Darkatonix Oneshots

Blood

          

Mitch has an addiction. Ever since his first taste, he craves it; the red substance. First off, the appearance is so captivating: it's the deepest shade of perfect crimson and the way it flows is divine. Secondly, the texture is extremely satisfying: it's quite viscous and he feels the liquid slip over his tongue and pour down his throat. Sometimes he'll swish it around his mouth, letting the warmth fill up his entire mouth, staining his paper-white teeth. After he's done, he'll suck the remaining drops from the inside of his mouth. The metallic sting on his tongue is something he hasn't only gotten used to, he adores it. The scent is also something he loves; it makes him shudder in the best way.

Mitch is addicted to blood.

It started at a young age. He was a pretty clumsy child which resulted in quite a few injuries. They weren't major so he'd clean up the mess himself by sucking up the blood from his small cuts. It happened on several occasions to the point where he grew to like the bitter taste. After liking comes loving, then obsession. During his teenage years, when he got fewer cuts, he decided to make his own. Under the cover of night, he'd creep into the kitchen and grab the sharpest knife then sneak back to his room. He'd also collected a bunch of medicines and bandages so there'd be no evidence on his bed. Then he'd place the blade at his flesh and mindlessly drag it across. It wasn't quick either. He'd slice his skin so slowly, watching as the trail of blood seeped to the surface and revealed itself. As the blood ran down his arm, leg, sometimes even chest, he would watch it in desire, ready to drink his favourite beverage. Once he'd finished his incision, he would put his tongue or lips to his now bloody skin and either lick or suck his liquids off. It depended on his state, if he were desperate, he'd suck the blood off, aching for the substance he needed, but otherwise he would savour it, slowly dragging his tongue up the cut, leaving it for a second before letting his tongue return to his mouth. When he'd satisfied his thirst, he'd disinfect and wrap up the cut; he didn't want to cause himself anymore injury than he needed to. He'd even researched the anatomy of the human body so he could avoid fatally wounding himself. If anyone found out, he'd say he fell or he accidentally hurt himself while cooking. They all believed him; they all wanted to believe him. No-one wanted to side with the other option: that this sweet, bright, young boy with the most beautiful voice and lots of adoration, that this boy would be hurting himself.

The self-harm didn't last forever. He moved out with Scott and found an apartment and after a particularly wild one-night stand he had scratched the stranger's back. Once he passed out from the craziness, Mitch saw the liquid drawing him in. The brunette never even considered other people's blood. He carefully spooned up some of the blood on his small finger and put it to his mouth. The sensation on his tongue was the most pleasant thing he'd experienced. The taste was amplified and different; he wasn't used to another person's blood but, God, did he want more. Now, his one-night stands turned into one-night feedings. He'd bring a guy home, late at night so Scott wouldn't interrupt, then cut them when they passed out. In the morning, he would say that they got injured due to their drunken state and that he patched up the wound for them. However, one night he was caught. The man woke up and before he could scream, Mitch did the only thing he could think of in that moment. Killed him. Covered the man's mouth and jammed the knife into his chest where his heart is. Mitch wasn't fazed, he simply buried the body in his backyard during midnight.

No-one knew about his strange addiction, not even his best friend: Scott. He knew no-one would understand why he did this. They'd all say he's insane, crazy, a monster. Mitch wasn't a monster! People kill animals for food, why can't he use other people for his own needs? Humans are animals, according to science, so he's justified in his actions! He didn't even kill that often, just when he needed to: if someone spotted him, if they wouldn't fall asleep, or if he hadn't had blood in a few days. He would sometimes use his own blood but he loved other blood much better.