DIRTY DREAMS
“Yours will.”
He lifts my wrist to his mouth. Kisses the vein. I feel his cold lips trace the blue line from my wrist toward my elbow, his tongue tasting my pulse at various points, choosing. He settles on the spot where my pulse is strongest – the inside of my wrist where the skin is thin and the vein is close.
He bites.
The venom enters my bloodstream at the wrist and I track its journey – up my forearm, through my bicep, across my shoulder, into my chest. One second. Two. It reaches my heart.