"No!" Francis cried.
"Just a little taste? I promise it won't hurt you... much." You grinned broadly, twirling your carving knife in your hand.
Your latest victim was a nice man called Francis. When you met, the two of you had hit it off really well. He even took you out to dinner a couple of times. You did make it clear you weren't looking for a serious relationship, and he accepted that, having pretty much the same views as you.
But after a while, he expressed interest in another kind of relationship. He started leering at you more often, making sexual comments about you, making multiple passes at you and he even groped you a few times, despite your subtle warnings for him to stop. It didn't make you uncomfortable, but it did get irritating after a while, especially since you had actually expressed your annoyance multiple times. Maybe you had just been too subtle about it.
But it was too late for you to turn back now. Right now, he was now lying on your basement floor with torn clothes and a desperate look on his face, while you sat on his chest and teased him mercilessly. You had captured and knocked him out earlier, and had only just woken up as the sun started to go down. He pressed himself further into the floor as you tauntingly brought your carving knife closer to his face. He twisted and turned his head, yelling like a madman.
"Help! Somebody help me!"
You frowned. "Be quiet, or else I'll cut off your mouth!"
He didn't listen. "Tu es fou! Let me go!" He continued to yell until you decided you'd had enough. You put your knife between your lips and decided to gag him instead. You wanted to keep his lips, so you could hear his screams of terror.
"That's better. I can't have you alerting the neighbours... they're nice people; I wouldn't want to have to torture them, too. Now, we can have some fun. What would you do if I cut you here?" You asked, taking your blade and slowly dragging it across the underside of his jaw.
"Mmmf! Mmm!" The blond man wailed, but was unable to do anything, as you had bound both his hands and his feet together earlier before. His binds didn't stop him from flapping around like a fish, though. It was amusing, watching him struggle, but you were anxious to let some blood flow. You weren't expecting him to flop about so much, though. He jerked up, the sudden action surprising you and making you drop your knife. It fell to the floor, the walls of your basement echoing the clattering sound it made. You looked at the blond man in shock, and then at the knife a little further away, before a broad, crooked grin took over your features.
You fished out another, smaller knife from the deep pocket of your butcher’s apron and twirled it around your fingers, anticipating where to stab him first. The heart, brain and lungs were out of the question, because you wanted him to suffer, but your little pocketknife wasn't long or sharp enough to even hack off a single limb. You would need your butcher's knife if you wanted to do that. Unfortunately, that was still stuck in your last victim. You stroked Francis' face, tracing his nose and lips, making a few light cuts here and there, before sliding across his face and down his neck, against his jugular veins and down his right arm to his fingers, slicing them clean off, one by one.
His muffled, anguished cries were like sweet honey, and you lapped up every last one, a huge grin on your face. You were just about to move onto the next hand when the door of your basement was opened, filling up the room with the late afternoon's fading daylight. Surprised, you stared at the figure standing in the doorway. You weren't expecting anyone to come and visit you today.
"Afternoon, poppet." The figure made its way down the stairs, and flicked on the light, revealing himself to be your good friend Oliver.
"Ollie? What are you doing here?" You were confused. He didn't often come over without telling you first; he only usually did it when he had something to show you.
He beamed. "I'm here to wish the birthday girl happy birthday!" He produced a little rectangular box wrapped in colourful paper and tied with a little ribbon.
"A present! Wow, thank you!" You beamed at him. "Wait, but it's not my birthday...?"
Surprise and then disbelief replaced his previous smiling expression. "Don't tell me you forgot your birthday again? (Name), this is the fourth year in a row you've done this."
You grinned at him awkwardly. "I've been a bit... occupied lately."
"I can see that." He put your gift down and folded his arms. "I knew today was going to slip your mind. That’s why I'm here now. Who's this?" He asked, gesturing to Francis.
"Oh, just a friend."
He raised an eyebrow, and your expression turned sheepish.
"Well, we were more like on-and-off lovers. But we got into a little... confusion, didn't we? It wasn't his fault, poor guy; I should have been more direct with what I was – and wasn't – looking for. It's a shame, really." You said, trailing your knife against Francis' ribcage. "We could have been great friends, in different circumstances. Sad it has to end this way, instead."
"Did he try to, you know...?" Oliver blushed and motioned with his hands.
You nodded and looked down. "Make a move on me? Multiple times. I didn't let him, though. That's why you're here now, isn't it?" You stroked Francis' face, smiling sweetly and ignoring his noises of protest.
"Well, could you finish him off quickly?"
"I can make it quick, I suppose. Why?"
"Because I have a birthday surprise waiting for you!" He grinned and you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion.
"What about that present there?" You asked, motioning to the wrapped box by his feet.
"That's just your gift, silly! You didn't think I would let you spend your birthday slicing people up again, did you?"
At his words, Francis' eyes widened, and he made a muffled sound of protest. You blushed and pouted.
"It's not like that, Ollie, don't exaggerate."
"I know. That's not the point, though. The point is that this year, we are going to celebrate your birthday! And the quicker you finish up here, the more time we'll have to celebrate!"
"Right. Could you pass me that knife?" You asked, pointing to the carving knife you had dropped earlier. He passed it to you and you thanked him, before jamming the knife up to its hilt in Francis' thigh. The howl of pain that followed right after was intense; there was so much force behind it that the cloth covering his mouth couldn't fully conceal it. You leant down and examined the placement of the knife, grinning and watching as the cloth surrounding the knife started to stain a dark red.
"It hurts, doesn't it?" You asked. Francis nodded, tears pooling in his eyes. "Would you like me to pull it out for you?" He nodded again. "Well, I can't; it looks like I've punctured an important artery that runs through your leg. If I pulled my knife out now, you'd bleed to death in minutes." You picked up your pocketknife, an insane gleam in your eye. "But there is one thing I can do for you."
He half-sat up and looked at you pleadingly, his eyes filled with hope. You just laughed to yourself. He probably thought you were going to let him go. Not even close. You pushed him back down and moved your pocketknife down to his neck, and before he could make any sounds of protest, you made one quick slash. Slitting his throat. You stared at the crimson blood pooling around his head as his once bright sky-blue eyes dulled. Finally, you got up and removed your knife from his thigh, putting your lips to the wound and lapping up the red fluid. The familiar exhilaration of draining someone's life force filled your senses, and you sighed deeply, taking in as much as you could.
Standing up and licking your lips, you put the knife back in Francis' leg, sealing off the leaking artery, and locked eyes with Oliver, who looked fascinated.
"I hope you didn't drink too much. It'll spoil your appetite for later." He produced a napkin and handed it to you as you untied your apron and hung it up.
You shook your head and wiped your mouth. "No, I'm saving the rest for later." Oliver was the only one who knew about your sanguine tendency to feed off your victims, and strangely enough, he didn't mind it at all. To him, it was just one of the many things that made you special. He picked up the box and held it in your direction.
"Do you want to open your present now?"
"Ooh, I forgot! Yes!" You took the box from him and unwrapped it, lifting the lid and removing the paper. Your lips curved upwards once you recognised what his gift was. Partly covered by a thin layer of tissue paper was a little silver bracelet. You gently lifted it up to examine it closer. There were three charms on it; a cupcake, a skull, and a dagger. "It's so pretty; I love it. Thank you, Ollie!" You slipped it on and admired the way the charms glittered.
He grinned. "That's not all; I have another present waiting for you at home."
"Well, what are we waiting for? Take me there!" You bounded up your basement steps, motioning for him to follow.
"What about Francis? Aren't you going to clean him up?"
"No! That can wait! Come on, let's go!"
He chuckled and followed you up the stairs. He just hoped you would accept his second gift as readily as you did his first one.