“Bloodlust – the disease that makes us the monsters we are known to be; it is what wipes away the last of our humanity.” ― Daniele Lanzarotta

Kali watched the man as he slid away from her and got up off the bed.  What was his name?  Joel?  Jimmy?  Jimmy.  Whatever, it didn’t matter.  There was a single candle sitting in a tin pan on a box next to the mattress on the floor, but it was barely enough to light up the room. He was naked and didn’t seem to care about that as he opened the door and stepped out into the moonlit balcony.  She was at The Palms, in his room, and she assumed he went to piss over the railing.  A moment later her suspicion was confirmed when she heard a little groan and then a steady stream splattering on something down below.

Kali didn’t waste time.  She got up and shimmied into her jeans, jumping a few times to hurry and pull them up over her hips.  She had her top on and was already strapping her gun holster to her thigh when he walked back inside.

And he stood there, leaning on the door jamb, his wickedly inked arms folded over his chest with his hands tucked under his biceps, making them look harder, bigger.  His lean, sinewy body was silhouetted by the moonlight coming in from behind him, and the dips and valleys and lines his muscles drew on his body were nothing but highlights and shadows in the warm glow of the candle.  And he looked at her as if he knew she was leaving, that she wasn’t spending the night, and she wasn’t going to be holding his hand as they walked around Arklay in the light of day.

“Kali, you don’t’ have to leave, you know.  It’s late, dark.  What’s the fuckin’ rush.  Go to sleep, leave in the morning.”

“I’ll be fine.” she sounded curt.  Damn.  “There’s enough moonlight.”  she added, propping her foot on a chair to tie her shoelaces.  Besides she’d made this run plenty of times when she lived out here before moving into the room above the bar.  And she’d done it unarmed too.  She had a gun now, and a knife.

“Then let me walk you.”  He offered, moving over to where he’d left his jeans, tossed on the floor with the rest of his clothes.

“No!” She moved quickly, shifting legs to tie the other shoe.  If she was fast enough she’d be out of there before he got his pants on.  She pulled on her ratty hoodie and picked up her backpack, shrugging it on to her shoulders as she took a step towards him.  “See ya around, huh?”  She smiled.  When he leaned in as if he were going to kiss her she ducked and moved towards the door and slipped into the night.

Later she was sitting on the rooftop of the bar–candle, weed, bottle, notebook.

Well, that was great.  I don’t even know why the fuck I’m feeling so shitty.  The look on his face?  Like I’d kicked his puppy?  Isn’t that what guys want?  Just a little fun and nothing else?  He was hot.  The sex was hot.  What’s the big fucking deal?  We both got what we wanted, right?  Not that he’s exactly who I want, but I’m not getting that, apparently.  Now things are like ‘leave or be left.’  For all his bullshit and fucking asshole ways, Buck had never left me.  In 5 years he’d never left me.  Sometimes I wonder if I jumped the gun when I pushed him.  That maybe he never was gonna sell me.  Like he was just telling that to the guy on the other end to fuck with him.  

And who the fuck gives a shit what I did tonight?  Not like I charged the guy, either.  We both wanted it.  But it’s weird how much more I wanted.  More than normal.  

I’d never shot that gun for real.  I mean, Liam had taught me, and I’d shot the beer cans, and I had practiced a little bit, not too much because fuckin’ bullets are expensive.  But fuckin’ shootin’ at real Creepers was crazy, even from the roof.  I didn’t have a panic attack up there, but I was close to it, like I didn’t think I could breathe sometimes, and other times everything was so clear.  And seeing people down there around the Creepers, knowing that they could die if I just stood there an panicked and did nothing, well that was a fucked up feeling too.  I thought my heart was gonna slam right out of my chest.   

When it was done I wanted to keep shooting.  I wanted more of them to come out.  I wanted to waste that whole fucking clip and then go get some more and keep shooting.  I’d never been so fucking strung out in my life!  Or felt so powerful.  Like some fucking super hero.  Like I could go back in time and shoot anyone that ever messed with me.  Like I could just keep that thing loaded and pick off heads of people that fuck with me.  I just wanted to keep going.  I know I can’t do that, not really.  And I don’t wanna kill people either.  It ain’t like that.

And then it was over.  Creepers were dead and people were fine.  But I was on fire, like I’d chugged down 3 Red Bulls in a row.  I wanted to run, or dance on a pole… anything to work this out of my system.  It scared the shit out of me, like that time Buck got me to try blow.  I got shaky, and there was this cold empty pit in my stomach, and I couldn’t stand still and kept thinking people could look at me and would just know what I’d done, and I couldn’t wait for that shit to wear off and wanted to do something to help speed it up.  

So when the next best thing walked into the bar, I took it.  

But Jimmy wasn’t what I needed, or what I really wanted.