I am a fool. I am so lucky. I watch as your eyes close again, the better to savour what you take from my wrist. Watching your eyelids feels like watching the guillotine fall. I can’t pull away. When I try, your arms feel like iron, and you rock only the tiniest bit. Blood loss fuzzes my motor control, making me feel hot, weak and shaky. Watching the rhythmic pulsing of your throat isn’t helping matters.

It’s been a few days since we’ve seen one another. It’s unusual for me to be absent like this. I’m not great at responding to text messages at the best of times but it takes half a day for me to respond to your check-in. When I text to ask if you can meet me at mine it’s a bit inconvenient. You’re a little annoyed at my disappearing act and you’re considering saying no to teach me a lesson, but my next message piques your curiosity.