“Shit,” she curses, her voice low and tight.
And I start to grow wet, just like that, my nipples stiffening against the padded insides of my bra. My right hand drops from her neck, and she automatically lifts her left, joining our fingers, the sides of our faces still pressed close. Her breathing speeds up, as does mine. She’s tracing the lines of the four thin strips of colourful beads with her right hand, like she can’t help it.
My throat and waist have never felt so sensitive, breaking out in goose pimples with each quick, tiny exhale—each hungry, exploring stroke. I feel like a landmine—thirteen years of need, buried and ignored, ready to detonate at the slightest pressure.
Maybe, if I believe hard enough, if I cling onto this moment—ontoher—hard enough, tomorrow might never come.
Maybe, just for this, just for now, I can pretend feverishly that it won’t.
Our hands are squeezing tight, the joints protesting, bones creaking. Neither of us stops or breaks the connection, the pain par for the course. I want to claw my way underneath her skin—I want us so entangled no one will ever be able to extricate me from the tapestry of her.
“F-Fuck.” Her voice is deep and low. Her hand spasms on my waist, like she’s fighting the urge to shove it further down the back of my skirt—low enough to grab my ass. Or perhaps she’s struggling not to rip the beads right off my hips.
I’m soaking my panties, thinking,oh God, oh please—
Her head turns slightly, her cheek softly caressing mine.
The words are on the tip of my tongue, my lips tingling at even the barestthoughtof a kiss.
I start to turn my head, and I’m suddenly holding onto thin air, blinking with confusion to find Genevieve across the room, in the shadows of the foyer. Her eyes look entirely black from sclera to pupil, her hands flexing by her sides. Her fingers are thinner and abnormally long, her nails sharper, curved wickedly like talons.
I blink again and she’s back to normal. A trick of the light, perhaps.
She doesn’t say a word. Just turns and disappears into the darkness of the stairs, leaving me standing there alone until our song comes to its bittersweet end.
I’m hunched over in an unfamiliar hallway.
I’d been running, but stopped to catch my breath. My chest hurts from the exertion, and I’m drenched in sweat, one hand pressed to my smarting ribs. I don’t know what I’m running from; I just know whatever it is has me horribly afraid.
Don’t, my subconscious begs.Don’t turn around.
This is a dream, my conscious whispers.It’s only a dream. You’re safe.
Turn.
You need to know
You need to see.
I turn.
At first, I can barely make out anything in the distance. I’m not wearing my glasses, and the only source of light is in the spot I’m standing in. The hallway stretches on until its swallowed by the darkness, no doors or windows in sight.
My eyes finally adjust.
My blood freezes over with terror.
About twenty feet from me, peeking just out of the pitch black; its form resembles a person, but it’s on all fours, its limbs dramatically elongated with what seem to be extra joints, all pointing in different directions. Its back is a perfect arch, brushing against the eight-foot tall ceiling, covered in a mess of wild, dark hair. Its dark grey skin gleams unnaturally, like it’s been polished.
Those humanoid eyes are entirely black, sucking in all the light like a black hole. They look strangely familiar.
Its mouth opens, revealing a row of sharp teeth, and lets out a hair-raising sound, like a combination of a screeching cat, a growling dog, and a woman screaming with pain and fear.
Genevieve’s voice, filled with a sick sort of excitement, sounds directly in my right ear.
“Run.”
I turn and run. The dim light in my patch of the hallway follows me. My legs pump hard and my lungs strain, but I never make it into the darkness swallowing the rest of the corridor. It makes me feel like a hamster on a wheel, stuck on the same spot no matter how fast I run.
