Page 5 of Light As A Feather
It’s an easy drive, just a few hours away. If I leave in two hours, I could make it there before sunrise. That’s enough time to get some sleep and recharge a little after my episode.
As I settle into the uncomfortable mattress, Ivan’s heavy presence pointedly invades my personal space. No matter how hard I focus on keeping my eyes closed and clearing my mind, he’s there, slowly suffocating me like a breath that desperately needs to be loosed.
I should be used to it, the crushing weight of him, but it’s not something that will ever feel natural. His expectancy closes in on me.
“Are you finally willing to accept it?”
“Accept what?” I hiss, not bothering to open my eyes, not needing to because he’s always there.
“That you’re mine.” He inhales deeply as his spectral hand caresses my hair. In moments like these, I yearn for the boundary the veil used to provide. “That there’s no escaping it.”
The cruel reminder breeds a million curses, but none of them make it out of my mind because we both know he’s right. We both also know that there’s no sense in fighting it…that I won’t anymore. “Yes.”
“Say it again, Little Dove.” His satisfaction crawls over my skin like ants in search of sweetness. He’ll find none here. All I have is bitterness and resentment, my acceptance tainted for him with the hatred he’s bred within me.
I refuse his request in protest. Tightening my lips along with every muscle in my body. Tension boils within me, threatening to split my skin in two. I nearly shake with the effort it takes to remain silent, my need to lash out, and my stubbornness at war.
His laugh is a spiteful thing that burrows into my skin like shards of glass. “Sweet dreams, Little Dove.”
I want to rage, I want to escape this prison of a body, I want to destroy myself and him, but I just lie there. There is no escaping any of this. My only reprieve is in my sleep.
With relentless concentration, I force my mind to only think of one thing until I finally slip into the last safe space I have left, my dreams.
Here I find Hawthorne, his bare chest rising and falling as he sleeps soundly in the sea of hunter green sheets. Slowly, I crawl onto the bed, my knees sinking into the soft mattress that’s just as luxuriously comfortable as I remember. Tugging the blankets down, I straddle him.
His eyes drift open, pupils dilating as his gaze sweeps over my naked body, as his hands slide up my hips. Intuitively, he lifts his hips as I grab his dick and line it up with my center. Hestretches me as I take him inside me, inch by glorious inch. Even in my dreams, he fills me deliciously. Delirious with desire and pleasure, I waste no time, rolling my body forward and greedily riding him. All that matters is fucking my reality away.
As I find my rhythm, his hands cup each ass cheek, spreading me wider while aiding my efforts. My mouth never leaves his as he swallows each gasp and moan.
What I wouldn’t give for this to be where I end up when I die. I’ve never been more alive than when he’s inside me. It’s been years, and this is a meager echo of the real thing—but still, it’s the only joy I’ve felt in so long. I yearn for more of it.
Grabbing his left wrist, I direct his hands between my thighs to play with my clit. He fulfills my request eagerly, my legs shaking and my breathing coming in short pants. Tugging his lip between my teeth—a pathetic attempt to take a piece of him with me—I clench and come around his perfect dick, my pussy spasming and holding on for dear life even as the dream fades away and the chill of my isolated existence creeps back in.
Alone in my bed, I lie still as the last few sparks of pleasure melt into a distant memory. The digital clock beside my bed blinks mockingly. Ten till two.
After doing my best to tidy up and collecting the few belongings I bothered to bring in from the car, I turn in my keys at the front desk.
“Checking out early?” The attendant questions curiously.
“Yeah. You know what they say, early bird gets the worm.”
She looks down at her watch. “Are you an owl or something?” she jokes, and I almost laugh at the cheesy innocence of it.
“Sunrise at McWay Falls is always worth the lack of sleep.” Usually, I would be much more careful with sharing any information about my travel plans, but I’m more focused on not outwardly cringing as I say the words in the fake, friendly tone my voice takes on when I perform for strangers. It’s loathsomehow easily the mask slips back on despite how hard I’ve worked to distance myself from it. I know I should be grateful for my ability to summon it back when I need it, but I find it difficult to do so.
She shakes her head at me, completely oblivious to my inner turmoil. “I’ll take your word for it.”
“Have a good night,” I say over my shoulder as I make a beeline for the exit, hoping to avoid more small talk.
Behind the wheel, a sense of peace settles over my weary bones with each mile marker I pass. Haunting one of the places I love most is as good of a compromise as it’s going to get.
Equipped with my standard spirit suppression gear, I start down the trail that leads to Sol’s favorite viewpoint of the falls. With dirt beneath my feet, the saltwater scent of the ocean breeze around me, I should feel grounded, but instead, I’m impatient and eager. Unease swims within me, so close to what I covet, but she still feels so out of reach, like a figment of my imagination; it’s been so long since I’ve laid eyes on her.
The gloomy dusk of early morning cloaks the path, only allowing for visibility about twenty feet ahead. I start to worry that I might be the only one here, but then I catch a flash of green through the haze. Staggering to a halt, I’m in awe of her. She’s an October morning wrapped in fog and all her mysteries as she stands there looking out at the water like a specter with her black clothes whipping around her. Her mere presence bewitches me.
“Sol,” I call out, unable to stop myself from deviating from the plan.
Her head snaps toward me, her eyes piercing through me like an arrow in a bullseye. To call it recognition would be too certain for such a brief moment. Her neutrality melts into pure, unmistakable panic.
