Chapter 1: I'm dreaming

I'm dreaming about you holding me close at night.
I'm dreaming about your strong arms around my waist, your pale chest firmly pressed against my back and your blond head buried deep in my black hair.
I'm dreaming about you and me breathing to the same rhythm.
I'm dreaming about trying to stay awake so that I could feel your closeness with my every breath.

I'm dreaming about you waking up because you can sense that I'm not sleeping. I'm dreaming about you starting to kiss me, first slowly, still half asleep, then deeply and passionately. I'm dreaming about you making love to me – not fucking but making love! I can almost feel you inside of me even if it's only a dream. I can feel you gently stroking my side, and placing soft kisses just behind my ear. I can hear my name on your lips – half moan half pleading whisper – when you come.

I'm dreaming about you loving me just to wake up cold in the huge bed, shivering under the touch of the pale moonlight.

How I hate these dreams. I hate them because after a few moments in heaven it is pure agony to plunge back into the frozen reality of hell. My heart is still pounding wildly from the endless bliss of my dream, but is rapidly turning to stone in the loneliness of the silent room.

Bitter tears form behind my eyes, but I won't let them flow. No I won't. Not with you lying on the other side of the bed, under the same blankets as me. Not when I could easily touch you if I slightly stretched out my arm. No I won't cry. Ever. Except I do.

First it's just one teardrop. Then another. And soon I don't count them anymore. I have to press my face into the pillow to muffle the loud sobs that I can't hold back any longer. It is as if icy fingers were squeezing my heart, sending chills through my entire body, making me shudder violently.

I feel a cold hand on my shoulder and it takes me a while to realize it's yours. I must have woken you up. I slowly turn to look into your angelic face. How can hell disguise itself as heaven – I often wonder. But now concern is written on your beautiful features as you search my wet eyes for an answer.

'Only a dream.' I hear myself say silently. It's not even a lie.

Long moments pass like this, with our eyes locked together in a way our hearts never were, never will be. You slowly raise your pale hand to my cheek and wipe away a tear that has just started its journey towards the white pillow from the corner of my eye.

Your touch is gentle, so different from the impatient almost violent touches from a couple of hours ago when you were almost tearing me apart with your deep unyielding thrusts. I whish I could have both, but you regard it as beneath you to show affection. You think it's weakness. I don't dare to question it.

But the way you look at me now, I find something in your eyes I have never seen before. But it's so unlike you that I think I'm imagining it. I want to tell you how I feel, how this has become more than just shagging, but I don't want to break the magic of this unique moment. I'm a coward, I know.

But then you lean closer and touch your cold lips to mine. There is no passion, no urgent demanding. It's not even a kiss. But it means the world to me. Because I start to understand. In this soft closeness of your lips I feel all that you are trying to hide even from yourself. I want to look deep into your eyes again to make sure it's real, but you have already closed the blinds of your soul's window and shielded your emotions.

Before I can say or do anything you push yourself away from me and crawl back to your side of the bed, turning your back on me. I want to reach out and pull you back into my embrace to melt your cold façade, but I know I can't. Not yet. Someday. Maybe.