Thirteen #2
I dabbled with bloodletting one time, after my mother cut me and let me bleed.
What I did not understand then was the connection and power it brought to me.
Afterward, the voices spoke to me, stronger than before.
Since I've been here, they have been intense.
The walls of the hotel drip with possibilities.
I told my mother about the voices, but she dismissed it as a foolish child’s imagination.
She never understood the meaning of such things any more than I did, but she always called me out.
Each encounter ended in some punishment she deemed necessary.
Each time she produced blood from me. Whether it was whipping, a punishment she was fond of, or cutting me with a razor blade, it didn’t matter.
The blood, she said, was necessary to pull the wickedness from my soul.
Every time she produced a trickle of my life force in some way, she would take a broom and sweep it toward the drain.
She had a special place in our basement where she liked to perform her rituals. A place where no one could hear me scream within the thick concrete walls.
At first, I cried, but as I became used to the beatings and lacerations, I was able to hold it together until I watched the blood swirl and stretch toward the drain.
My mother finally tired of the practice, and when I was eighteen, she stopped.
But only the cutting. She still tied me up to the chair and left me in the basement for hours on end.
Maybe even days at a time. I lost track.
But even though she stopped, I wanted more. Seeing blood thrilled me until I had a longing for the liquid. Once my mother realized this, after she caught me cutting myself, she reverted to the psalm again. “The fool has said in his heart, there is no God. I want to be rid of you.”
My mother had no clue what she gave me. The freedom to choose where I wanted to be.
She attempted to kick me out for doing nothing but obeying her.
She packed my bags by the door and told me I would be leaving in the morning.
I had no money, nowhere to go, so in the middle of the night, I went to her with the shotgun she used to chase the boy away.
The voices told me it was time. I would ascend to the next level. I would finally find thirteen.
She woke for a second and the look on her face was sheer terror, but I didn’t care. I had made up my mind, and the voices wouldn’t relent. I pulled the trigger and never looked back.
Grabbing some money from the old bitch's purse, I left and came here to get a room. It wasn’t hard to find this place.
The voices directed me to it. It's the home I have never had. I’ve been here for almost two weeks, and I spent all my money when I checked in, but the staff don’t seem to mind.
They haven’t asked for anymore. If I have my way, I want to stay here forever.
Nine O’clock and the time is inching nearer to when I will find what the clock has in store for me. The hotel is welcoming, and I feel it has a message, one I’m beginning to understand.
It’s all about the blood, as the voices are telling me. The blood will open my eyes and help me traverse to another level. Once the clock strikes twelve, I will use the blood as a catalyst to take me to the next level.
It’s ten o’clock, and Lewis is slurring his speech and getting handsy. I’ve felt his hand on my hip and leg. He clearly wants something to happen, and I’m almost ready to oblige. The time isn’t right, though. I run through the numbers on the clock again and see a bright spot near the middle.
“Do you see it, Lewis? The clock is telling us so much.” I say a little too excitedly.
Lewis leans my way, placing his hand close to the inside of my thigh. It’s humorous that he thinks this cat-and-mouse game is working. If his involvement is a means to an end, then it won’t matter. I respond in kind by keeping him guessing.
I have some experience in relationships, but all ended badly. The boys when I was younger, including the one my mother chased out of my room. There have also been men who have graced my room every night since I’ve been here.
Men in general are a mystery to me. They are easily the most gullible people on the planet, always wanting but never giving anything in return.
I’ve never had an experience where I can truly say I’m satisfied.
I’m only left wanting more. Before, I never knew what it was, until now.
This place has opened my eyes to possibilities I never knew existed.
I feel the blood coursing through Lewis’s veins, warm and inviting, a key to open up new horizons.
Something I never realized was possible.
Eleven o’clock and it’s almost time. If Lewis takes one more drink, I won’t be able to get him to my room.
I nod to the bartender to close the tab.
I use Lewis’s credit card to pay for everything.
The man doesn’t bat an eye, almost like this is nothing new to him.
He can’t even muster the energy to sign for it, so I do instead, making sure to leave a hefty tip.
The bartender says nothing, only takes the receipt, and smiles while looking at the paper.
He turns for the register, and I prepare myself to coax Lewis to the elevator.
He's heavier than I thought he would be, but he is helping me, albeit in a wobbly weak way, as we weave and bobble our way through the lobby.
When I get to the elevator, I ease Lewis against the wall, then push the up button.
When we are inside, I look at him and wonder if he’s going to be able to live up to his end of this venture.
I'm not sure I’ll need the syringe, but I'll keep it close by just in case.
He must be awake or even aroused at least. The blood in his veins will need to be hot as the voices tell me.
I open the door of my room and push Lewis through.
He saunters forward and nearly falls, but before he hits the floor, he sits on the bed and drops onto his back.
His legs dangle from the side, so I take advantage of this position to remove his shoes and then his pants.
He’s sprawled like some useless doll, and I feel I may have lost my opportunity. Then, he stirs, raising onto his elbows
The time is drawing nearer, and I can hardly contain my excitement. Lewis apparently feels the same as I can see by his bulging underwear. I take them off and then remove my clothing. It’s time. Only ten minutes before midnight and my plan is well into motion.
Two minutes before twelve and I’m riding Lewis. He hasn’t lost his ability yet and I can feel the blood inside him building. My knife is within reach, just below the mattress, tucked in and ready to use. I reach for it, grazing the handle with my fingertips.
Lewis is groaning so I take the opportunity to arch my back like I’m enjoying his sweaty body under me.
The only thing I can think of is the blood that will spill from his split throat.
He closes his eyes and from his body’s gyrations I can tell he’s nearly at his zenith.
I must cut him right before he orgasms to get the most from his blood.
I grab the knife and straighten, bringing the blade above my head.
I bring the knife down into his chest, once, then twice, so fast he barely registers what is happening until it’s too late.
Lewis is stronger than I realize and he bucks me from his body and jumps from the bed. I land on the floor and quickly sit up.
He stands straight, clutching his bleeding chest. Panic stretches across his face and any fear I had of him passing out from alcohol is long gone. He’s like a caged animal ready to bolt, trying to find a way out. I realize now, I should have drugged him.