Page 184 of Phobia
My phone vibrates. A bubble emerges.
I see you see me, darlin’.
Oh, Jesus… the bubble’s blue… he can—
I’ll be seein’ you soon, too.
That makes my throat cinch tight, not even a drop of saliva could fit through the constriction. Pressure builds in my gut, making my stomach extend as it pushes outward. Then down.
To my balls, where they throb, heavy between my closed legs.
I whimper, hating the way my eyes keep lingering on that picture of him. It scares me… makes my skin crawl with desperation toescape.But his mouth… and those eyes… and his neck.
I finger the frayed, black collar still around my neck. My eyes pinch against the burn.
It felt as good as it did bad. As wrong as right.
What did he do to me? And why do I like it… Want more…
Sweet dreams, my treat… Dream of me.
With a heavy, clanking thud of my heart and a choking swallow, I lock my phone. But Static’s face is still at the forefront of my mind. Where I know it’ll stay.
Masking every dream. Every waking thought.
Like a wound I refuse to acknowledge… in hopes it’ll get bigger.
Worse.
Until I’m consumed by the infection.
Plunged in the static.
The end…
For now.
