People called her Blood. But she wasn’t some Goth girl, some wannabe vampire. She was just a girl. She wore blue jeans and screen tees, just like anybody else. But they called her Blood.
Faces turned to stare as she passed in the hallway. There was nothing extraordinary about her, with the exception of the expressionless look on her face, forever unchanging. They could have called her the walking dead, but instead they called her Blood.
It was her arms that got people; they were covered in unfading scars and open wounds, harsh for the eye to see. She wore a bloodstained razorblade around her neck, to match her bloodstained hands. It’s why people called her Blood – she was covered in it.
People called him Fetish. He always had a smile on his face, and his expression was always friendly (except when he was angry). There was something about his eyes that made people trust him, and yet they called him Fetish.
He was in love with Blood. He adored her face, her breath, her very existence. He loved the way she walked, head held above the rest of the world defiantly. Hw would lovingly trace the scars on her arms, savoring the feel of her skin even as he begged her to stop it. It was why they called him Fetish.

Blood walked silently through the hallway, her loving boyfriend following, trying to catch up with her. “Blood!” he called, using the only name anyone knew for her.
She turned with a somehow expressionless smile. “Hey babe,” she cooed softly. She knew he was about to do his daily beg for her to stop hurting herself, and she just wasn’t in the mood for it.
“Don’t start,” she warned. “I can take care of myself. Scary, I know.”
He paused mid-step, looking at her in concern. “I know you can,” he admitted. “It’s just that I’m your boyfriend and I have the a right to worry.”
“It’s stupid,” she countered. “It’s stupid and selfish.”
“I love you.”
“Selfish.”
Fetish punched a wall angrily; Blood didn’t even flinch. “Okay, so be like that! Sure, I only worry because you’ve almost killed yourself before. Sure, I picked up the pieces with you and, yeah, I was willing to give up anything and everything for you, but I must have such selfish reasons, right?”
Blood’s expression remained unchanged, even as she screamed, “Love is selfish! It’s just the death of one heart in another to make something whole and beautiful! You want to be complete? I’ll complete you.” She stopped suddenly, tears streaming down her face. “You want to make me cry?” she said softly. “I’ll still complete you, but it’ll hurt us both.”
“I don’t care about being complete,” he snapped.
Disgust filled Blood’s eyes as she stared at her lover. “Then you never will be.”
Swiftly she grabbed her razorblade and slid it across her throat. Fetish rushed forward to catch her as Blood’s lifeblood poured onto the floor. A sob forced its way from his throat as he watched her die, regret of his words filling him as the walking dead faded from life.