As a kid, I got nosebleeds. Horrible things that started in my sleep, soaking my pillow before it woke me. Cauterization helps—a medievally effective solution. It feels like getting punched, except you don’t bleed.
It wears off.
I take the bump from a pinky nail grown long for this purpose—it’s not my finger, but I know. Coke makes you feel like a god for fifteen minutes. I turn my beatific gaze towards my long-nailed supplicant. He recoils, recants.
I snatch him before he forsakes me. We’ll dance. We’ll rage. And he will lick the blood sacrament from my face.