Unlike Any Other Lover (Part II)

Read Unlike Any Other Lover (Part I) here before you continue to the second, and final part, of this short story.

Part II

He wraps me in his arms, his legs fitting perfectly behind mine. He is both the lock and the key to my home; we are a match made in hell.

‘You won’t make it.’ His voice is strange and familiar at the same time, so close to my ear. It might as well be my own thoughts. My hands are trapped beneath his; unable to cover my ears even if I had the strength to no longer listen.

I’m beginning to wonder if he’s even the one speaking at all?

‘You can’t make it.’

His voice is clearer this time. Softer, almost feminine, like a kiss between old lovers. I flinch. In my mind, I trace the line his lips make from the base of my neck. The cold trail leading up to my earlobe forms an “S”. 

He bites down on stud-pierced flesh and a surprised yelp escapes me. A puff of hot air invades my eardrums as he chuckles. ‘Submit, it’ll be over soon,’ he says, his voice becoming smoother by the minute.

Why does he sound so familiar?

‘Surrender, it’s okay not to make it.’

And then it comes to me. This voice, so soft and warm in my ear, is mine. The me I want to reach for and push away all at once. 

His hand is in my hair now. I want to move away, wriggle free, inch over to the corner of the bed and fall out of his grasp but… there’s something so comforting about his touch. Is it really okay to give up?

He gently pulls on my exposed shoulder, coaxing me to face him and I comply.

‘You don’t need to hurt anymore,’ he says, staring me down with brown eyes. The spitting image of mine. I know this, so why can’t I look away? Why do they look so beautiful etched into his face? My voice so much more compelling from his lips?

I open my mouth, but only air is released. Instead, I’m filled with his tongue. Muscle tasting the words I cannot say, devouring them and I’m left blank. We mould and become an awkward mess of spittle and flesh. Hot and wet like the tears forming around my eyes as my back arches unwillingly. 

He pulls away. Smiles. He dismisses the tears with a kiss like a Mother would.

‘It’s okay to stop. You tried,’ he continues. At least his voice does; I can hear him speak but his mouth has stopped moving. 

I shut my eyes again and realise he’s inside me. He is me now. 

I search for the demon that once laid next to me in the recesses of my mind.

He is waiting for me.

‘Let’s end this now,’ he suggests, and for once I undoubtedly agree.




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