Thirst Ch. 02

Her chin was soaked red, like the juice of a peach, dripping hot onto the curve of her chest. Her right hand hung limply at her side, while the left was still holding Yusuf's, fingers intertwined...only he had fallen back against the wall of the bar. Twin holes at the base of his neck, two more at his wrist still pulsed red weakly in time with his heart, but his once tawny, desert complexion had been rendered sickly and corpse-pale.

"Shit," she whispered. Not the first time this had happened, but it always went down when she was really hungry and took too much. There'd been something about his blood, it left her heart racing in her chest. Everything was still vibrant and brilliant, like her atrophied, dead organs were lit up; she could practically see the way her veins filled up with the stuff, and it banished the clamminess that almost always clung to her.

She wasn't quite sure what she was feeling at this moment as she placed her fingers at his wrist, finding a weak flutter of a pulse. She could hear him breathing shallowly, but he was cool to the touch now. Unclear on why she was doing this, she leaned in and pressed her lips softly to his, finding them cold and wet.

"What's...happening...?" He whispered against her mouth, but she kissed him again and held it, running her fingers through his hair and letting herself feel whatever she felt for this dying, pretty man...she'd hate herself later, but for now, this was a nice, bittersweet reprieve from it all.

"Shhhhh. I'm sorry...it's my fault," the young, blood-flushed Brujah breathed against his lips. "You were too good, you tasted too sweet, honey. I wish I could have known you more, I really do...but I just couldn't help myself and I drank too deep."

You killed him. Another one...and this might have been one of the good ones. Not that it matters, you can't have the good ones for anything but this. Her muted internal reaction disturbed her, a reminder of just how much the night and the Blood had taken from her...then there was what she'd taken from him. This vital, young, intelligent man, someone who had his whole life ahead of him. She'd stolen his future, plunged him into darkness to satisfy her parasite's thirst for what, exactly? A rush of sensation and a full belly? Another couple weeks worth of nights, if she didn't feed again?

Tears didn't come naturally to the Damned, even if they felt the full heft of feelings, at least early on in their Requiem. Her eyes stung, and it felt like she should mourn but she couldn't anymore, so instead she wrapped her slender, life-filled arms around his cold, dying form and rocked him back and forth. Only the dying had ever experienced this side of her, stroking his stubbled cheek as his shallow breathing brushed her chin, misty rain soaking them both.

"You seemed like a great guy..." She gently released him, laying him back against the brick wall and standing, sliding her hands into the pockets of her coat. Monroe looked upon with greater clarity than before. This...didn't seem right. She didn't know his whole name - as if that would somehow render just her bloodthirsty murder - so she knelt back down next to him, fishing around in his pocket for his wallet. Flipping it open, she looked over his driver's license.

Out of state...Illinois. Good picture of him too, that same warm smile that was gone forever now. "Yusuf Avimalek Mizrah...April fourth, 1998. Eye color...black. Hair color...black. Height...six feet one inch," she read off numbly. Not really understanding why, she slipped his driver's license in her pocket. Stupid, maybe, but something drove her to keep something of him. She'd had her fair share of lovers, blood dolls and...whatever else they were in the past, but what she'd felt with this Mizrah guy was unusual. She wanted to remember it, at least.

Monroe stopped near the mouth of the alley, and turned to look at him once more. She may not have felt hunger, but there was a pang in her heart that went far deeper.