The voice coming through the phone was slightly mechanical and the speaker setting amplified the breaths and pauses that are given little thought when you're pouring your heart out. "Hey Clara. It's me. Uh...it's about 4 in the afternoon, so of course you don't pick up. I, uh, got out early and wanted to see if maybe you were free to meet. Or if you wanted to meet." Pause. "I mean, okay, I just want to know. 'Cause you only call me at night, never let me over to your place, and it's obvious there's someone else. If there's someone else, I'm fine with that! I'd just, like, like to know that was the case so I know where we stand. So when I know to invite you to a thing with my family I can not tell them about it in case you stand me up like you did the other day. On my b-day. Am I crazy? Am I pushing you too fast? Call me?" The last question was half a plea and half a prayer. Clara wished she could have seen Leaves' face as he said it.

The voicemail stopped playing and the old salesman in a sweat-stained collared shirt and khakis almost spit out his drink. He was laughing so hard that each breath went into the next bellow. Clara locked her phone and mimed taking a sip of a vodka martini. She missed drinking, particularly when it was presented so tastefully in spun glass. The man's hearty laugh echoed throughout the finely furnished apartment. Whoever he paid to decorate his space had one color in mind: gray. Gray cashmere rug, sleek gray sofas with plush light gray throw pillows, gray tile leading to a virtual fireplace as a centerpiece, and gray drapes hanging against bone white walls. Clara appreciated the decorum as much as she did the presentation that went into making the martini she didn't drink.

The red-faced man was catching his breath now, and Clara had drawn closer. Her arm was draped over the couch, with her fingertips lightly grazing his heaving shoulder. "God!" He finally gasped, coming down off the hysteria. "You're brutal. Just brutal. God!" Clara smiled and let her doe eyes shimmer with ambiguous delight that strangers could assign meaning onto. The man was pouring himself another drink into his glass; the pair of gray whiskey stones shifted but stayed at the bottom of a pool of liquid amber. He drunkenly put it to Clara's almost-full martini and, after a clink, downed the drink. I'm gonna be so drunk.

The man in the sweat-drenched shirt undid it another button, now barring half his pasty chest. Each breath he took in was savory and deep, and he almost forgot the woman he invited into his home in the sheer bliss of breathing. "We had a deal, Sam." The man muttered confusion and Clara jabbed at his arm fat, pinched some flesh through his shirt, and twisted. A little harder than needed, but the man was beyond numb. He yelled out in pain and then laughed, nodding his head to Clara with a yielding manner. The Bacchante set her martini on the gray coffee table in front of the pair and leaned forward; practically on top of her prey. "Tell me about her."

The man belched and rubbed at a balding head. "Well, I got divorced four years ago. Or, is it I got divorced this year, and she asked for it back in 2014?" He shrugged and continued. "To celebrate having her and her fucked up family out of my life I went out to the Nox. Not usually my scene, but you know, booze is booze." He was about to pour himself another but Clara's gentle touch brought his arm onto her waist and his appetites shifted. "You really wanna hear about this?" Clara nodded. "Well, she was there. Staring at the VIP section and I'd just gotten a beer, walked up to her and asked if she'd ever been in one. The VIP. When she said no, I decided to show her a good time. Money ain't everything, but it's nice buying things for pretty girls." Clara's arms were draped over each shoulder, and she inched closer as she drew him in. "And, well, she had a great time. But it was more than that. She listened to me and I found out she just finished nursing school and was starting her residency. And God that smile! It's like, the ex-wife doesn't matter cause I was there and she was there and she's just...the sort of girl who called me next day. Call turned into coffee, and now after a few months, I'm thinking she's gonna be the wife that'll bury me."

Clara's mouth was on his neck in a flash and her fangs dug deep into the vein. She flooded his senses with memories she didn't have access to and then drank long and deep the blood of someone helplessly in love. He was beyond drunk, and she'd soon be dizzy, but the alcohol was an afterthought to the pure love-struck taste the Blood gave. It was curious what the body did when infatuated and hopeful and head over heels. It was delicious. After the deep intimacy of the Kiss, Clara licked the puncture wounds away and left the exhausted man in a deep slumber.

Using merit Vitae Connoisseur to regain 1 WP Yumyumcrow