I can hear her blood pounding from across the room. Hear her pulse slowing as the alcohol takes effect. And I can smell it. I smell the blood as her heart beats it around her body and for a moment it's all I can do to hold myself back, a ravenous animal desperate to clamp its jaws around the neck of its prey.
'No,' I tell myself, 'concentrate. You've got to do this properly. I watch her for a moment longer - she starts to sway, it's taking all her effort to keep standing. That's good. She's ready. I pick up two glasses of lemonade, hers with a double shot of vodka, and put on my 'nice guy' face. I walk towards her. 'Are you ok?' I ask in my most concerned voice, 'maybe I should take you home, you've had a lot to drink'.
I'm still trying to fit the key into her front door when she starts unbuttoning my shirt. It takes everything I have not to rip her throat out right there on the doorstep. That would be messy. We reach the bed, blood boiling in my ears, burning my throat with the smell of it. I throw her down, she's ripping at my clothes. I can't control myself any longer - I'm barely inside her when my teeth pierce the soft, fragrant skin of her neck. They slide in as if she was made of butter, and the glorious, warm red liquid gushes into my mouth. It's quick, she's dead before she realises what's happening. That's why I like them drunk first - impairs the flavour slightly but it's nicer for them. I have some hint of morals, at least. I drink her dry, relishing the feeling o blood dripping down my chin. But through the wave of ecstasy coursing through my body breaks one haunting thought - I have to stop doing this.