It was just a dream.
Fucking dream. It felt real as hell. That sting, that penetration…
I push the duvet from over me and exhale, relaxing when I see my calf clean and no trace of blood on my body.
I look around, still breathing heavily, but much calmer when I notice that everything is where it’s supposed to be. Only the soft rays of the sun make their presence felt through the window in the room, surrounding the space in a diffuse, mysterious light.
I melt when I turn my gaze to Lucas and see him on his stomach, covered by the duvet just above his beautiful posterior. He is sleeping with a frown on his face I just want to remove and get into his arms. Last night, he was so supportive while we were reading together from Marshall’s journal, and I just want to thank him with a big, warm hug.
The dream I just had was probably because of those gloomy pages. The descriptions were so detailed, and they penetrated so far into my brain that my mind achieved in creating the most idiotic dream I’ve ever had, perfectly lined up with his notes and the bloody pictures.
I don’t even remember when I fell asleep, if I’m being honest. I remember shivering while reading. Lucas must have probably helped me get the sleep I desperately needed to face the monsters from all around us. They are getting way too many, and I don’t like that at all. Especially since I know they won’t be the only ones, and also because of whatever Cathal has planned for Lucas.
I look at the ring that is wrapped around my finger, at the big and bright stone, making me want to cut my whole finger. I know it’s a bit too extreme, so I won’t do that. But what I do is snatch it from my finger and put it on my bedside table.
I will handle it later.
I turn to Lucas when I feel him getting tense, and I see how he strangles the pillow in his fist and how he starts to sweat. I ask myself if he has the same kind of dream I had, considering the horrible reading from the other night. The darkest lecture from my life…
I discovered how to combine work with pleasure and get a satisfying feeling.
Seeing the blood flowing on their bodies is almost… adorable. I would love to feel it more every day. Maybe even with Anmara, but I do what I can with these gorgeous girls to release myself from the tension I was feeling when I couldn’t stab her, too.
Something just stopped me every single time.
Probably the image I wanted to keep to not end up imprisoned, and also the special air around her.
I want to continue my work. I want it to be the best version possible. The lost soul in front of me is proof that I need to try to make my love drug in a perfect final version, which will work long-term as I want.
My project needs to be a success. It has to be perfect.
Until then, I am content with the satisfying feeling that the image in front of my eyes gave me, and moan abundantly when my hand helps me finish next to the lifeless body.
I am frustrated that I don’t feel more than a grotesque pleasure, but Isettle for it.
I think that paragraph from the journal darkened my dreams. It was the one I stopped at. It made me freeze, and that short-circuited my brain.
A growl distracts me, and I look again at Lucas, who has a bigger frown on his forehead and his fist clenched tighter against the pillow.
This time, I put a hand on his fist, making him open his eyes. He exhales with ease when he meets my gaze. He loosens his grip and takes my hand into his.
“You slept as badly as I did. I can see it all over your face,” he says with a hoarse and extremely sexy voice that makes me gulp.
His eyes go for a second to the hand I am leaning on the bed with, and he raises an eyebrow at the same time as the corners of his lips lift, then he moves his gaze back to mine.
“So I was right," he says.
His lips touch mine like a beast in a hungry kiss. I answer without thinking, and he growls through my lips. He takes me into his arms and lets me lie on my back. He gets my hands and puts them on each side of my body, making me weasel out of the kiss, scared because of my recent dream.
I see in his emeralds a touch of confusion, which is soon replaced by understanding when he remembers the pages from the journal.
He releases my hands and puts his palms on my cheeks while looking deep into my eyes.
“You know that I would never hurt you, don’t you?”
“I know,” I answer him quickly and sincerely.
I’m feeling deep inside my body that he wouldn’t hurt me in that atrocious way, however much he darkened my heart in the past, and however many lives were lost through his hands. In these moments, knowing the drug that is circulating in the world too close to us, I have every right to be skeptical of everything.
