I kissed his lips; he looked so beautiful. Pale and perfect, the weight of the world had been lifted from his face. He was immortal. His eyes, even though the light had long left them, were still shining a matte reflection of mine. Nothing could degrade his beauty now – he was frozen forever in his most perfect moments – and he was all mine. Wrapping my arms around his lifeless form, I felt electricity at the touch of his cold skin. I am at the happiest man alive. I lean in to kiss him again, but when I open my eyes, I am disgusted. My hands age at an incredible pace, I see the skin on my arms shrivel and tighten around my tendons. Abrasions on my skin form and rot. I grab my face, but it feels like its melting off my bones. I scream out in agony, but no sound comes out. All I see is his face, his perfect face, cruelly smiling back at me. I'm dying; I'm dying and no one can save me!
I jolt forwards. A cold sweat covers my body. I'm panting. Good, it was just a dream. I look to my right and see him. His sleeping face is so cute. He loves me. So I can never tell him about that dream. It would cause another pointless argument. My boyfriend is 15 years younger than me. At first, I thought it was funny. Seeing a 15 year old try to act like an adult around you and getting frustrated if you treated him in the slightest like the child he still was. I thought it was a cute little crush. Little did I know that crush would become my life. At 19 it's different. He's living with me now, we get along fine, and I don't want to lose him. But we both know that in 5 years the age difference will start to show. At 10 years it will be an even bigger problem. I don't want him to leave me, I finally found someone I love, but I also don't want to trap him.
These dreams are a personification of my fears, I know that, but I also know if I try to talk about it with him, he'll write it off as irrelevant. He'll say that since we both love each other, nothing else matters. I don't want to upset him, I want him to remain that optimistic kid that always sees the best in me, so maybe I'll blindly live in the present and believe in him. It's all I can do.
At work, I catch myself zoning out and thinking about the dream. I don't feel to great. I keep seeing his ageless face. Am I killing him? Or is he killing me? I don't know. I make small talk with my coworkers to stay distracted. They all keep commenting on it saying I never talk this much and that they're glad I'm being friendly. I usually only talk to my boss and the person at the desk next to mine. They're kind of an eccentric person, so I guess that's why they were the only one to try and be my friend even though I send out a very obvious "don't talk to me" vibe.
On the train ride home, I ended up sandwiched between a young couple and a family of 5. It's no that I hate people, I just feel uneasy around happy families. It's not natural to me. At my stop I abruptly stand up and walk out, glad to be out of there. The metro entrance is at the top of this huge hill. It's annoying to walk up in in the mornings, but luckily for me it's a down hill walk home. A woman pushing a stroller is in front of me. I don't want to be rude so I try to walk around her discreetly. As I pass her I hear her cry out in surprise. Her hand slipped and the stroller races out of control down the hill. Shit! I try to run to catch it, but a group of high school students have already saved it. Frozen in my stance, his dead face flashes in my memory again. Why? Why did that happen? I walk faster down the hill. I need to get home.
At home, I can't calm down. The silence is crushing me. It rings loudly in my ears. I sit down, turn on the TV, and try to relax. Everything seems like the wrong channel. I'm breathing heavily. I can't help but feel like it's my fault. It's not so flawed to think that, right? It's possible. Everything I touch ends up dying. I can never keep a fish or plant alive for more than a month. I always kill bugs outside or inside. I'm a little obsessed with killing germs. I drink so much for my size that I've probably killed all my gut bacteria. Oh wait, how long have we been living together, three weeks? How many weeks are in a month? If he were a plant I'd have killed him by now. Am I killing him? Killing him in ways that we both don't see?
The door slams open. It seems like the loudest thing I've ever heard. He comes in like nothing is wrong, greets me, and puts his bag down on the counter (even though he knows I hate it). He starts talking about something trivial, but my ears cant make sense of it. My mind is elsewhere. Then he notices me and he asks me what's wrong. I give a vague, non-committal answer. When he touches my shoulder I cringe away. Don't touch me, I'll kill you. I get up; he follows me. He's getting frustrated with me. I know he wants me to talk out my problems, but I can't tell him this. He eyes look more pleading than angry. I lock myself in my room and the evening goes on in silence. A little afraid to sleep again, I try to think happy thoughts as I fall asleep. I have the same dream, only when I pull out of the kiss I realize I've always been rotting. My flesh melts away and I am nothing but bone. I am death itself. I haven't killed him, but freed him of his earthly form. We can spend eternity together as two ageless souls.
Opening the bedroom door, I silently walk to the couch where he's sleeping. His face is so beautiful in the dim lighting. I reach out my cold arms and embrace him. He starts to wake up. Locking eyes for a moment, I hold his head in my hands. I don't care if our relationship has no future. I don't care if I'm robing him of his youth. I will suck the life out of him until we both whither away. I lean my head toward his and meet his lips. That's right, kiss me. Hold me tightly as I drain you of your soul in this kiss, the kiss of death.