The hunger’s been driving him crazy. He can hear the heartbeats of everyone around him, smell the scent of their blood, their souls. When he shuts his eyes he can see himself tearing into the soft flesh of a human throat—an image that both entices and repulses, nauseates him and makes his mouth water. It’s been a while since he last fed the animal. He’s starting to starve, and that might make him dangerous.
It’s not a good state to be in when @winterbeheaded is crashing at his place. He knows he looks sick—worse than sick, a dead man walking. He knows that it’s affecting his behavior, too. His mood. It needs to be fucking handled.
So here he is: three a.m., sitting on the floor and eating raw meat, desperate for the seeping blood. He left Riley sleeping in his room, careful not to disturb her. He hasn’t even turned on a light out here, only barely illuminated by the streetlights outside the windows. Fine by him. He'd rather not see what he's doing anyway.
