I keep having this dream where we?re in the middle of it.
The positioning isn?t always the same.
Sometimes I?m in your lap.
Sometimes you?re on top of me, eclipsing my body from the rest of the world.
Sometimes you?re holding me up, leaving my feet dangling and my arms wrapped around you so tightly.
But you?re always in control.
That doesn?t change.
There are never any shackles, any hints of metal.
We?re always in your world of wood.
Your head lowers as you push into me.
I suck in needy, gasping breaths.
It?s the same song and dance that everyone has hummed and swayed to before.
But it feels like something different when it?s us.
From the inside, looking out.
All I can see are stars carved carefully into the ceiling, reflecting off the window pane, shimmering from the sweat dotting your forehead.
I want to tell you the sweetest things.
The words bubble on my tongue, babblings that have been a long time coming.
But with a simple scrape of your teeth against my collarbone they all fade away.
I go back to screeching your name and whining like you?re cutting me open from the inside.
And, in a way, you are.
You?ve always been a weapon disguised as a man and nothing less.
I can tell that you?re close now.
You?re holding me so tightly that it hurts.
In a usual move of mine, I bow my head and sink my unextraordinary teeth into your shoulder.
You begin your typical ritual of groaning four letter words into my skin.
I cry, count the Fs...
And then you bite down.
You did this once before, but it was back when magic had cut you down to a mere human.
Does that word even mean anything?
The sensation of blood cascading down my bare breast is something new.
The gentle movements of your hips have ceased, and the pain inflicted by your jaw finally sets in.
It?s not sharp like I expect it to be.
Each and every one of your teeth is pointed and razor like, but the pain is unexplainably dull.
It?s the closest thing to pleasant that pain can be.
I coo your name and feel the fog of anemia flood into my mind as all the blood rushes out of me.
You should have patched me up by now, applied your immortal blood to the mess of puncture wounds that adorn my throat.
But you don?t.
Suddenly I get the feeling that you won?t.
The fear of death sets in then, closer and realer than it has been in years.
There?s not enough energy left in me to fight you, though.
I?m still, nestled in your lap.
Lying beneath you.
Pinned against that wall.
And I die.
I wake up in bed soon enough.
Heavy lids rise.
A hand comes up to linger at the base of my neck.
There?s no ache in my bones, no imagined soreness beneath my skin.
I feel fine.
Well rested, even.
I don?t decide to stay awake and reflect on the most unusual of nightmares.
Instead I curl around your neighboring form and will myself to sleep.
It doesn?t take long.
There are far worse ways to die, after all.
If only I could be so lucky.