Tipping Point – by Rose Dantis

My name is Rose. I ‘m a long-time cutter, and I donate blood to a Vampyre called Aura. This is my blog.

When I arrived at Aura’s place for our seventh feed, Aura was halfway through eating some pieces of raw steak. Instead of feeling repulsed or freaked out, my reaction was one of sadness and intense pity. As a vegetarian, how could she eat raw meat? She was quiet, but not irritable, as she warned me she would be. We’d both been down with the flu, and I guess that made her even hungrier than usual. I unbuckled my jeans and unwrapped the blade as soon as she closed the front door. The anticipation in the air was almost tangible.

Donating to Aura is not just a selfless act of love and kindness – I need to cut as much as she needs to feed. And I wanted the blade so badly that night. I drew it quickly across my skin, welcoming the sharp pain. I didn’t look at Aura, but I knew she was watching. I scooped up the droplets with the spoon and passed it to her. I watched as she tipped the contents of the spoon into her mouth. I could see how much she needed it. I picked up the blade again and made more cuts, between the ones already bleeding.

There’s this tipping point – up until this point, I can stop at any time. But once I reach it, I don’t want to stop, and even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. It’s this bizarre primal lust that awakens and wants to see me cut open my skin, over and over again, and watch me bleed. I was acutely aware of Aura watching me. I don’t know if she saw the “tipping point” at all, but I remember trying to maintain my composure. I repressed the urge to close my eyes, clench my teeth, and drive the blade deep into my skin. I bowed my head forward, my hair hiding my facial expression.

My leg, bleeding freely, provided lots of blood. I bled, she fed. The spoon, our vessel, filled up and was drained, filled up and was drained, filled up and was drained.

“Hurry up!” I said, as the blood dripped down my leg, onto my jeans. I scooped up the excess. It’s amazing how quickly the spoon filled up that night. superficial cuts bleed more and scar less, so that’s how I feed Aura. But they don’t provide the same satisfaction to me as slicing deep.

At some stage I asked, “Do you want to stop? I know you’re hungry, but I don’t want you to overfeed.”  I looked up at her and giggled. There was blood all over her face.

“Hmmm. Just a bit more.”  I resisted the urge to pick up the blade again and make more cuts. I wanted to, God knows I wanted to, but I didn’t want to lose any more blood than Aura could use. I bandaged up, and Aura went to wash. “Oh my God!” She cried from the bathroom.

“What’s wrong?” I called.

“Dude. I made such a mess of myself!”

I laughed. “It’s fine, honestly. I get it.” She came back to the lounge, looking radiant. I felt deep satisfaction knowing that I’d changed her from a half-zombie into a cheerful, bouncy young woman.

I pulled a bottle of vodka out my bag. “Look what I’ve got!” I said, dancing around with the bottle.

“Oh my God, Rosie, you’re the best ever. Let it just be known!” We spent the rest of the night drinking, laughing, having intense, deep, heart-to-hearts.

The next morning, we woke up hungover, but happy. I remember that one of us said, the night before, “We’d totally have been friends even if it weren’t for this swan/Vampyre thing. We may not have known what the other was, but we’d still be friends.”


About blackswanrose

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

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