Bloodletting

There it goes again.

My stomach clenches and I lean over my porcelain savior to empty my gut of the acid and barely digested ceral that has sat heavy in my body all day. The cool tile is soft and comforting against my dripping skin.

My hair itches as it sticks to my clammy face and I brush futilely at the mass. The singular smell of vomit permeates the tiny room and makes me retch again.

But there is nothing left in me to offer up.

The door swings open and I prepare myself for anger at my inability to pull myself together.

“Oh, baby,” hands that I’ve grown used to being so rough cradle my spinning head and pull me back against a warm chest. He pushes my hair out of my face, calloused palms scraping against my skin.

Inside I’m on fire, my organs pulling away from brittle bones and blood vessels bursting from the heat of the molten, sanguine wash that tears through my body. I claw at my arms, fingernails catching on the scabs that decorate my wrists, letting the killing venom drip out of the new wounds.

It isn’t enough.

His hands close on mine, folding my bloodstained fingernails inward. A whimper escapes my lips as I try to push free.

“Not today babygirl.” His voice is shaky like he’s afraid. Afraid of what I might do to myself. I writhe in his arms, twisting my tacky arms in the attempt to break free. He’s stronger than I am and my muscles are liquid. I turn my face upward to meet the dark eyes that I fear as much as I adore. His face is stone to my blurry vision.

He stands, letting me have my useless hands back, folding my abused body up against the side of the bathtub; and opening my drawer of dirty little secrets. He looks resigned to my pain but he has to stay, to keep me from going too deep, too far.But the drawer whispers open and simply the sound is calming to the storm thundering in my head. I hear the rattle of pills, the delicate clink of metal being shifted.

He returns to me and takes my hand, pressing soft lips to my scarred palm before he places the dainty blade where the heat of his mouth had been.

My fingers are shaking so badly that I can barely pick it up. Even then I have trouble setting my lover against the interrupted map of blue veins that are pumping pain through me. I can feel my soul burning.

The cool brush of metal sends a chilling rush through me and I draw the edge into a new angry red line, the poison seems to bubble as it wells up. But the perfection of the moment dies too soon and as blood begins the track down my wrist, I lift my friend and move it to the bend of my arm, the soft skin burning against my fingers.

He makes a noise in his throat, his hand fitting around mine and stopping me.

“Please...” My voice cracks and sounds strange to my ears. His fingers loosen but stay wrapped around my trembling hand. He is checking me as I draw another line to match it’s companions. Angry lines. Hurting lines. Healing lines.

I switch arms, his hand a guide the whole time. My safety rail.

Minutes.

Hours.

Years.

My arms are soon a new map of bloody streets and alleys but the blood streaming out of me in sanguine purification is not enough. I haven’t rid myself of the poison yet.

But he’s holding my arms now, pinning them to my bare chest and keeping me from doing more damage.

I’m sleepy. And the euphoria of the bloodletting hasn’t worn off yet. But the sting will hit me soon, tears are already beginning their racetracks down my hollow face. They burn my lips, already torn from the abuse of my teeth and the acid that has forced it’s way out of my body.

He sighs and finally takes me into my cage of muscle and sinew that is his body. My life stains his chest crimson.

And he’s never been more beautiful.

Then the screaming starts.