He drinks for what seems like an age; it feels weird, like the unnatural sensation of my blood being pulled out of my body will last forever.
And then it stops. Alex wraps his hand tightly around my wrist, pushing his fingers into the wound I made for him. I open my eyes and almost flinch at the expression on his face.
He is not a happy bunny.
"You idiot, Maxxie!" he growls. His lips tug back slightly as he snarls and I shudder slightly at the sight of the blood still on his teeth. It's like being in a bad horror movie, suddenly.
"Alex, you're holding my wrist too tight," I wince at his grip. Saying it was like having my arm shoved in a vice would be an understatement. His hand is colder and tighter than a vice. He loosens his grip on me, but keeps his hand around my arm, pinching the wound closed. He stands up, dragging me with him into the kitchen where he grabs a tea towel. Letting go of me, he tells me to keep my arm above my head and I nod, gulping slightly.
It hurts now he's stopped drinking. Alex complains about how my blood smells and that I've stunk the place out, but I'm hardly listening as he begins to tear the towel apart. It really hurts.
His hand closes around my arm again, making me lower it again so he can wrap a strip of the towel around my wrist. Tying it tight, he stops talking about how I'm an idiot and a concerned look enters his angry eyes.
"Still in there, Max?" he waves a hand in front of my face and I blink.
"It hurts," I whine. His face drops unhappily, and he pushes me gently in the small of the back, telling me to go sit down again. I nod and shuffle out into the hall, pushing through my junk to the living room, keeping my hand above my heart. Half sitting, half collapsing onto the sofa, I groan as the movement jolts my arm.
"I can't believe you did that," Alex grumbles as he follows me in a few moments later. He's holding a glass of water, taking mouthfuls of it and trying to rinse the taste of my blood out of his mouth. I can't have tasted that bad, surely?