Another illuminated night. Closing time.

Rummaging through a small pouch to get at another thin cancer. I don't remember doing this for a long long time…

The panel glides, and there he is,

"Miss Mochaccino." It clicks shut on its gear.

I keep to myself, silent. Silent. My beret tossed to the corner. Behind me all clothed, spreading his legs with me in their cradle. The woodsy musk all over my hair, caressing and pulling. Saying the most repulsive and throbbing bullets in my ear. A deep breath and he laughs at the smoke floating high to the ceiling, "oh I should have brought the green with me. You like incense?"

Just like him to distract the world from everything. Felt a need to distance myself away for a shattered moment—

Just needing to gaze into the lights, make me go blind!

All he wants to do is to erase my memory of his suffering, dying on his own sweating carpet. Then howling, breaking anything near his grasp as a mountain bear wrapped cotton around my shoulders, apologizing for everything and trying to stop his so-called sweetheart from lashing out at me again—

Only obeying his orders. Black to my collarbone like a choking scarf. The lace is home to strong tan joints; pink at my tip. Stop.

Stop. Stop.

An attack within my neck suddenly drives me wild with a disturbing emotion. I dare not figure out what happened below. Traveling up to the side of my tinged cheek with a whimper, "Give it to me."

I gasp when tan jabs straight down my belly, finding out a terrible secret—"Please give it to me."

Shuddering, my hand grabs at his, all the while pulsing, "then stop."

"… My queen." Letting me rotate my head to give a peck on quivering lips. "oh!"

I turned all round and sat on the cradle, coming close as possible; I want this to be over. Still exposed, this motherly bosom. But all he does is plant his ear to the source of our blood, just listening, breathing in meditation...

I do not understand.

In the din of false safety I wander to another time, another face. I recall the morning glory spilling into the café. Just stirring at my latte, swimming in mental allegory.
"Hello."
I remember catching myself smiling with no force, "Hello. How's class been treating you?"

The "freshman's" friend has a kindness that the alleged enemy leaning against my chest can never surpass.

He finally gazes up and into me, eyes shimmering like a pleading child, more.

Nearly fidgeting, more patient than before, before damp palms rest on my aching legs. I can't believe the reactions my body gives—I can't believe my arms wrapping themselves around broad shoulders, my forehead against his. As he smiles, bringing our lips closer, I see a strain of sadness that doesn't fail to affect me.

All he wants is immediate comfort, and I shouldn't be spoiling him.

"Mmmh.." Another go, and once again that begging, chilling voice in the back of my mind.. But it's broken.

I can't prolong this any longer. I take over—

"Wha—?! No!" Jamming the circuitry that is his disgustingly succulent mouth, going deep deep down as far as my weapon can go—"mmph!" I feel him freezing, shuddering and nearly collapsing had it not been for his stronger will. Hands wrench into my hips as he delivers his response as violently and passionately as he can. We have to take a breath polluted by ash before he gashes at my neck, "mine."

Let it be over! I hastened to try and remove his sweater, having my blind fingers under a shirt underneath. Against my will a wonderful domineering fantasy plagues my own immediate desires.

He doesn't like this one bit. For once, the boy jolts away—"off!" Deep red krovvy. Breathing abnormal looking frightened at nothing. Nothing, but me.

I didn't mean to. I looked down and saw a swelling on brown, hard only for me, "I'm sorry."

"Please get off." An angered whisper wanting to run into the abyss. Mouth cupped into a fist staring anywhere but my direction.

Standing once more, my turtleneck back in its place, I lean against the dresser and brace for impact… It never came.

He's hidden himself on the poor lit wall next to the exit, back arching, constricting, hiding his face in what seemed like a deep shame, breaking, "Why did you..? D… damn you, woman."

Slapping my curious hand away, he slithers back into the pitch, closing the door as gently as humanly possible.