It’s repeating, with more detail every time. Illumination from a barely open door doesn’t show me enough but to know my setting. Light glinting barely off the brass finish lamp on the side table. If I were to look at the stiff blanket, I would see that ubiquitous floral pattern that no-one has in their home but welcomes travellers into every hired lodging.
Holy hell. I can’t think straight now. Sex-drenched musky thoughts, dreaming of fingertips, teeth, and that damned hotel room. Waking to something worse, deeper. This is my bed, but I can’t lie in it. It’s empty. Trying to fall back into sleep was not working and oh terrible, as I write this the alarm just went off. I can’t stop my fingers from turning into claws, I can’t stop my involuntary curl into myself. Pulse. There’s a knot in my belly, a tender pain above my knees. Hell is made of wanting. Pooling like water, I wake when I get to the interesting parts. Desire freezing into the most painful hot fire. Perfect little dreams, the sort that seem to kill me. I’m not used to it. This is new. Open my eyes to pad barefoot and naked into the day. Insanity, these feelings. Does everyone get this? I can still feel you, in spite of the distance. Hands caught in my tangled hair even so far away. There’s cruelty here, of the most poignant sort. Poise an inch above me, waiting until I beg. I can see it. Yeah, you’ve got that soul. Don’t think for a minute I can’t do it too. Wait until I wake up, I’ll play right back.