Page 6 of Come Out, Come Out

Ava lets out a long sigh but realizes she can’t tell another grown woman what to do. “Just take care of yourself. Promise me you’ll call me if something happens. You’ll always have somewhere to stay with me.”

“I promise.” Skye’s eyes fall to where their hands are connected. “It’ll be fine.”

When her roommate leaves, she relaxes back into the bed with a look of contentment on her face. I think she sees the opportunity that’s presented itself—relief from the pressure to always pretend.

I have a front-row seat for the show she puts on for her roommates. Before she opens the door, she takes a deep breath, draws her lips upward like some puppet being controlled by marionette strings, and rolls her shoulders back—as if strengthening her spine will better bear the weight of the burden she’s about to undertake. Her mask is a heavy one, the role demanding.

She’s alwaysfinearound them. There’s nothing to worry about, she tells them as she cuts herself behind closed doors to ease her suffering. Work is good. Classes are going well. She’s buried with work and always racing to meet deadlines, she can’t hang out.Sorry.Meanwhile, she’s drinking until she’s too tired to worry anymore and her lips and heart go numb.

They buy the act. Just like most shallow friendships of convenience, they never pry, because if they do, they’ll see that she’s rotting from within. Regardless, I’m falling for her. My heart belongs to a living ghost who has one foot on the other side of the veil at all times and is slowly creeping closer.My little wraith.

I often wondered if I was the one haunting her or if it was the other way around.

I see right through the facade. I’m eager to destroy the mask, get under her skin, and taste her brand of intoxication. I’ll make myself sick with it, I don’t care. I just want to be with her, to beseenby her.

March 13th, 2020 - One Month Later

Now that her roommates have moved out, I get to see so much more of her. And, god damn, is she tragically beautiful. I get my wish; the mask quickly falls away, the curtain closes, and the show’s over.

She lets herself be free, and in turn, she’s free with me. Without the pressure of judging her, she allows herself to stay up and sleep in as late as she wants to. She blares her music and dances around the house half-naked, and she spends more of her time creating, even when she’s not working for clients. I love it when she takes her laptop out on the porch with her morning coffee and just sits there designing for a few hours. It’s incredible to watch her take basic images you wouldn’t usually look twice at and create layers upon layers until she has something beautiful. I love it, but it also makes me miss my own art. It’d turned into something far darker than ever before after Becca died – all heavy black ink and eerie imagery – but I still loved the pieces I made, even got one tattooed on me. I stroke the lips and long tongue that drip down into the word “ART’ on my arm.

All the days aren’t like that, though. Sometimes, she wakes up and curses the fluttering of her lids, the air that fills her lungs, and the pulse of her regretfully pumping heart. On those days, she doesn’t get out of bed other than to go to the bathroom. It’s a relief when she even remembers to eat or drink water. Those days seem to go on forever as I fixate on the rise and fall of her chest, aching with the need to dry her tears and pull her closer until she’s absorbed into my own body and I can protect her from everything that has and will ever hurt her. But no matter how much I wish it were possible, I’m forced to sit there, helpless to care for her other than simply being there, which she’s still utterly oblivious to. Those days are almost,almost, as bad as when I was trapped here on my own.

But today is one of those lucky mornings where the haze has cleared and she isn’t numb yet. We slip into our own routine and I’m thoroughly enjoying it. When she gets out of bed after an hour of scrolling, she takes off the tiny bra and shorts she always sleeps in, revealing her creamy skin that’s flushed with proof of life. Her body is delicious with her heavy breasts, round stomach, pillowy arms, and lush thighs that I desperately want to feel pressing into the hardness of my own much narrower hips. Everything about her body is soft, the complete opposite of the barbed wire she keeps around her heart.

I spend the next thirty minutes watching the boiling shower water lick across her skin and redden her ass like I want to. Standing stark against the steam, she’s a soon-to-be fallen angel basking amongst the clouds.

Each day, I’m more determined to save her from the fall.

I peer through the flimsy shower curtain as she lathers up her hands and sweeps the slick soap across her arms, then her legs, and finally under her stomach. On a gasp, her eyes droop closed. I shift forward from where I sit on the bathroom counter, suddenly needing a better view. With each fleeting touch, her long lashes flutter against her cheeks as she becomes more and more sensitive. I watch with rapt attention, my gaze homing in on the moment her nipples pucker and her back slowly arches into the warm air. Her panting breaths mingle with the steam and I stick my tongue out in a failed attempt to catch them just to have the smallest taste of her. Her brow furrows and her eyes squeeze closed in pleasure as she pinches and tugs her nipples, moaning at the attention of her own expert hands. I nearly drool as I watch the water droplets drip from the dusky pink tips of her down-turned breasts. I follow their descent to the river that runs between the glistening lips of her cunt as she starts to rub and tease her clit. All I want is to drop to my knees and drink from her greedily like she’s the fountain of youth.

It’s a fucking glorious sight to behold, her pleasure. When her lust-filled gaze stares through the open curtain, I let myself fall into the fantasy that she knows I’m watching, that this is part of our little game.

“Yes, yes, yes. Oh god, right there. Yes.” The words are rushed and slurred as she pushes herself closer to an orgasm. Her intent brown eyes hold me captive and I can’t help but indulge myself by participating. I pull out my cock and stroke it slowly — grateful I can still feel my own touch, if nothing else. Her mouth falls open on a whimper and I imagine how it would feel to ram my cock past those pouty lips and into the warmth of her throat. I fist myself tighter, almost painfully, when I think about how those needy moans would feel vibrating around my throbbing cock. I fixate on her fingers when she pinches her clit. Her eyes squeeze shut and her jaw clenches as she comes, reminding me that my girl likes a little pain with her pleasure.

What I wouldn’t give to actually experience it.

Skye

March 13th, 2020 - The Same Day

I can still hardly believe that the landlord is letting me stay here even though he’s only getting a third of the rent since I’m here by myself. I contemplate his motives as I chug the rest of my beer and take a bump of coke off the edge of my house key. Maybe he knows he can’t rent out a haunted house – something he conveniently left out when he rented to us – but part of me suspects he has some cam set up in here so he can watch me and jerk it. Maybe he’s selling videos of me finger fucking myself to recoup his losses. Whatever. Let him. What the hell do I care?

All that matters to me was that I have a roof over my head and nobody bothers me. As fucked up as it is, it kind of turns me on thinking about the possibility of a cam watching me. Now I’m intrigued by the idea. My gaze flits around the bedroom, searching for some clue of it. I don’t see one.But I can still pretend, right?That quickie in the shower didn’t quite take the edge off and this is more fun than doing that project I’ve been putting off. I check my calendar and confirm I have a few more days before it’s due to the client, then take another bump.

I peel my oversized cropped sweatshirt over my head in a mock striptease. I run my fingers over my sheer lace bralette, my nipples harden under my fingertips immediately. I roll the straps off each shoulder and run my fingers over my bare breasts in a way that makes my back arch. I stare into the mirror like there’s someone standing behind it watching me. A shiver runs down my spine at how real the sensation feels. I turn around so the imaginary voyeur can see my fantastic ass as I inch my joggers down to reveal a black mesh thong. I bend over and slap my own ass so it sends a jiggle through both cheeks down my thighs. I always love the way it looks when other women do it.

Fuck.Women, everything about us is so hot.

My legs shake with need; I can barely stand it now. Crawling up onto the bed, I lean back on my forearms and rest my feet on the frame spreading my legs open so I’m entirely on display. I slip my fingers into my panties and pull them to the side. My pussy glistens in the reflection. I need to touch myself so badly that I altogether abandon the idea of watching myself in the mirror and fall back, using one hand to hold myself open as the other fingers play and pick up a rhythm that has me panting. In my mind, I can still see it all. A mysterious stranger that’s a million times hotter than my middle-aged landlord watching the feed of the camera that’s so conveniently placed in front of my bed. They fist their cock and tug it in heavy strokes as they watch me rock my hips to meet my fingers. I let my moans echo off the walls of this old, empty house suddenly wishing there was someone here to hear me, to put their hand over my mouth, to suffocate me ‘til I’m on the verge of passing out.

My left hand leaves my pussy and cups my mouth, muffling my cries. I press harder and upward, mostly covering my nose. My breath becomes shallower. It’s so fucking heady. My fingers pump faster, crashing desperately into my pussy as I chase my orgasm before I pass out.

I should probably be more concerned about the tightness in my chest or the fact that I feel like I’m levitating. But I’m not. The blow and beer chase those worries away before they fully form and all I feel is the pounding of my own heart. The steady bass that pumps through my speakers accompanies the sucking rasp of my failing breath in a symphony of chaos.I’m so close.

I crash back down to reality when I hear the door slam loudly downstairs.

My hand leaves my face, but the fingers inside me freeze right where they are. Hot fear courses through me like lava. The shock immediately clears my head of the cocktail of drugs and alcohol. The ghost has been dormant since my roommates moved out. Could it be turning on me now that they’re no longer here to torment? I really hope it’s the ghost and not some murderer. I sit in complete stillness for what feels like an eternity. Nothing else happens, but something feelsdifferent. It feels like someone is here with me, like the house is holding its breath just as much as I am.

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