She should have seen that coming. And the same old sense of embarrassment managed to work its way up and down her spine. But. Suddenly. It stopped. Because who was she kidding? After what they'd done, what was left to be embarrassed about? Just some deeply-ingrained, American sense of Puritanism.

Why fucking bother?

"Well," she said. "For me...it's like...coming up after being underwater." Yeah. That sounded about right. "Like breathing. I mean, I breathe. I do. But it's mostly out of habit now. Habit and the desire to pass for human, I guess. But I don't feel it the same way I did. It's not a need. But when I drink, I feel the oxygen filling me up. Everything is easier. Lighter."

Something that would be easier to express in lines and shapes than words, she decided. She might try her hand at a sketch, to convey it.

But there was more. "For the person I drink from, it's different. I mean, it's..." Puritan or not, she hesitated. "Well. Like..." She ran her knee up, along the inside of his thigh. "A little like last night."