blood

When I was in high school my girlfriend cut her finger. It was my fault, so she wiped some of the blood on the back of my hand. It felt weirdly instinctive to just lick it off. It felt right. And then I saw the look on her face like I'd just done something bizarre and I tried to laugh it off, like I was just trying to out-weird her, like I didn't mean anything by it.

But I'd never forget that moment. We broke up eventually but the connection we had there, after I'd tasted her blood, was real. It was the most perfect feeling of unity I'd ever had, more than sex or anything. And I knew that it was too weird for her. She'd never understand.

So I lived in fear of it for the next several years. I thought of it sometime but I'd never bring it up, because I didn't want that weird feeling of disapproval when she gave me that look like she just found out I was a monster.

Then I got into a fistfight in an alley with my best friend and I sucked his blood off my knuckles while I was leaning against the building, breathing heavily. He laughed and I helped him to his feet and we kissed right there, and I could taste the blood on his lip and the blood from my nose and it was perfect.

So I started getting into fights. I started dating a girl who'd get bloody noses. And one time, cutting up some onions she'd just bought, she sliced off her fingertip. I'd never seen so much blood. It was so bright and beautiful and I felt closer to her than I'd ever felt to anyone just then.

At the hospital while they tried to put her finger back I told her I wanted to be with her forever, and she just smiled and said, "I know."