FicWad

False Dream

The darkness comes again, the night I should really say. It always creeps so craftily up on me as I sit and stare listlessly out the window, watching the gloomy sky shed it tears again.


I see my reflection in the windowpane, haunting and ghastly.



The figure there is so unfamilar. I can't help but wonder, is that really me? I don't feel like that on the inside, the person looking back at me looks so uneffected. Those green eyes, still and silent, hold no emotion. Is that how I am on the inside? Could it really be that I am that empty?


The door clicks, once, then twice to close. I need not turn to look. I know who comes from that door every night, just from the scent of beer and cigarettes. It seems he's come home earlier than usual tonight. Must have not been able to find himself a woman.

Footsteps...approaching, closer and closer. A pause as they stop, a moment of hesitation, a buzzing in the air as everything waits. The sound of clothing shifting as arms find there way around me. Hot breath tickles my ear, reeking with an overwhelming stench of alcohol.

I feel myself being lifted, carried, the clunk of his boots, his uneven breaths. I close my eyes and remain limp, with no will to resist. Soon the clunking stops and I feel sheets beneath my back as he lies me down. It's amazing how gentle he is sometimes when he's really drunk, somehow it seems so unlike him.

Now I hear the sounds of his shirt dropping in one smooth motion to the floor, the sliding of cloth of which we've both become so accustomed to. And this is it.

I'll let him have his way with me, as he finishes removing his clothes and starts on my shirt, I'll let him have his way just like all the times before.

I feel him now, looming over me, his lips pressed to the skin of my neck. With each caress I know this is wrong, even as I moan and tilt my head back, I know it's all so empty.

Can't you see how false this lie is?

Even as I begin to moan his name.

Can't you see he's just using me?

Sweat trickles down his back, I can feel it beneath my fingers as I claw at him. Why does he insist on teasing me? Running his hands over my body, biting into my skin. Everything inside of me is burning up, and yet my heart's so entirely cold. With each stroke I come closer and closer to the end, till I'm wreathing and begging beneath him. That's when he turns me over and takes me....and all I can think of is him, inside if me, his heartbeat pounding so loudly, and our moans as we climax.

As he finishes and rolls over onto the bed, I know he's passed out. In the morning he won't remember the night we shared. It's just me left with this bittersweet memory.

I turn and stare at his slumbering face, placing my hand gently on his scars. I can feel the horrible raging emptiness inside me begin to devour me once again, and I lose another little bit of myself.

He will never know how much I secretly care for him. He won't ever care the same way back. The truth is, the reality of the situation, that he only fucks me when he's too drunk to tell who I am.


I stand up, my skin sweaty, my body and sheets covered in the evidence of this sin. Mechanically, I began to clean it all up. He must not know in the morning...I don't want him to know how weak I am against him.

And yet, I could have stopped him if I wanted to, I could have pushed him away, but I....I didn't. I was weak to his touch, even if it meant nothing at all. Even though each second dug a new scar inside of me, I never wanted it to stop.

I don't want him to see this horrible side of me. I take advantage of his drunkness, I allow this behavior to continue even though I'm completely capable of stopping it. I don't want him to know how disgusting I've become.

I guess I get my just reward as each day a bit more of me fades away, washed away by the rain I let pour inside of me as I hope desperately for this false dream to never end.