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Part one

We had a perfectly pleasant evening at home together. I cooked us a lovely dinner, a kosher hot dog for me and your favorite tofu dish. I’m not a fan of tofu, but I’ll prepare whatever you want. I just like to make you happy.

After dinner, I tried to engage an open-ended discussion about the possibility or lack of possibility of extra-terrestrial life forms. The whole point of the philosophical conversation is that there is no correct answer, but you wouldn’t stop being so closed-minded. You kept telling me over and over that aliens don’t exist, and if they did, then humans have already long since destroyed them.

You even took it further, saying that all of humanity is doomed. We should just initiate a final solution for the human race before even indulging such heartwarmingly delusional philosophies. You know how much I hate it when you say that. Obviously, I agree that humanity is horrible, but I still like to believe that there is hope for the species.

You wouldn’t stop pushing me though, finding all of my explosive buttons. You know how to make me tick, knowing the explosion is soon to follow. And you derive sadistic glee from watching me lose my temper. You know how to push me, and I know that you are doing it on purpose. Still, I can’t prevent myself from falling for your sick games.

I was trying to have a nice conversation about humanity, and you wouldn’t stop telling me to calm down and saying that I was acting crazy. I finally got so fed up with your twisted gaslighting that I walked out of our apartment to go smoke a cigarette, something that I know you hate. Just as I closed the door, I heard glass shattering inside the apartment. I shrugged and kept walking because I wanted my cigarette.

This wasn’t the first time you pushed me so far that I had to walk away. It also wasn’t the first time that you threw a violent temper tantrum when I refused to play along. I knew you would calm yourself down by the time I got back, and that you would only be upset with yourself for leaving all those shards to clean up.

When you have made messes like this in the past, I hand you the broom and the dustpan, but it’s always your mess to clean up. It’s a good thing that you have so many extra vases that you collected from your dead father’s estate. If not for his material legacy, you wouldn’t have anything left to break. I calmed down by the time I finished smoking, and I walked back up to the apartment to see what kind of mess you had made.

I opened the door, and I was shocked by the scene you created in the span of ten minutes. You were sitting on the floor of the kitchen in tears, crying and muttering to yourself that nobody will ever love you. I didn’t know how our evening had digressed so quickly into this outpour of self-loathing and self-harm. You were holding our sharpest blade and pressing it against your wrist. You looked up and screamed at me that you were going to kill yourself and that it was all my fault.

I ran over to you and wiped your eyes. I took the knife from your shaking hands, and I took you into my arms. I comforted you and told you over and over that you are loved and that I care about you so deeply. Your sobs on my shoulder quickly turned into maniacal laughter.

You pushed me off of you, and all I could see was evil in your eyes. You snatched the knife back and said, “Oh sweet girl, I was never going to hurt myself. I couldn’t bear to have scars all over my beautiful body. But one of us needed to bleed tonight, and it sure as shit wasn’t going to be me.” My jaw dropped. I was confronted with a level of psycho that I couldn’t have anticipated. You kept laughing, my lip started trembling, and you slapped me hard across the face.

Part two

You slapped me across the face, but I was already stunned from your suicide threats just moments earlier. I know you have a history of self-harm, and you know that I did not take such outcries lightly. You maliciously used my deepest fear against me to make me pay attention to you. As all of this disturbing information flooded my head, I started to cry.

Once my tears were flowing, you comforted me. You held me and told me not to worry. You said that you were going to be just fine and that you would keep on taking care of yourself. I cried in your arms and begged you not to do that ever again. In my desperate sobs and concern, I gave in to what you wanted. I promised that if you keep yourself safe, then I will bleed for you. Sitting in the kitchen with a sharp knife and an emotional sadist unlike anyone I'd ever met, I immediately wanted to retract my promise, but it was already too late.

Your eyes lit up at the thought of my bloodshed on your behalf. You didn't want to wait a moment longer to make me bleed. You told me that you wanted me to bear your scars forever. It could get messy thought, so it's probably best that we stay in the tiled kitchen. You told me to stay right there on the floor and take off my shirt. You left to get some rope.

I managed to pull myself together a bit by the time you returned. You told me to slide myself back so that I was propped up against the oven. You took my hands and swiftly tied them to the oven door. I could still move, but if I leaned forward then the oven door would pull down and hit me in the head. You found this position to be endlessly amusing, and I watched you sharpen the knife.

While you sharpened, I nervously explained that knife play with cutting is not something I've explored with anyone before. The thought of it is highly arousing, but I've never wanted to bear permanent marks unless they came from someone really special. You nodded that you understood, and you further clarified that you only want to scar the girls that are the most special to you. You also reminded me that whether or not I thought you were special enough, I had already made a promise.

My hands were bound over my head and my ribs were exposed. You inspected my skin carefully, searching for the perfect place to slice into me. You decided that right beneath my armpit and right above my top rib was the perfect place. You swabbed the area with an alcohol wipe and explained to me that this is the perfect spot for an incision. It is soft and tender and can result in significant bloodshed, but not enough to be cause for concern. You told me that doctors commonly use this area to insert chest tubes for all of those reasons.

I was terrified, and I started crying again and kicking my legs in protest. You told me to stay still unless I wanted this to hurt more than necessary. I took some deep breaths and tried to calm myself down. Before I could even tell you that I was ready, you were already slicing into my delicate skin. I screamed out in pain and then my body relaxed as I felt the warm blood drip down my side.

You turned into a vampire at the sight of my blood. You put your mouth over my fresh cut and swallowed my blood. I was writhing in pain, but I didn't have any words or any protests left to give. You planted a deep vampire's kiss on my open mouth, and my body succumbed to your power. My eyes rolled back in my head, and I slipped into subspace right before I blacked out.


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