Alfie

Feeling quite sorry for myself, I dug my phone out of my jacket to scroll through as I ate my depressingly padded out pole of Golden Grahams and

Yep.

There it is.

That's 12 hours since I last drank the blood.

Why am I telling you about the fucking cereal?

Why am I talking about Ben?

None of this matters.

I've not started to feel it yet.

There's a cold that creeps in when the blood wears off.

But it's not started yet.

That's good, at least.

Last time it was about 20 hours before I needed more.

Casper said the time between would get shorter and shorter, and that it'd help less and less, you know.

Like building up a tolerance.

Casper got all wise with me when I made that comparison, though.

He said, yes, but this tolerance will build your death, like that wasn't all we'd been talking about for the previous hour.

It's the easiest comparison, though, building up a tolerance.

And before I need to drink more of it, it's like a process of withdrawal.

And yes, Casper, if you're listening to this, I know that's not exactly like that.

that what's actually happening to me is that all the dying that the blood is keeping at bay is slowly creeping back into me.