I woke up today and next to me was last night’s demon. Clean cut claws tasting my skin, keratin daggers running along weary flesh, pockmarked by too many worries and too little time to worry about them.
‘…’ It tries to speak to me, but its words don’t match mine. Its warm breath replaces the needle prick touch of its hand on my neck. I turn away, pulling the covers up to my chin, and shut my eyes.
I want to dream away.
Dream it away.
Dream him away.
But the creak of my bed and the slow sinking of my body and the cool breeze between the sheets keeps me from rest; I’m awake. I’m awake.
He rips the covers off me. The mixture of the sudden cold and the feel of his chest on my back makes my body shiver. I lean against his warmth. Somehow he knows I’d rather burn than feel the cold, rather than feel numb.
‘You … won’t … it.’
Gradually the cluster of sounds from his lips begins to make sense.
(To be continued).