The euphoria is intoxicating. I can feel his heartbeat in my ears. His memories are flooding the insides of my eyelids. My eyes are so heavy and seeing their memories is almost a comfort at this point, letting me escape my own reality consisting of killing in order to save my life.

He was just 23. Thick brown hair that hung in all the right places. Light skin, but not European light, more like a Central American who spent 13 years inside of a school building, then another 4 inside of a university library.

The upside is that he consented, so in a few hours he will wake needing blood as well. With my post feeding bliss slipping away, I pick myself up and head toward the fridge. Opening it, the light shocks my pupils and my arm goes up to shade my now very sensitive eyes. I reach for a bottle and place it on the counter to let is warm.

I walk my naked body to my bathroom to shower off the club, the sweat, and the booze from the night. The water pricks my face with the sting of tiny picture hanging nails, massaging the stress of the past week from the muscles guarding my skull.

My eyes shoot open.

Something is missing.

I can feel it in my gut. Not anything from my apartment, nothing has been stolen. I have this pit in my stomach telling me I am missing something. That something is wrong. My elbows feel weak and are tingling up to my fingers. Is this what my life has become?