First post, first ficlet...
You wake up with a scream in your throat. Luckily, it doesn’t pass through your lips. You can feel the sweat dampening your forehead, your shirt, even the sheets. You’re sticky, hot and cold, your heart beats too fast and your body feels too heavy.
You try and relax. Very slowly, so you don’t wake him up, you turn on your side and watch him sleep. His mouth hangs slightly open, but he doesn’t snore. You think it’s a bit ridiculous, he looks like a dead fish, but you don’t tell him that. If he were to ask, you’d tell him he’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever seen, and that would be a lie.
Because it’s a summer night, you left the window open before you went to bed, but the temperature dropped a few degrees and there’s a faint breeze now that makes you shiver. Soon, you’re covered with goosebumps. You try not to care and pretend you’re not cold. Not like it matters anyway.
His skin is perfect: no scars, no imperfections, no goosebumps either. You like that he is so oblivious to the cold air, that he is so untouched, so… unspoiled. Like a child. You envy him a little. For a moment, your heart clenches painfully.
In your mind, you picture yourself leaning in and licking every inch of his chest, kissing him passionately. You can almost hear whimpers, almost feel short, shallow breaths on your neck as you ride him and sink your teeth in his skin while you come.
For a moment, you consider waking him and doing just that. Of course, you don’t. It only lasted a few seconds anyway.
Instead, you try to remember the last time you had sex, and can’t. You wonder why you’re not more upset about that. You used to love sex, to crave it… didn’t you? You’re not so sure anymore.
You feel a bit melancholic, but it’s only because you can’t bring yourself to be really sad, and that bothers you. You’re pretty sure you’re supposed to. You’re pretty sure you’re supposed to feel something, anything else than this numbness…
If you didn’t know better, you’d think you were on some drugs or antidepressants making you high and disconnected. What’s disturbing is that you’re not, but you still feel like you’re floating, not really anchored to your body.
You guess it’s because of the depression, and ponder the irony of that. If you could, maybe you would giggle. Your life is so fucked up. You’re glad you can’t laugh anymore, because you have a suspicion it would come out as a sob.
He mumbles something incoherent in his sleep and you strain your ears to make sense of what he’s saying. As usual, you can’t understand a single word and it makes you frustrated and slightly angry. You have a feeling that he’s holding a great secret from you, and that if only you knew what he’s dreaming about, maybe you too would sleep so peacefully. But he won’t tell.
You look at him, and suddenly you’re kind of pissed off at him. You try to get other words out of him, and when that doesn’t work, you shake him and try to catch his first thoughts before he regains complete consciousness. As usual, this doesn’t work either and you boil inside.
He turns sleepy eyes on you, his expression confused. You smile at him and tell him he spoke again. He’s a little embarrassed, but he grins at you sheepishly and you laugh it off. You kiss him lightly on the cheek, run a hand in his hair, and lull him to sleep again. It barely takes more than a few seconds.
There you are, alone again. You sigh. You’re still feeling restless, but the rage is fading away quickly. It wasn’t important anyway. Maybe you should try to sleep.
You rest your head on his shoulder and snuggle up close to him. His arms close around you and you don’t know if you’re grateful or annoyed. Probably a little of both.
You can feel his breath, warm and moist against your skin, and very fast you can’t focus on anything else. You would like to get away, protect yourself under the cover, because it feels like it’s scraping layers of skin away. You want to shift, but you don’t want to wake him. Not again. You try to think of something else.
Finally, you can’t take it anymore and you disengage yourself altogether. To your surprise, you’re still disappointed at the loss of contact. You settle on your back again and look at the ceiling. It occurs to you that it is a cliché and you wonder what others find so interesting in ceilings, because for the life of you, you can’t find anything. And yet, you really spent some time looking.
You close your eyes and still hear his breathing. Maybe, if you’re lucky, you’ll fall asleep soon. Maybe you won’t even dream this time. And maybe, if you’re really lucky, you won’t wake up.
You try and relax. Very slowly, so you don’t wake him up, you turn on your side and watch him sleep. His mouth hangs slightly open, but he doesn’t snore. You think it’s a bit ridiculous, he looks like a dead fish, but you don’t tell him that. If he were to ask, you’d tell him he’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever seen, and that would be a lie.
Because it’s a summer night, you left the window open before you went to bed, but the temperature dropped a few degrees and there’s a faint breeze now that makes you shiver. Soon, you’re covered with goosebumps. You try not to care and pretend you’re not cold. Not like it matters anyway.
His skin is perfect: no scars, no imperfections, no goosebumps either. You like that he is so oblivious to the cold air, that he is so untouched, so… unspoiled. Like a child. You envy him a little. For a moment, your heart clenches painfully.
In your mind, you picture yourself leaning in and licking every inch of his chest, kissing him passionately. You can almost hear whimpers, almost feel short, shallow breaths on your neck as you ride him and sink your teeth in his skin while you come.
For a moment, you consider waking him and doing just that. Of course, you don’t. It only lasted a few seconds anyway.
Instead, you try to remember the last time you had sex, and can’t. You wonder why you’re not more upset about that. You used to love sex, to crave it… didn’t you? You’re not so sure anymore.
You feel a bit melancholic, but it’s only because you can’t bring yourself to be really sad, and that bothers you. You’re pretty sure you’re supposed to. You’re pretty sure you’re supposed to feel something, anything else than this numbness…
If you didn’t know better, you’d think you were on some drugs or antidepressants making you high and disconnected. What’s disturbing is that you’re not, but you still feel like you’re floating, not really anchored to your body.
You guess it’s because of the depression, and ponder the irony of that. If you could, maybe you would giggle. Your life is so fucked up. You’re glad you can’t laugh anymore, because you have a suspicion it would come out as a sob.
He mumbles something incoherent in his sleep and you strain your ears to make sense of what he’s saying. As usual, you can’t understand a single word and it makes you frustrated and slightly angry. You have a feeling that he’s holding a great secret from you, and that if only you knew what he’s dreaming about, maybe you too would sleep so peacefully. But he won’t tell.
You look at him, and suddenly you’re kind of pissed off at him. You try to get other words out of him, and when that doesn’t work, you shake him and try to catch his first thoughts before he regains complete consciousness. As usual, this doesn’t work either and you boil inside.
He turns sleepy eyes on you, his expression confused. You smile at him and tell him he spoke again. He’s a little embarrassed, but he grins at you sheepishly and you laugh it off. You kiss him lightly on the cheek, run a hand in his hair, and lull him to sleep again. It barely takes more than a few seconds.
There you are, alone again. You sigh. You’re still feeling restless, but the rage is fading away quickly. It wasn’t important anyway. Maybe you should try to sleep.
You rest your head on his shoulder and snuggle up close to him. His arms close around you and you don’t know if you’re grateful or annoyed. Probably a little of both.
You can feel his breath, warm and moist against your skin, and very fast you can’t focus on anything else. You would like to get away, protect yourself under the cover, because it feels like it’s scraping layers of skin away. You want to shift, but you don’t want to wake him. Not again. You try to think of something else.
Finally, you can’t take it anymore and you disengage yourself altogether. To your surprise, you’re still disappointed at the loss of contact. You settle on your back again and look at the ceiling. It occurs to you that it is a cliché and you wonder what others find so interesting in ceilings, because for the life of you, you can’t find anything. And yet, you really spent some time looking.
You close your eyes and still hear his breathing. Maybe, if you’re lucky, you’ll fall asleep soon. Maybe you won’t even dream this time. And maybe, if you’re really lucky, you won’t wake up.