16
I haven’t been able to move off the couch all night. My muscles are sore and my gut feels twisted and burned.
Every sip of that putrid blood makes me throw up, but I keep doing it, night after night, just to fight this monster buried under my skin. I can feel it trying to escape, scratching, making my flesh crawl with itchy goosebumps.
My arms and legs have become so skinny, it’s disturbing. And I can tell by the way Kate glances at me that it disturbs her too. She says she’s worried about me, tells me not to put so much pressure on myself, that maybe I should reduce the animal blood back to just a few drops. But that would be the easy route, the loser’s way, and I definitely ain’t no loser! If a junkie can get clean, if an alcoholic can give up the booze, then I can fight this. This
