The shadow’s hands do not merely hold; they anchor, sinking deep into the mattress like rusted iron into a seabed, pinning me to the mattress where reality and delusion blur. “Set me free, paranoia, and I’ll give you the world,” she whispered, her voice a cold slip of air against my neck, a promise laced with the sharp tang of a fever dream. Her fingers moved with an intimate, terrifying familiarity, tracing the shared obsessions we had tangled together into the twilight sheets, a geometry grounded in the profane and the unsaid.
My eyes bled with the strain of watching her, my pulse quickening to a frantic, erratic gallop. Still, her palms pooled around my chest, heavy and liquid, dripping a suffocating silence that felt like falling through an empty sky. She was an anchor clinging to the bed, dragging me down into the dark. Then came the rupture…the sudden, violent wake of her splatter erupting across my consciousness just as my mind tried to flee, desperately reaching for the sterile, structured dreams of academia and the pristine, distant memory of Miss Summa Cum Laude.
.
This is a lovely story. written with Cupid’s ink and spiced with metaphors and eroticism!
Thank you, Elke.