Prompted by Rubies

Slowly but surely catching up with PROMPTuesdays. Here's #10. I remembered to keep it to 10 minutes while blithely forgetting about the one paragraph and 250 word boundaries. Whoopsie daisy.

Rubies Dripping Like Life

This isn’t me. I’m a pretty straightforward wallflower type of middling aged single chick. How I found myself in the bathroom of a dive bar on the wrong side of the tracks with two oddly beautiful puncture wounds on my wrist is anybody’s guess. I mean, I was there and I’m still not sure how it all came to pass. I blame James Marsters. Not directly, of course, but I hold him sort of generally responsible for my single life what with no one in real life every measuring up, so in the final analysis I think we can trace the blame for the ticklish trickle of blood down my palm to him.

I’m not being clear. That’s also not like me. Maybe it’s the blood loss. Maybe not, though, things started to get fuzzy a while before anyone nicked that thin skin near my radius. Or maybe it’s my ulna. On endless loop I hear him whispering “rubies, rubies, rubies.” It’s so good I think it’s making it hard for my wrist to clot, my heart just keeps pumping blood a little faster every time I hear the sibilance of that final s. In reality he only said it once, after he bit but before he sucked. He was behind me, holding my hand up near my ear where he leaned over my shoulder. He lowered my arm so we could both see the blood beading up where his teeth had so recently been and he turned into the whirl of my ear and whispered, “rubies.”