Intrigant: a person who intrigues. a person who pursues by secret means.

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It happens every few days, without fail.

I lose control.

I go on a binge.

I abstain as long as I possibly can, and sometimes I manage to do so longer than others, but deep down I know it will be just a matter of time before I relapse all over again.

In the earlier days, I was naively of the belief that this was something I would be able to stop eventually. That I could do it once a week and get by.

I would convince myself of it during that in-between period. There would be no more repeat performances, I would be able to fulfill my desires with smaller doses until I didn’t need to do it anymore.

I could stop any time I wanted to, I knew I could.

Whenever I was able to exert that willpower for a higher number of days than before, I would grow more sure of myself.

I had finally gained control, I was sure, I had rid myself of the habit.

I was wrong, obviously.

The longest I ever managed to last without doing this, once I started, was two weeks.

Two weeks of pure hell.

The blowout that followed was colossal when I finally broke down and let myself do what my every fibre of my being was begging me to do.

I’ve never let myself abstain for more than a few days since then.

There's just no point.

I know I’m living on borrowed time if I’m honest. Eventually someone is going to notice something.

I’m quite surprised that no one actually ever has yet; but then again I suppose it’s not really that easy to pick up on unless you know what signs to search for; and most people aren’t actively looking.

It’s not as if I don’t hide it well either. It’s been ten years since this started, so I’ve had plenty of practice, after all.

Sure I look tired sometimes, drawn, a little thinner. But doesn’t everyone at some point?

This has been a part of my life for a decade, and will be for more to come, I am well aware of that.

The constant hunger gnawing away at my insides, burning deep inside of me always wins out and always will.

I always sate it.

Such is the life of an addict.

It’s unlikely to end at all, or well, if it does.

Still, a part of me that wants to believe this could work out; that I could get a happy ending at some point, even though I am painfully aware that happy endings were never meant for people like me.

Such is the life of a monster.

That's what some people would call those of us driven by a compulsion to keep tending a voracious hunger that is never and can never truly be satisfied.

I can stave it off for a while, as I often do - temporary starvation always makes the next time that much better too - but sooner or later I have to indulge again.

I have to gorge myself.

To glut.

To feed.

Such is the life - or rather, afterlife - of a vampire.

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fiction.
..... or is it?

Week 10 and I hadn't written a vampire story yet. Obviously had to fix that!