February 20th, 1985.
14
Papa has been giving me strange, small tablets this past week. They taste bitter, but he doesn't leave until I take them all. They give me odd dreams. Ones where I float, or fly, or do unspeakable things.
Tonight, I am in a clean, pink room. I look at myself in a white mirror. I am pretty, I realize. My blonde hair and curves look nice in this dream. But I am clothed in only a smooth white, thin-strapped dress that does nothing to cover my peaked nipples or the outline of my stomach.
I sit on the floor, trying to relax. This is a nice room, this is a nice dream.
The door opens and I look up. Mike walks in the room and I scramble to my feet, facing him. I suck in a breath. He is not dressed. I shut my eyes tight. Looking at him does funny things to my stomach.
"Elle." He whispers into my ear, sending goosebumps down my back.
"Mike." I reply, feeling warmth spreading through my body in the coldest way.
"Let me touch you." He says. I lean back, eyes still shut. I feel the dress pull off my body and a strange wetness growing between my legs.
His hands trace down my breasts, leaving fire in their wake. I start to squirm, searching for traction.
"Shhh." He hushes me. A mouth fastens around my nipple and I jerk, a tight coil wrapping itself up in my abdomen.
"Mike." I whine. I need more.
His hand starts to drift between my legs and I let out an unnatural keen when he touches the right spot. There, there, there. I need him there.
His hand begins to move and I let out a moan. This horrid aching is somehow the best I've ever felt.
Then I wake up. Papa is standing outside of my room, a curious look on his face. I bury my face in the cot, ashamed and disgusted. That felt wrong-but my skin is burning and the gap between my legs feels unnaturally empty and sore. I cannot get back to sleep.
