Page 87 of Haunting the Hunter
I come hard—grinding in deep, clinging to the feeling like it’ll anchor me. When I finally still, I’m shaking, then exhale hard as I collapse. My hand drifts over skin. Searching. My fingers gently brush along a shoulder, moving up the neck and to the jaw.
“You’re so soft…” I whisper, my voice raw.
I pretend, just for a second, that this is real. That I could actually have this with you.
I feel myself falling back into consciousness, the pull slowly dragging me from you again.
No.
I don’t want to go back. I fight against the pull—desperate to stay buried in the lie that feels better than the truth.
“Please… just a little longer.”
But it’s gone. The warmth. The stillness. The dream.
My chest aches, my limbs cold. I blink, and I’m back in the dark—alone.
No. Not alone…
A faded glow hovers in front of me. I squint—uncertain if I’m awake or still trapped in some fever dream.
“Are you really here?” My voice is a rasping, raw thing in the quiet.
I feel like I’m unraveling.
The smoke shifts closer, slow and deliberate. A hand forms, misty, barely there, and rests on my arm. Coming from it I feel a strange mix of confusion… and concern.
“It’s okay,” I sigh, wanting to comfort you instinctively. “I promise.”
My head spins, the edges of the room blurring as disorientation digs its claws into me.
A gentle caress traces my skin, brings my awareness back slightly.
“I had a dream about you…” I whisper hoarsely, the words dragged out with a dry, humorless chuckle.
Pressure again, soft and grounding.
My face stiffens as the haze lifts just enough for the pain to return. My shoulder throbs as I adjust, my jaw clenching against it.
“Why do you stay…? I don’t deserve your comfort.” My words are as bitter as I feel.
Warmth settles around my shoulders—a phantom embrace. Goosebumps ripple across my skin and I flinch. It hurts… but the pain dulls, like you’re trying to soothe it away.
Frustration tightens in my chest and my words are rough with it.
“You’ve seen what I’ve done, little ghost. Yet you stay.”
I search the air for judgment, for disgust, for something that reflects the monster I know I am.
But I find none. Only empathy.
“Why don’t you care!” I shout into the silence, my voice echoing around the empty room. “You know what I am. Why do you still make me feel…” My voice cracks and I lower my head, filled with shame.
“Loved.”
I don’t trust this. I don’t trust anything. Fuck… but I want to.
The pressure deepens. Not possessive. Not demanding. Just… here.
