Bring Me To Life
(a sequel to "Us")
By The Binary Alchemist, 2010
"Cold is a surgeon of great skill. " They teach you this on the Mountain.
You come here and you let the wind flay you, lay you open and bare you to your core and let the snow drift into the gaping, bloody wound. Let it in. Let it kill as it must, as you need it to. The raw nerves will go numb. The heart will continue to beat but the heat of desire will quickly dissipate. Just like any slab of dead meat stacked in a freezer, your memory will not decay but it can't be rekindled to pliancy without an intentional act on your own part.
Pain and passion come here to be laid to rest without ceremony. Once the cold has had its way with you, you change. You become meat here, and if the ugly worms of might-have-beens start to maggot their way through your heart, it's your own damn fault. You chose to kindle the flame, to nurse it, to feed it. Pay attention to the cold. Let it work its way with you as it should, and the dreams will stop.
The men told me with untoward familiarity that my seed would freeze as fast as my heart. I prayed for it, and to a god I have no name for. I peeled off the gloves that had been a second skin for me. I willingly bared my chest to the knives of the wind. I veiled my face with unkempt hair, burrowed myself deep under snow and welcomed the death of the monster I had become.
Like a desert renunciant, I emptied my mind, schooling my body to follow the new rhythms of my life. Rise. A cup of bitter coffee, fortified with a thimble of brandy. Bread and dried meat in your pocket for later. Take your place before the gatehouse of Briggs. Lock your body at attention and free your thoughts—let them drift with the lacy flakes that cling to your remaining eyelashes. Do not let the after-images flicker across that ruined eye—the faces of two lovers beyond your reach, green eyes burning above you in the desert, gold eyes burning below you in secret, hungry with want. Breathe the snow. Breathe deep when the pain strikes—the ache of your lungs will drive the memories away for a little while. And when sun sets, a bowl of thin stew, dry, sour bread and more brandy with your coffee, until your head reels with weariness and you tug off your boots and crawl into your cot by the fire.
Damn you…damn you, Edward. You are the warmth that the wind cannot kill.
Here in the dark, drunk and numb I feel you creeping inside me, heating my blood with the half-welcomed memory of a lithe body arching up, bowstring taut and sweat drenched, hungry and insistent, refusing any measure of denial. I enter your strong body, but I'm the one that's invaded and taken…and I do not give a damn. Hair of silk, mouth of fire—you latch greedily onto any exposed flesh you can reach while bent double under my body, lapping my sweat, sucking and biting and growling softly like some golden eye'd predator relishing his prey.
My numb fingers, chapped and reddened from the cold, pinch hard at my nipples until I wince—and in my blind eye I gaze down my chest and see you, eyes closed, intent on making me beg for it. My nails rake down my belly—your teeth in the dark. I spit guiltily into my palm and suck on my fingers—my face burns at the memory of lips and tongue, sliding over and under the velvety hood of flesh, delving into that oh so sensitive cleft, catching the bitter pearls of pleasure that you have coaxed from my body.
My fingers curl…but nothing will fit so perfectly as your body as you rise above me, fitting just so…your cock flushed and glistening, your belly quivering as you sink downdown…down. Waiting…adjusting…shifting until that ragged gasp tells me I've reached that sweet, secret place. You writhe, chest heaving, smelling richly of bitter oil and sweat and sex, tasting like nothing I've ever craved before.
I've long since learned not to be afraid, not to hold back. You won't allow it—you will drag me to the edge of madness and fury, pounding into you, not caring if it hurts me…not caring if it hurts you. Your head falls back, you bend like an obscene dancer in a desert cabaret, thighs wide, muscles quivering from the strain. My fingers are merciless on you and you snap forward, teeth in the side of my neck and you wail and curse and as you spill over my fist I spill into you…mouth soldered to yours…
I don't cry your name. I don't have to . There is little that it certain in this world, few things are truly timeless, save love and hate—and we have tasted both together.
And in the end, love proves the strongest.
Edward…I refuse to believe you can't feel this me from the other side of the Gate. You have melted the snow out of my bones, and tomorrow when only the mountains see me numbly standing at attention I will have to bare myself to the knives of the wind in hopes that it will cut away this desire you've kindled in me.
Find me. Find your way back and bring me to life…
How can you see into my eyes like open doors?
Leading you down into my core where I've become so numb
Without a soul, my spirit sleeping somewhere cold
Until you find it there and lead it back home…
Wake me up inside
Call my name and save me from the dark…
--Bring Me To Life, by Hodges/Lee/Moody