Wordlessly, he grabs my hand and presses a piece of gum into my palm. His fingers are cold, rough from the dry air, but he gives me what must be meant as a reassuring squeeze. I don't flinch, still trying not to retch.
I can smell the spearmint. The scent is too crisp, too fresh and cold against the copper taste in my mouth. He drops my hand, goes to stroke my hair back from my shoulders. I unwrap the gum, flashing bright green even in what I know must be total darkness for human eyes. I can smell the spearmint as I put it in my mouth, but know I won’t taste it.
I chew slowly, wishing it was enough, as he cups my neck to bring me close and lick a stripe of blood off my cheek, and I try not to shudder.
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