One-2
1826 Words
“I can’t clean myself. I need you to do it for it me.” I leave out the fact that I can’t clean myself because I’m her prisoner. My hopes are if she feels needed, she’ll eventually lower her guard and trust me.
She appears apprehensive.
“Please,” I add, needing this to work.
She looks over her shoulder at Jonathan, and I wonder why. But she eventually concedes. She repositions the sheet so it covers just enough, but all I would have to do is shift slightly and she’d see it all.
She commences cleaning down my chest and works her way to my stomach. I don’t work out, but thanks to running, I am lean yet muscled. Alanna’s gaze lingers on my body for far too long.
“Do it.” Luna’s voice permits me to commit what feels like a betrayal because I soon understand why Alanna looked over her shoulder—she doesn’t want Jonathan to see that she’s attracted to me.
A horrible thought suddenly turns my stomach.
The way Alanna dotes on the very-dead-as-a-doornail-Jonathan as if he were alive, I wonder if she does all the things they would do if he were alive. This entire thing just gets more f****d up by the second.
“Don’t be shy, Alanna. You’ve seen it all.”
She bites her bottom lip, clearly grappling with her morals. But in the end, the need for warm human skin wins out. She shifts the sheet, and when I’m exposed, her eyes widen. She likes what she sees.
At first, my sponge bath is purely professional, but professional isn’t going to get me the f**k out of here.
“Do I make you nervous?”
Alanna shakes her head, but she’s full of s**t.
“I think you’re lying,” I counter smoothly. “How long has it been since you’ve been f****d, Alanna?”
The sponge drops into my lap, and a gasp escapes her. “I don’t feel comfortable discussing that with you.”
“I think we passed the line of comfortable a few chapters ago. Tell me.”
When she reaches for the sponge, I quash down the urge to grip her throat and not let go, but grasp her wrist instead. Panic overcomes her as she tries to break free, but I make my intentions clear when I place her hand over my d**k.
“I think it’s been a very long time.” I relax my grip but don’t let her go. “A shame that. A beautiful woman like you has needs, needs which should be met.”
“Dutch, no—” But her plea is weak.
Forgive me, Luna…
With eyes locked, I encourage Alanna to wrap her fingers around my shaft. My hand is still on hers. I don’t move, however. If she wanted to break free, she could, but that’s not what she wants. She makes clear what she wants when she begins to slowly pump my c**k.
The fact that I hate Alanna more than I’ve ever hated anyone before leaves me with a limp d**k, and no matter what she does, I would never be aroused by her. I’d rather cut off my d**k and eat it. So I have to pretend she’s someone else, someone who gets me hard just by hearing her name.
I can’t close my eyes as Alanna will know I am visualizing someone other than her. To play music, I didn’t just feel the music, I saw it. It’s hard to explain, but I became an almost extension of the music. I was the notes. I was the melody. I was in everything I played.
So I decide to do the same with Alanna.
I focus on her face. The way her blonde hair flutters against her long neck as it catches the breeze from the fan. Her lips are a glossy pink. I see the hint of red beneath her fitted white shirt from the bra she wears.
I see Alanna and feel her touch in a way that feels good because I then think about Luna’s hands and mouth on me. How she always fit perfectly in my life and in my arms.
I remember the first time I was lost inside of her. Jesus, she felt like heaven. I would happily die a thousand deaths just to feel that again. The stench of lavender is soon replaced with keynotes of vanilla and strawberries—Luna’s unique fragrance.
And it’s also the way she tastes when we kiss and when I’m buried between her legs. The noises she made when she exploded on my tongue punch me in the guts, and I begin moving my hips because my c**k is rock hard.
Loving Luna isn’t voluntary. It’s ingrained in me. In this lifetime, you’re lucky if you meet one human being you connect with so deeply that without that person, you can barely breathe, but I met her, and I will never let her go.
I will do anything I must to find her, and if that means f*****g the antichrist, then send my soul to hell because I will do anything for the woman I love.
“Oh my god,” Alanna whimpers, her strokes gaining speed and confidence. “You’re so hard.”
Her comment cements what I know to be true—I’m hard in comparison to the corpse she’s f*****g.
But that horror is quickly replaced with Luna’s beautiful smile, her melodious laugh. Alanna’s face flickers in and out of picture, like an old TV finding a station, and with that comes the white noise.
It resonates loudly, so loudly that the repetitious pattern transforms into music…
I hear it.
I feel it.
I am one again.
I see Luna.
I feel her.
She is in every breath I take.
She is in every beat of my heart because it’s her heart too. It’s made up of her blood, her body. It’s because of her that I am alive. What we share stems so deep, deep enough that our connection is sealed with a bloodied kiss.
I see Luna, and I hear music…it’s all around me.
I am home.
“No, no…I can’t! I’m sorry.”
And just like that, the needle drags across the record and the music is replaced with reality.
Alanna leaps off the bed, wiping her hands on her skirt in disgust. If I cared, I would be offended she appears to want to erase me away. But she can’t. Her flustered cheeks and shortness of breath reveals her true feelings.
“I’m sorry, Jonathan. Forgive me.” She begins pacing the room, wringing her hands in front of her. “It didn’t mean anything. He didn’t even come.”
I settle back against the pillows with a smirk. I shouldn’t take great pleasure in seeing her upset, but call me a bastard because I do.
“No, of course not,” she says, talking to Jonathan. “I don’t love him more than you.”
Jesus f*****g Christ, this would be comical if I wasn’t tied to a bed.
“Don’t say that!” she cries, storming for his bed and dropping to her knees, hands interlaced. “I love you. I am doing all of this for you.”
I look at Jonathan and wonder what he would say if he could talk. Maybe let me rot in peace?
“You want me to prove it? Okay, fine, I will.”
She springs up and violently opens the drawer of the metal bedside table. She frantically hunts through it and when she grabs the container of Vaseline, I’m glad I declined eating because I would throw it up any second now.
It’s like a car crash—I should look away, but I can’t, and that’s because there is no way Alanna is going to do what I think she’s going to do.
She shimmies her red underwear down her legs before pulling up the hem of her dress. She yanks the sheet off Jonathan, and my mouth actually drops open when I see his wrinkled d**k is erect. I don’t want to know what’s inside of it to keep it that way because it’s just f*****g…gross.
She scoops a blob of Vaseline on two fingers and begins rubbing it onto his shriveled c**k.
I dry retch because no, just f*****g no…
When it’s shinier than Rudolph’s nose, she climbs onto the bed and hikes up her dress, exposing her ass, before sliding down onto his dead d**k.
A moan leaves her before she begins to move.
I suddenly wish I was dead because I can never unsee Alanna f*****g a corpse.
“I love you. No one but you,” she says between moans.
At this point, Jonathan would probably be more verbal than me because I am speechless.
She continues riding him wildly, unbothered that she’s the one doing all the work. I suppose she’s used to it.
A small pang of sadness swells inside my heart because I feel sorry for Alanna. She is sick and needs help, which is ironic, considering she was the one I once looked to for answers. But this proves that she is unstable and very dangerous.
I need to tread with caution because she is far worse than I thought.
She suddenly lifts her hips and just when I think the horror show is over, she turns around to face me and slowly sits back down onto Jonathan’s d**k. She begins riding him reverse cowgirl, eyes locked with mine.
I don’t know where to look. I want to look away, but that would show weakness. So, I watch Alanna f**k her corpse fiancé, wondering where we go from here.
She lifts her hips, exposing her p***y to me, before slamming back down onto Jonathan’s d**k. Her movements become faster and frantic, and I wonder if she’s turned on by me watching. She cups her breasts through her shirt and arches backward.
Is she trying to prove a point? That she’s stellar in the sack? The fact that she’s a necrophiliac is not sexy…in any way, shape, or form.
She continues riding Jonathan until she shudders and comes with a sated moan. The entire time, her eyes never leave mine.
When she’s done, she slowly climbs off Jonathan and rearranges her clothes like nothing just happened. She places the sheet over him while I wish I could wash my eyeballs out with bleach.
“You will never do that again,” she warns me. “I love Jonathan.”
Her saying this is more for herself than it is for me.
I know what I have to do.
My competition is stiff, and I mean that in every literal sense there is.
It won’t take long to break Alanna down, and when I do, she’ll regret ever saving me because doesn’t she know…I’m beyond saving.
- Writer
