Beads of sweat plopped on my lap as I was bent double with the hunger pangs. It was almost like my stomach was eating my spine. Gnawing on it like a ravenous lion on a gazelle leg bone.
The back of my knees were moistening and a headache started to emerge. I just couldn't face eating for so long. I saw no point in looking in the mirror at how I must have looked.
It would not help matters.
But the repulsion of eating was now being slowly submerged by the rising fever of hunger.
The problem was, how do I eat and not pay the consequences? I hated the mess but I also didn't want to advertise my meal choice to anyone. It had to be secret. I knew that.
But my head was buzzing with the hum of the need for food. So now my mind really was being taken over by thoughts of food like never before in the last few weeks.
I thought back to how much I hated leaders of churches and decided to look up a few near me on the web.
I found a guy who had narrowly avoided a sexual assault conviction and continued to be a pastor. Perfect.
I called him and said I was trying to find someone who could help me with my bisexual thoughts. He was hooked.
He invited me to his office, where I planned to wear very tight, very revealing clothing.
In his office the next evening, I ensured I sat in all those poses I knew would stick in his mind and asked if we could continue this "fascinating" conversation at my place tomorrow.
Through a clear excess of saliva, he managed to push the word "certainly" past his lips and the deal was sealed.
The next day arrived and I let him in my (carefully prepared) apartment after confirming he had told no one he was coming.
He took off his coat and, before he turned once more to face me, I finally unleashed my craving for the blood I needed and this sleazy pastor became my breakfast.
Fast broken, I tidied up and retired to my coffin to sleep my scarlet meal (and the trauma) off for a few days.