I held her tightly. Her skin, pale and soft. Beauty in its porous pattern glistening in the night air. I look into her wide eyes and feel her hip in my hand. I know she loves this time in the evening when the still silence overwhelms the ears and rings out like some cruel inter-molecular prank inside us. The comfort of the droning soft music plays, keeping us safe from the horrid drone. I tear my focus from my ears and look upon her beautiful, naked body. So curved and defined with every single imperfection shining like a tiny light in her bodily universe. What a woman she is. I'll wake her in the morning, tell her everything we did, and make her feel accepted. She wont be an outcast for any of this. I wont allow that. My arm passed over a cold spot and i jumped. I told her "Oh my, you better cover up or you'll catch a cold, love!" While i ran my fingers through her unkempt hair. It fell so gently, so perfectly between my fingers. she said nothing. I knew just what it meant and why she didn't speak. "its ok dearest, just enjoy the night" i whisper in her ear. then something that i find hard to write about happened. she looked up at me and her muscles moved to form the words "I will."
I dont like this. I dont like when she talks. I dont like when she moves. I dont like what she craves. She's a monster that i cant escape. Every night her breathless chest lays there. It calls for me to give myself to it, and those eyes so wide now twitch and focus on me, they actually glow sometimes. She's been more and more aggressive lately. Every time i see her she grins at me as if to tell me that she knows she knows something is wrong with me. What is she? my secretary? My therapist? No one more important than I, I'm sure. So why choose me to torture this way? I thought corpses stayed still and decayed. Why does she move? Why isn't she covered in maggots? What the fuck is keeping her active!?
