Rust & Roses

I tasted the blood on my lips.
She fed me more of her hot beer breath,
panting like a bloodhound after the hunt.
Force fed lust.
It couldn't have been more than thirty degrees that night but that back of the car felt like the a furnace. We went over a bump and she bit me again, this time harder, letting out another fiendish giggle.
I tasted iron. Unbearable.
"Whoa, chill out with that, it fuckin' sucks." I warned. I don't think it phased her at all.
The highway roared by beneath our drunken bodies.One my my favorite songs blared from a speaker that held up my head but all I could think about was her smell and the horrible taste of an other human's blood.
Rust and Roses.
It cloaked the night, suffocated me into submission. The rubber roar from below the car's floor-pan lured us to down, down, down, to the narrow space between the front and back seats were empty bottles and god knows what else dug into my spine.
I laid paralyzed, with a beautiful young woman on top of me, eclipsing my view of the new year's moon. Just a couple of hours before this I watched her piss between two parked cars, stand up, then huddle close to me against a brick wall outside a crowded bar and helped me drink my 40 of Olde English to rid another year's worth of leaches and let downs.
I had just met her.
The fangs seep so criminally slow sometimes.