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It was just a dream. You groan desperately into your pillow when you realize you are in your room, in your own bed. Cold sweat runs down your spine as you try to force your memory to bring back the feel of her skin, the smell of her hair, and the taste of her lips. You are met with nothing. You open your eyes and stare at your white ceiling for a moment. With a huff, you hoist yourself up to a sitting position when you decide enough is enough and you need to go back to your real life. That's when you feel it. A delicious burn between your legs and a tingle right above your left hip. As you raise your pajama shirt a little, you see it. It looks like... a hickey. You definitely see a couple of teeth marks from a clear bite, and a frown makes its way to your forehead. If it was just a dream, how is that even possible? Not dwelling on it, you finally get up and slowly make your way to the kitchen. Every muscle and joint in your body protests with every step you take. You are not that young anymore, and judging by the tingling still present between your legs, you wore yourself down during the night. A sigh leaves your lips as you mindlessly pour two cups of coffee. Realization hits you halfway. It's been fifteen years, yet you still do this every single morning. You hate it. You hate her. Neither cup is touched. You just leave them there and walk to the bathroom to take a shower. As you look into your mirror, you watch the reflection it's showing. It's you, but much younger. You don't have any wrinkles yet; your blonde hair is shiny, long, and silky, flowing freely over your shoulders; you look really beautiful. And there is a figure hugging you from behind, but it's so blurry you can barely make out tan skin and dark wavy hair. You feel the heat surrounding you, though. Instinctively, you look back, but you are alone. Of course you are, just like you have been for over a decade. And when you look back into the mirror, it's only showing yourself the way you look now. Your hair has lost its shine as gray hairs are starting to take over your mane, your face is covered in wrinkles and sun and age spots, and your eyes look void of all emotion like they have been since... Then you notice it. There's a post-it stuck to the left upper corner of the mirror that you are positive wasn't there just a minute ago. You recognize her penmanship. 'I will love you forever.' With a scoff, you grab the piece of paper, furiously make a ball of it in your hand, and toss it into the bin. A scalding hot shower helps ease your mind, and you almost feel normal again. You know none of this is real. You know this is just a fidget of your imagination playing tricks on you. And you know you shouldn't let it happen, but a part of you enjoys it. A part of you keeps resisting letting her go. Back in the bedroom, on top of your pillow, lays her wedding ring. You had that thing pretty well stored along with all her other belongings and her photos. "Leave me alone!" You growl into the emptiness. "I hate you! I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!" You close your eyes again, pressing your palms hard against them as you try to remember. You are met with nothing yet again. You forgot her a long time ago. You forgot her face, her eyes, her body, the way her skin felt against yours, the way she made you smile, the way she touched you, the way she... You forgot her, but the way you are living is not a life, not without her. A huge part of you is missing without her. You feel like an automaton as you navigate one day after another, always doing the same things you did when she was still here. You may have forgotten her, but your muscle memory keeps making food for two, keeps making her room on the couch when you watch TV, and keeps placing clean towels for her on the bathroom rack... You really hate her. There is one thing you remember, though. You remember her voice. You remember the raspy sound of it as she talked sweet nothings into your ear. You remember the sound of her hearty laugh. You remember how she sang to you every night before sleeping and how it was the best sound ever. "Wake up." You still can hear her so clearly... "Wake up, honey." You hear her, but it sounds so far away. What is going on? "Baby, c'mon, wake up..." You are startled awake by the feeling of a bite on your neck. Only it wasn't just a feel; it was real. She is real. You are covered in cold sweat, and your breathing is ragged as you heave for air while all your other senses are still coming back to reality. She is pressed against you, and her warm skin feels delicious. She's covering your neck with feathery kisses and soft nibbles as her hands are running up your torso, finding refuge on your breasts. She is real. You don't even want to look, just in case she disappears like smoke between your fingers, but every sensation you are having right now feels too good to be just your imagination. You were never that creative. When her leg makes its way between yours and her upper thigh brushes deliciously against your core, you can't take it any longer. You turn your head, and there she is, smiling at you with that mischief shining in her eyes that made you fall in love in the first place. There she is, in all her naked glory and beauty, her tan skin, her silky dark, messy hair, and her face. A face you'd never forgive yourself for forgetting. Her beauty is out of this world. She is real. You wrap your arms around her and hide your face in the crook of her neck, breathing deeply and taking in her smell. It reminds you of roses, rainforests, and freshly cut grass. And it makes you feel safe. It was just a dream. A dream inside a dream, but a dream nonetheless.

Inception

mistressofthepuppets

Mistress Of The Puppets

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Inception

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