Mr. Blood nosleep

My name is Jonathan. I will not divulge my last name for fear of ridicule and to be frank, the authorities. You’ll understand what that means once you’ve completed reading this.

I am a phlebotomist. I have been for several years now. I love what I do. Actually, the word love is an understatement.

There’s something so tantalizing about taking a sharp needle and piercing ones skin with it. To draw their blood is as intoxicating for me as a drink of liquor is for an alcoholic.

I work for the American Red Cross Mobile Team. There’s five of us that travel in a R.V style vehicle and host local blood drives.

It is an effort to alleviate stress off of the American Blood and Tissue Center.

On a busy day, I collect damn near two hundred pints of blood by myself. Between the five of us, I’d say a thousand, give or take a few pints.

I have become so fast and driven by my job that my coworkers have given me the nickname of Mr. Blood.

Now at first I found it odd, but as time has gone on, I am honestly flattered by it. It even causes my cheeks to turn a light shade of red.

July 2, 2016. Our annual Independence Day blood drive starts with a bang. A consistent line for the first two hours.

But this day was different. On this day a thought dawned on me. What if there’s more to this job then just drawing blood? My mind wondered at this question and the answer struck me as quick as lightning.

How about a little taste? It couldn’t hurt, right? Afterall, I am Mr. Blood. Was I crazy? Perhaps, but I don’t think so. I’d like to think of myself as more of curious then anything.

“Hey, Jon, we’re going out to grab a quick bite. You want anything?” Henry, my coworker asked me with his body already halfway out the door.

“I’m good. Had a big breakfast.”

Henry exits the vehicle and joins the others outside.

The lines had completely ceased. There was nobody left but me and the donor who was comfortably reclined.

The donor sat on their phone and I glared contently at the tube of blood running from their arm.

“How are you feeling? Okay?” I asked him.

Part of the job is being sure your donor is comfortable so that way they come back and give more. There’s nothing like going somewhere and you’re uncomfortable, or you have a bad experience. After all, with our customers, they’re essentially giving us a part of them.

Without even looking away from his phone he snobbily answers, “I’m fine. Is it almost done?”

“Should be almost there.” I say with a smile that stretches from ear to ear.

I wanted it done just as fast as he did. The anticipation of tasting it was building inside of me. I could feel my throat tightening with eagerness and my palms becoming clammy with anxiousness.

A couple minutes pass and the last of the sailene enters his system. I cautiously remove the needle from his arm and bandage him up.

“Here ya go. Please come back next drive.” I tell him enthusiastically as I hand him a red lollipop.

“I will. Thank you.” He grabs the lollipop and vacates the area.

I hold his bag of blood in my hands and glance down at it, rubbing it with my thumbs. I watch as the blood forms different shapes with complete grace at my touch.

I inhale deeply and exhale even deeper as I rise to my feet and walk to the fridge. I open the stainless steel door and place the blood on a hook.

Near the bottom is a vial of a woman’s blood we had taken earlier. She was in her early thirties with a personality that was as sweet as her appearance.

I slowly bend down with hopes of stretching this moment out. I remove the vial and close the fridge.

I walk over and collect my seat.

I pop the top of the vial and inhale the aroma that escapes from it. It intoxicates me for a moment and in that moment I am swept off my feet and carried to another place.

As I return to reality and am present in the moment, I bring the tip of the vial to my lips. The cold stings my lips, but in a pleasurable way.

I tip the vial and the blood being so thick, takes a moment to reach my lips. As a small bit of it hits my taste buds, I bring the vial down away from me.

I swish it around and swallow it. The taste was overwhelmingly sweet just as I thought it would be. It tasted almost identical to the flavor of a blue jolly rancher.

I needed more. I was hooked. I was alive.

This time I didn’t take one little sip. I finished the entire quantity of her vial in one sip.

As I hid the now empty vile in my backpack, I was still thirsty. I still yearned for more. But I couldn’t take any more vials without raising suspicion.

I collect the necessary things to draw blood and place them in my backpack. I zip it up tightly and walk it to my car.

The rest of the day was a blur. I don’t rightly recall much due to my thoughts on the blood I had drank. I couldn’t shake that taste. It was one I couldn’t wait to have again.

This night is going to be special and I shall treat it as ceremonious. I place my kitchen chair in the center of my living room and dim the lighting in my apartment. I light candles and surround the chair with them.

I listen to the wicks of the candles crackle and breathe in the scents emanated by them. Once i've entered a complete state of zen, I stick the needle in and begin the process.

As blood starts flowing out of me, my head falls back and I feel my eyes roll to the back of my head. My legs become tingly and slowly turn to jello.

The process is over quicker then I’d like. As I remove the needle, I watch as blood pushes out of the incension and runs down my arm.

I begin to clean it, but quickly notice its thickness feels soothing against the surface of my skin.

So, rather than clean it, I rub it in gently like lotion. After it has been smeared, my skin appears more lustrous then before.

With only a limited amount of blood, I sit for a moment and ponder how to divide it up.

Once I make the decision, I make my way to my rather small kitchen and grab a shot glass from the top shelf of my cabinet.

I pour a shot and down it as fast as humanly possible.

My hair has always been dull and unappealing. As a man, I’ve never really thought twice about it. But after seeing what that little drop of blood did to my skin, imagine what the right amount can do for my hair.

This heavenly feeling and new found idea carried me to the restroom and lightly set me down in the shower.

What followed can only be compared to flying high on a cloud. The thickness of the blood drenched my hair. Warm water rinsed it out and the feeling I felt was so exhilarating as it trickled down my body into a watery swirl by my feet.

I watch in sadness as the last of it is swallowed by the drain.

As I wiped the steam from the mirror, my hair and skin were immediately noticeable. They appear so vibrant. So full of life. I feel elated with joy.

For the first time in my life I feel a sense of purpose. A sense of direction about what my next step should be.

The next day at work was hard to say the least. Every ounce of blood that flowed out of my donors made my mouth water. It took every fiber of my being not to drink it, or lather myself in it.

Something must’ve alerted Henry, because he pulled me to the side.

“You alright, man? You’re not looking to good.” The concern in his voice nearly caused me to crumble, but I didn’t.

Instead, I put on my poker face and smiled as I always did at work.

“I’m fine.”

“You know what people say that means, right? Fucked up, insecure, neurotic, and emotional.”

“Well, I’m none of those things. Now, don’t we have work to do.”

Henry looked at me with disbelief. He wasn’t buying my fake confidence that I was attempting to portray.

I continued to do my work, but only for a short while. I ended up going home early once my insatiable urges became too much.

At my apartment, I paced for the remainder of the day and well into the night.

I needed more, but couldn’t take any more of mine. For if I did that, I would become too weak to even enjoy the slightest taste.

A light bulb goes off inside my head. The place in which we store all our blood has no cameras and there’s definitely enough there to tie me over.

I retrieve a couple duffle bags from my room and a screwdriver. I must’ve done nearly a hundred miles an hour with as fast as I got there.

Duffle bags in hand, I scan the area for other people and see nothing. I dart to the door and remove the screwdriver from one of the bags.

It has to look like a break in, or suspicion will be raised. I jam the screwdriver into the crack of the door. Jiggling it around with as much force as I can muster, it takes a moment, but the door finally budges and pops open.

I rush inside and dart to the refrigerator. As I open it, I am blown back by something I did not expect. There are only a handful of bags inside.

The blood and tissue center must’ve came today when I left early. They come weekly, but not usually till Friday when all our donations are done.

Fuck it. I have no time to contemplate the whys of the situation. I hurriedly place the bags into my duffle and make my great escape.

That night it took every ounce of liquid that I stole to quench my thirst. I could tell that this craving growing inside of me was becoming worse and next time I would need more, but there was only one thing that had the amount I needed.

There is a girl at work who has always had a crush on me. Monica Thompson. I suppose I never pursued her because of how focused I am on my work.

She’s skinny and frail. She appears easy to overpower and get what I ultimately want.

She’s always flirting and dropping not so subtle hints that we should hook up, even if it’s just for a one time fling.

So, the next day after work I walked her to her car and we had a conversation while sitting on her hood watching traffic pass by.

“So, why now?” Monica’s question caught me off guard.

I had to think of something that wouldn’t deter her. And so I did.

“Well, it’s not just now. It’s something I’ve always thought about. I’ve always found you attractive. I was just worried things may not work out. I’ve had horrible luck in the relationship department.”

Her cheeks turn dark red and she scoots in closer to me.

“You never know till you try.” She grabs my arm and pulls it to her.

I glance at her and notice a vein is slightly protruding from her neck.

People say the sweeter the person the sweeter the blood. This has proven to be true based off of my first experience with that donor. This thought causes my mouth to water as I become fixated on that vein.

Her voice becomes distant and words become jumbled as my thoughts preoccupy me.

“Jonathan?” She snaps her fingers in front of my face bringing me back to reality.

I nonchalantly playoff my lack of attention and we agree on dinner at my place tonight.

I’m not much of a romantic, but I know what women like. The first plan is to serenade her and weaken her defenses.

Rose petals start at the door and form a trail to the dining room table where two plates with wine glasses rest.

On the plates are steak, mash potatoes and a buttered roll.

My steak is bloody and hers is fully cooked.

“Whoa.” She says surprisingly as she steps into my apartment.

Her eyes gleam in the dully lit apartment.

“You didn’t have to-“ She starts saying, but I quickly cut her off.

“Yes I did. You’re a special woman and I wanted to show you that.”

I take her coat and place it on my couch.

She moves to the table. I quickly catch up to her and slide her chair out. She sits down and scoots herself in.

“Do you drink wine?” I ask showcasing a bottle.

“I do. Only red though.”

“I must’ve read your mind, because that’s what I have.”

She giggles playfully. I pop the cork on the bottle and fill our glasses halfway. She takes a sip with no signs of hesitation.

Dinner is spent lost in deep conversation and what seems like bottomless champagne refills.

As the night goes on, Monica becomes increasingly inebriated. Once she’s completely vulnerable, I move in to strike.

She attempts walking to the couch, but takes wobbly and unsteady steps before collapsing onto the floor.

I leap on top of her and there’s a brief struggle. She knees me in the groin, scratches my face, but I fight through to overpower her. I cover her mouth and nose with my hands, smothering her till she’s unconscious.

Her body appears lifeless and perfectly still as I bring out the necessary equipment to begin the process.

I lift and carry her to the couch. Her arm dangles over the side. I softly wipe her skin with a wet nap and pierce her with a rather large gauge needle.

Her blood begins flowing out with ease. As it starts, she whimpers, causing my heart to jump into my throat. I wait with anticipation for her to wake, but she never does.

Once the bag is filled with a pint, I remove the needle and bandage the hole to stop it from bleeding.

Her blood is mixed with the remainder of the wine. I drink it next to her as she lays still and asleep.

What happens next is bittersweet. The sweet part is she woke up and didn’t recall a thing that happened the night before. She had slept so long that I was able to remove the bandage and clean the area in which I drew her blood.

The bitter part of my situation is I have to find another weak person to overpower, so I can quench this insatiable thirst inside of me

Submitted January 04, 2018 at 02:12AM by TormentedTales http://ift.tt/2lPrbi9 nosleep