My Lover Bleeds Black

A Story by r.k

We were all born pure. Free of scandal and fault, our blood pumping as white as sin forgiven, pure as the saints above.

To live in a world where our blood tells all was both a blessing and a curse. You could not lie about your past. Your doctors knew, your employers knew. Every single compulsory annual blood test was kept on record, treated as if it were chiselled gold. Those on death row bled black. Every crime they committed corrupting their once ivory blood flow more. Those who worked in a house of prayer could only ever bleed white. It did not matter if you were a mere sacristan or if you were the Pope himself. To work with God, you must only bleed uninfected.

But that’s not where the excitement lay. It is not where the curiosity stuck. Everyone knew that the prisoners were as black as blindness and the Holy were as white as light. The interest was with your neighbours and your coworkers, every single person you walked past on the street. You couldn’t help but wonder.

You could never reverse the darkening of your blood. No amount of years in jail could undo the damage. A felony committed was as permanent as permanent gets. Crime was at an all time high in Valhaven and so was the prying of one neighbour to the next. We were all guilty until proven innocent.

Seeing someone bleed will often shock you. I met Bolland when I was 18 and I loved him like no other. I was hopelessly devoted to him, as he was to me. I sometimes felt almost ashamed of our playful, trusting relationship. Aren’t we all supposed to be tough? I knew this, yet I always chose to be strong instead. To possess the strength to take risks. The risk of being broken all over again, to love again despite knowing how fragile I was. I knew enough heartbreak to shatter anyones mind, to leave my body delicate, in constant agony. But Bolland made it all seem as if it were dust in the wind. He made it feel like that broken person was never me and could never be me. He was as sweet as roses, just like the years I spent with him. I was naive. Who someone really is can only be seen in their bloodstream. And my lover bled black.