There was something to be said about hunger; the less you felt it, the better. But the same couldn’t be said for Sawyer, situated in the back of the bar, no longer sensing that ever present newfound hunger. He had fed --- more times than he wanted to admit. From his best friend, from a stranger in the woods --- he could count the number of days he’d been a vampire on his hand, same as the amount of people he had already fed from. He was losing it, unable to keep himself in control, and yet he found himself sitting in the darkest part of the bar, a glass of Whiskey between his hands. He hadn’t touched the dark liquid in sometime, mind clouded by the fact that he was losing control. He needed to do something before he actually killed someone. ( @lenoredauphine )