Page 10 of Come Out, Come Out

I’m in awe of how much she trusts me, and I don’t hesitate to agree even though I’ve never done anything like this.For her, I’d do anything.“Run.”

Skye’s breath stutters and her eyes grow wide as I loom over her, repeating myself in a low tone I’ve never heard from myself before. This time, she scrambles back until she’s out from beneath me and takes off at a run. I count to ten in my head and start after her; I’ve always been a fast runner.

“You can run, but I’m going to get what I came here for.” Before she can descend the stairs, I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her back against me. “Too slow,” I grit out against her ear. I want to revel in the sensation of her plush body pressed against mine, but I’m making her fantasy come true right now. Skye struggles a bit, but there’s no real fight in her; she wants this.

I fist her hair and push her down to her knees on the top step. My lips tickle her ear as I whisper, “Do as I say, and you won’t get hurt. Put your palms on the stairs two steps down, now.”

Slowly, she eases forward. I can feel her battling her self-preservation. When her palms are flat on the wood stairs, I loom over her. “Hold on,” I command. My cock jumps at the sight of her white knuckles wrapped over the step’s edge and the quivering of her arms as she holds herself up with adrenaline coursing through her.

“What are you doing?” Fear and excitement raise the tone of her voice.

“Fucking you within an inch of your life,” I answer simply as I part her cheeks for an unobstructed view of that perfect cunt of hers. It glistens with her arousal as I wrap my arms around her thighs and pull her ass back against my face. The moment my tongue swipes through her delicious pussy, all I can think about is quenching my thirst as she fills my mouth.Her distinct taste fills my mouth, a faint sweetness that’s a perfectly distilled essence of her sweat mixed with the berries she ate earlier. And paired with the lingering scent of the orange and almond notes of her perfume–I groan as I flatten my tongue to eagerly devour every inch of her.

Skye’s moans and cries are music to my ears. The melody accented by the creaking of the decaying wood. I could eat her out forever, but I know that her arms will become tired soon, and I don’t want her to actually get hurt, so regretfully, I withdraw my tongue. She whimpers her frustration.

“Don’t let go; we wouldn’t want you to snap that pretty neck.” As the words leave my lips, I lift her legs and wrap them around my waist, then slam into her slick pussy.Fucking glorious.This is everything I’d hoped for. I thrust into her again and she cries out.

“You’re out of your fucking mind.” She groans as her pussy tightens around me. I nearly lose myself over the panic mixed with pleasure that deepens her voice.

“You have no idea.” I slam into her again.

“You feel so good, don’t stop,” she pants between a gasp when her fingers almost slip. “Oh fuck, I’m going to come.”

“Don’t you fucking dare!” I slow my pace, pulling almost all the way out until she whines in protest. Finally, I give in and double my efforts, slamming into her hard and fast, knowing that even if she doesn’t hold on, I would never let her fall. I pump into her like a man who’s lost his mind, and I suppose I have. I’m lost in the ecstasy that isher. Skye’s deliciously fat ass bounces off my stomach, her raven hair slithers on the stairs below her, and her arms become pink and shake as I pound into her. She’s entirely at my mercy and it’s the best reward I could ask for. She cries and whines from below me, but I don’t soften my thrusts. She likes this, needs it. My girl craves the call of death.My little wraith.She wants to risk her life. Wants to be taunted on the edge. She wants me to scare her, to hurt her, more than she does herself.I can set her free.

As if in agreement, she tightens and pulses around me as she orgasms for the second time tonight. Two more times than I ever thought I’d get to experience with her. The satisfaction of that truth flows through me and burns hot as I pull out and coat her ass in my cum.Mine.

Skye collapses on the stairs, her arms weak from the exertion and her limbs loose from her orgasm. I reach around her waist and lift her against me, helping her to her bathroom. Once the water is hot, I pull us in there together, and it’s everything I’ve dreamed of, just being with her in the silence. I lather her soap in my hands and discreetly cup them around my nose, greedily inhaling as much of the intoxicating scent as I can, then begin to spread it over her warm skin. My fingers tingle as I glide them over her back and arms, then gently caress her breasts. I’m lost in the sensation of being able to touch and feel her, combined with the heat of the water pounding down on me. It’s everything that I’ve been missing. She leans into me, letting me care for her as if I’m someone she’s known forever, someone she can trust.I knew I was made for her.

I’m completely wrapped up in the moment and savoring every second. When she lets me lay next to her in her bed, I watch her drift off and when she finally falls asleep, my mind wanders, fantasizing about all the ways I’d fuck her on every surface of this house that has been my prison but had suddenly become my sanctuary. I don’t know how this is possible, but I’m not one to complain. My plans are forming so clearly, and then it all comes crashing down.

One second I’m soaking in the warmth of her skin, and the next, I feel nothing. The heaven of her touch is ripped out of reach once again. Coldness seeps back in, and an indescribable distance stretches between us. I try talking to her, yelling her name, touching her, grabbing her, but nothing works. I’m invisible to her once again. And just like that, I’m all alone.

Skye

June 6th, 2020 - Two Months and Three Weeks Later

Flick, click, whisp. Flick, click, whisp. Flick, click, whisp.

The soothing ignition of my lighter drowns out my inner thoughts that have latched onto that craving again. They say it just takes one hit to create an addiction, guess they were right. I’m not in love with him or anything, I’m not delusional, but it’s hard to find good dick these days, and damn did he know how to fuck. But it was more than that that has him on my mind nearly three months later. What really has me hooked was the way he seemed so in-tune with my needs. It didn’t feel like that was our first time together; he understood what my body needed and how to make it happen. Of course, something like that couldn’t last; just my luck. Anything that brings me joy is always fleeting.

I learned that hard truth over and over, like when I had my first boyfriend but then found out in front of the entire class that he’d only asked me out as a joke, or when I moved into the dorms and thought it would be a fresh start, but quickly realized I was still the odd one out of the friend group. I didn’t let myself get excited anymore. That way, when the downfall came, it hurt so much less, if I felt anything at all. I tried to avoid that at all costs.

The only illumination in the room is my lighter as its flickering flame hovers just shy of my extended tongue. The anticipation of the burn calls to me like a siren to greedy sailors. I crave that physical pain, an exorcism of the frustration that festers within me. That allure of temporary calm wins out over my good sense and I bring it to the tip. I can only bear it for a few seconds and then drop the lighter on my lap as I berate myself for my weakness.Fucking coward.

My mouth salivates, the drool pooling in the open cavity as it tries to counteract the burning. Sweat coats my forehead and my heartbeat thumps angrily. I pull in deep breaths as I keep my tongue suspended above my teeth, savoring the burn. As the pain begins to dull, satisfaction swells with the release.

The thing about self-harm is that the relief is fleeting. As the shock of it settles, my brain picks back up right where it left off. Self-loathing, loneliness, and the eternal misery of the human condition crowd the space of peace I’d temporarily cleared out. Once again, I’m consumed by what a fool I was to allow myself to find that release in someone else. Someone who left without a word. Another person who didn’t want me.

I bite my tongue to reignite the pain. I earn myself several more minutes of peaceful silence before the trick has run its course. With a sigh, I return to my most reliable outlet, music–especially pop punk. Nostalgia and words long memorized redirect my wayward thoughts. Music isn’t just a tool, it’s my closest companion. I choose to live alone. I’m one of those people who is naturally inclined toward the solitude. Someone whoshouldbe left alone. I mean, I have people I’m friendly enough with, Ava and I had lived together for a few years after meeting at our internship, and I have Binx–but there is no one I spend time around regularly. I don’t have “friends”. It’s hard enough to get through a single day with the heaviness that weighs me down, that keeps my smile small and my actions quiet. Being around others means pretending and absolutely exhausting myself, or worse, sucking them into my pit of despair. I learned early that misery is contagious, and people will hate you for it while wrapping you in their arms. Nobody wants to say it out loud, but you’re supposed to suffer alone. Suffering isn’t pretty, it isn’t sweet, and it isn’t the watered-down sugary shit people drink up by the gallon every damn day. No, thank you. I’ll take my suffering straight up.

Sure, I self-medicate sometimes, but at least I have a say in the dosage, control of the desired outcome. As much control as someone can have as they’re dragged toward their undeniable end. Depression is greedy and hard to escape like quicksand and I gave up hope a long time ago. I’m just sinking slowly, enjoying the view with my head just a few inches above water.

Once upon a time I tried. I cried out every time I was in pain. But nobody wants to deal with someone who cries but doesn’t know how to explain what’s wrong. How is a kid supposed to describe the all-encompassing bleakness that takes your mind and heart in a vice grip and controls your every breath and thought?

The thing people get wrong about being depressed is that it’s a feeling of emptiness. It doesn’t start out that way, though. It empties you over time, a malicious, clawed hand rooting around inside tearing out chunks and breaking pieces of you until numbing yourself is the only way to escape the never-ending ache.

How does anyone explain that as an adult? I never figured it out. Any attempt I made was met with claims of being dramatic or not trying hard enough to find joy—as if I hadn’t chased it relentlessly until my legs gave out. Instead of explaining, I isolated myself. It was so much easier this way.

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