the spoon into my leg, just below the cuts, a lot of the blood dripped neatly into the spoon.

I was shaking, both from the nerves and from the cold. The spoon wasn’t quite full, when I felt my right leg start to cramp. I had trouble uncurling my fingers from the handle of the spoon, I’d been holding it so tightly for so long. Blood dripped from the spoon onto the floor. “More” she said, as she handed the spoon back to me. I giggled again.

Halfway through the second spoonful, I noticed the blood on the spoon turning lumpy. “That’s disgusting, it’s busy clotting” I whispered. “Please don’t gross me out like that.” She replied. The spoon filled up quicker the second time, just like with the bottles the last time. I passed the spoon to her, and watched in fascination as she downed it like a shot. There was something wonderful, yet dangerous in that moment when I saw my blood glistening on her teeth and lips.

“More?” I asked. She nodded. She stopped me halfway through the third spoonful.

“That’s enough, thanks.” She said. I placed the gauze over the cuts, and stuck them down with the micropore. I packed away my kit, and slung my bag over my shoulder.

“Is my mouth okay?” She asked.

“What?” She pointed to her face.

“No, no blood.”

She smiled. “No blood. Okay, let’s go.”

When I walked out of the cubicle, feeling slightly claustrophobic after being there for so long, I looked up and noticed the queue for the bathroom. Oh my God. I looked at my hands. Blood all over them. Praying nobody noticed anything, least of all that we’d just walked out of the same cubicle like sheepish children, we washed our hands in silence, and got out of there as soon as possible.

Walking back to the train station, I noticed a remarkable change in Aura’s mood. she was laughing and chatting – animated and lively. I felt a deep satisfaction at being able to make her feel so much better, and definitely the beginnings of a strong, lasting friendship – no longer just a contract or an exchange of energy.

There are some things that connect you to a person in the strongest way possible – being cramped in a tiny mall cubicle with a razor in one hand, and a spoon in the other, is one of them.


About blackswanrose

If your 8 year old self met you, would she be proud? View all posts by blackswanrose

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