B Negative


I once had a hunger. I would consume and continue my wrath of devouring with an insatiable appetite. Their attention wasn’t enough, I had to have it all. Their time. Their thoughts. Their bodies, some pure as a temple. She was more of a mausoleum…meant for dead. She smoked, popped pills, laid, and swallowed liquor back with anyone that gave her the time of day. Some nights— all together. I’d be with her time to time, not too close but not too far, watching as she took men home. Her place, their place, no matter… I’d follow.

About a month prior, I saw her sitting on the stool next to the bar counter. Right across from the dart boards where the assholes hulled up. They’d stare at her and some would try and talk with her for a while. Then she’d swallow a pill or two chased by her whiskey beverage. Disgusting how she’d polluted herself right before leaving with a different one each week but she wasn’t theirs. As much as she’d flirt, she was unknowingly mine. Sometimes they’d go to an alleyway, the backseat of a sedan, sometimes an old grimy apartment on the other side of town… typical sad song frivolity.

Her method was stupid. The mix of chemicals would lead to a sloppiness I detested, yet it was spectacular in matter of completion. A few times she’d been close to getting caught but cold sheets, cold bodies, and cold cases were all she left thus far. Who was she— this spinstress of flattery and sexual favors, turning weak men to flies catching them in her web of deceit? Sorry saps didn’t even realize they were buzzing through their last few hours of life.

I contemplated skipping her and finding another, but each time I tried I couldn’t get past her bothersome method. It scratched at my mind like an incessant claw. If she was caught then what? A woman capable of so much death wasting away in a prison cell would cause a void to swell in my brain, weighing me down in malignant agony. The forgone satisfaction of killing her would surely lead me to ruin. I couldn’t have that. Tonight I was to sit next to her, start conversation, then end her in sweet arousal. I’d mention some music she was into and lie about a crazy concert where I’d gotten wasted and fooled around with someone. She was sure to relate. Over a couple drinks we’d click like a safety belt. Hah, safety belt. Oxymoronic how there was to be no safety between us. It wasn’t meant to be safe. Night after night watching her bubbly, promiscuous ways drew me in closer. I had to be careful not to become a fly. She was deserving of all that was to come.


She bumped me on her way to the bathroom and that was my opening.

“Apologies, miss. That’s my bad.” As my hand slid across her lower back she gazed backward smiling as she pushed the bathroom door open, her tongue flirtatiously sticking out at me. She followed with, “I bet it is.” I could smell the type O blood through her skin, oh the vapors.

I sit at the bar with an empty stool to my right that was planned for her. This way as she approached the dartboard area, I’d be prepared for her. Unbeknownst to me, that’s when her prey strutted in with his fitted jeans, polo shirt and suede jacket. I had gone over my approach to lure, obtain, and then devour but of course the regal one with his perfect bone structure, broad shoulders, and a buff appeal struts on sitting at the stool I’d saved. He was in the way but could play as a good distraction, a fall guy in case this goes awry. He orders a whiskey and ginger. On her way out the restroom she eyes him while approaching. I stand to offer my seat and attempt conversation. She reaches forward.

I begin, “I was wondering if you’d come ba-“

Passing me, her soft embrace was not for me but for him. It slides across his left shoulder to his right shoulder. Tingles of jealousy linger down my spine as I take my seat and her prey turns to face her. Her hazel eyes explode with excitement. Having watched her for some time, I’ve seen this routine before only I’d expected her to try and chance it on me.

“Sonny, oh my God, you haven’t changed!”

The prey’s cheeks blush as she’s hugging him and jumping up and down, grabbing his hips, kissing his face. The hairs on the back of his neck must be rising because the astonishment of his eyes says he’s caught off guard. She spurts out about Sacajawea Summer Camp, 2004 prom night, and the Ellis twins. Lies.

“At first I couldn’t figure out who the hell this gorgeous creation was,” she says, “Now…how’s your brother Davey doing?”

“Auuh, Davey…that guy— same old same. Forget about him! How’re you?” he says taking a drink of his whiskey mix. Every single one of her victims has taken the bait. Can no man be truthful to a pretty face? If they were, maybe they’d live to see the next day.

This fly boy prey is pushing out a laugh smiling and patting her shoulder. He offers her a drink all the while I’m thinking about her scent that bounces from her every movement. Had I just brushed into her a bit more I’d have it stuck on me. If all goes well, her blood would mix with the sweet scent of perfumed cucumber melon. Lodging the scent into my brain, it hangs in the front inner corners of my eyes as I inhale and my sinus takes it faster than water to dried earth. She keeps blabbing, too stupid and focused to even notice me next to them.

“Drink?” The bartender says. It seemed more like a shout catching me off guard.

“Uh yes, Bloody Mary….real bloody,” I slide a five dollar bill to him.

“Extra bloody huh? What are you a mosquito?” The grey toned man standing behind the bar asks. He has tough looking, damaged skin with a hipster-half shaved head.

“Those virus hosts wish they could hold a candle to me,” I seethe.

“Whatever, you’re 3 dollars short. If you got card we can start a tab.” He slides me the drink and I secretly untwist a warm red vial in my coat, waiting until it’s clear to pour the most prized B- elixir in my drink.

“Sure, fine,” I say as a bit of the blood dribbles down my celery stalk. Scrumptiously rare. Less than 2% of the world’s population, a bit tart though. Lovely compliment to the olives that follow.

I’m doing my best to seem casual. The bar tender begins glaring at the girl’s breast never asking for my card. Could he be more creepy?  The woman pushes the man next to me and I’m bumped by his shoulder almost knocking my sweet BAC drink out of my hand.

“Sooo, why didn’t you ever ask me out the night of the bonfire?” Her breasts are perky, her lips are pursed in a smile, and the vein on the left side of her neck throbs as she flexes her jaw at him. Aggressive…not for long.

“I don’t know, it was the wrong time.” He guzzles down the rest of the drink. Liar, then again so is she. Aren’t we all?

His red ears burn hotter than summer seat belts to skin as she leans in and whispers,

“You never were good with timing,” then she kisses him on the cheek, her hand rifling into the inside pocket of his jacket pulling out some dollars from a money clip. He fails to notice. He’s  such a mark. My heart’s pounding as my knee bounces on the stool. Her low cut top beckons for attention while her finger hangs on it, lowering the cloth for his eyes to see the bright garish trimming of a yellow and pink lace bra. My eyes go adrift as well and my nose catches more cucumber melon, while her chest mock the undulating fruit. She’ll be devoured and it will surely be as sweet as this fragrance breasted fawn can realize.

“Wait Sonny, what happened to your birthmark?” Oh, she’s good.

“Birthmark?” He’s a bag of nerves now.

This is where she makes her calculated advance and after she’ll lure him back. I’ll follow suit and end her. Maybe even dump her remains in a vat to drain, skin, and tinker with later. Plopping an expired and bloodless carcass into a river or marsh is so old fashioned, neanderthal even. Creativity with parts is art and she’ll be my showcase soon enough. Her type is a specimen for consumption as well as admiration. Just thinking of it all excites my loins and quickens my beat of heart. But as for this waist low muscle of lusting blood rush, I must manage to adjust without notice. Damn you, straight fit denim.

“What do you mean,” He asks as her personality flips. She shifts her body, pulls out a pack of Marlboro Reds, empty. Wadding it in her palm,

“Your birthmark, that was shaped like an upside down heart? It’s not there. You’re not Sonny… you don’t know Davey, you aren’t the guy I hooked up with after prom! Ew, you creep,” she throws the wad at his chest, “Get away!”  People are beginning to stare.

“Watch out bud,” I tell him and smile. Here’s a good time to interject and swoop her away. He seems to be falling for her ditzy girl facade. She’s brilliant when it comes to picking them. Lying only gets you so far in life and her prey always has a one track mind. If their bug eyes could only see their wings slowly being spun in her sticky web of conversation.

“Look,” he says, “I’m sorry if you feel left out of my life but don’t bitch me out and embarrass me, try and save some face here. That upside down heart you were so fond of turned out to be cancerous. That Davey you claim I don’t know—screw him, still! And that amazing prom night…well, how’s this for a reminder?” He pulls her in and lays one good long kiss. This is a first. The bartender gives a long stare as if he’s lost something. Bothered, I suck down my B- concoction.

“I beat cancer so do you think we can still catch up?” The fake Sonny thinks he’s won.

Clenching my knee to stop the bouncing, I’m surprised they can’t smell my anxiety. I can’t lose her. If she takes him to bed she deserves this death just as much as he does.

“Cancer, really??” Looking away and rolling her eyes, her spinning web tightens.

“Doc said the birthmark was a malignant tumor.” He’s so full of shit. Even if she was truly interested there’s no scar as proof. Now, I want her to kill him even if she has to screw him first.

“Sonny, oh God, I’m sorry— what are you drinking? Let me get your next one.” Baring her fangs to stun, he must be blind.

“Whiskey ginger.” Tonguing his front teeth, he leans back in his stool proudly. I’m tonguing mine and can almost feel her poked goose bumped flesh on them.

“MY GOD, I love those! Two whiskey and ginger’s bartender, he freaking beat cancer!” She slides his stolen twenty on the bar top.

“Sure thing, Mary,” the bartender sighs.

The prey is looking at Mary probably trying to figure out how he’ll complete a good sympathy screw. He kicks the wadded cigarette pack back toward her feet.

“Cowboy killers, huh? What’s a sweet girl like you got against cowboys?” he jeered.

Her choice of poison, whiskey gingers, while a Marlboro Red sat in between her lips, later leading to dirty climaxes. Life can be so unfair sometimes. I’ve been the one calculating and plotting on her for so long. Meanwhile, this fool has no clue. He just shows up tonight and that’s it? But that is why he’s prey. He’s oblivious and easy. She smiles her toothy smile, that same expression she used to bulls-eye the dartboard boys with.

“We gotta cowboy here? Does my cigarette choice offend you, sir?” Mary says leaning in toward his groin with her hip.

“Don’t call me sir, Mary, please. You’ll age me faster than cigarettes!” He said to her as her big eyes glistened from the neon Genuine Draft bar lighting.

“I’m sorry, umm, what should I call you then…Cowboy Sonny?” she straddles his lap bumping my knee. People are starting to stare again. “Will that do?”

“Only if you plan on putting those lips on me and taking a puff later. I’m a gentleman though, so we’ll see.” He’s such a tool.

“We may be able to work something out. Save a horse right?” Grabbing his chin and giggling, she hops off. The rush I had has now heightened. Watching his eyes scan down her backside, I smile imagining cucumber melon Bloody Mary’s. Wouldn’t that be a good drink? One I must devour.

The ice cold watered down B- drink I attempted to babysit makes the airy rush sound through my straw. The vials of blood are warm against my chest and I’m fingering the top of the cap, anxious for another.

“Another Bloody Mary, bartender!”  One day I’ll stop sucking tainted women’s blood but for now I’ll have another.

As he’s sliding the mixed drink to me I am focusing on not being noticed as I attempt to pour the second double shot vial in my drink unnoticed. Then another bump against my shoulder happens. My beautiful rarity of B- falls from my hand and is spinning and splattering across bar goers’ shoes and the dirty wooden floor. The prey’s leaning into me as Mary is dry hump grinding on him to a sorry top 40s song.  A rush of rage makes me yell as I lunge to the ground attempting to salvage whatever is left within the vial. Barreling through knees and ankles, pushing down townies who are cursing and screaming at me, I’m scanning the floor between bar stools and boots, high heels and flats. There by the bar against the footing I see the remains of what once was my vial of blood. Now just a few drips in the reservoir with flakes of dirt, the vial is cracked in  half lying in grime, loose hairs and cigarette butts. As I turn to look toward Mary and her prey, all I can think of is peeling that man’s skin from his face, starting at his eyelids. To my astonishment they’re gone.

The paleface bartender is flagging me down waving a receipt.

“Sir, sir! You need to close out your tab and then I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” He was angry but not as angry as me, I can guarantee that.

As I look at the crowd, I see a few individuals rubbing at their shins and legs. One man complaining that I spilled my drink on him. That’s my poor B- oozing into his cotton sweater, damnit! My nostrils flare and I crumble a twenty dollar bill up throwing it at the bartender as I storm out of this piss stained watering hole. I’m going to find those two and kill them both. She is going to pay for this.



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