My Personal Demon

23:18*

*Mildly sexual content ahead. Reader discretion is advised.

He leaves wet kisses on my back just like Charles used to. The feeling is more sublime than watching raindrops adorn the magnolias in the front yard on a stormy day. An involuntary sigh of pleasure leaves my mouth.

Every feather-light kiss he left on my back made me crave more of his touch.

He presses into me and I grow acutely aware of the ache between my legs. My heart thudded in my chest as I realized that I wanted him.

He had gotten inside my head far enough to convince me that the object of my desires was my tormentor.

The sighs that come out of my mouth shifted to light gasps as I tried not to show how good I felt. He didn't deserve my pleasure any more than he deserved to be inside me literally and metaphorically.

But I couldn't deny that he was breaking down my walls. I was shaking under him, mere seconds away from shattering under his touch.

I cover my mouth before my breathing could turn into moaning. As the feeling in my abdomen crescendos, my hands fist the bedsheets. I notice how white my knuckles are trying to contain the orgasm begging for release.

I refuse to give into him, to give into this.

Just when I think I can't hold on any longer, my eyes snap open. Reality greets me like an old friend, embracing me in the light of a new day. Relief washes over me as I register that it was all just a dream.

He hadn't gotten to me yet. The demon haunting my house was never with me in bed. Everything was normal, the closest it's been to sanity since I discovered his presence.

So why did I feel disappointed?

I shake off the feeling, dismissing it as a symptom of my prolonged isolation. I might have been going crazy, but I wasn't that deranged.

As I lay back in bed, I feel something soft and wet caress my back and arms. I freeze, imagining hundreds of mouths licking me. I look down at my body, afraid that I was trapped in another dream.

Instead, what I saw was unfortunately very real. I scream at the sight of what must have been one hundred slugs slithering in my skin, leaving slimy trails as they continued their slow ascent up my body.

I jump out of bed, yanking the bugs off. In a panic, I accidentally squish a few of them under my slippers, killing them in the process.

"You don't have to hurt them," he said, appearing at the doorway. "The world is already cruel enough."

I glared at the demon wearing my husband's face. He was dressed in Charles's pajamas, a matching dark blue set I had gotten him for New Year's. He took a sip from a steaming mug of coffee with the inscription World's Best Husband.

"Lucky for you," he continued, walking over to the window, "there's always life after death." He points to a pair of slugs mating near the curtains, their slimy bodies entwined as they hang from the head of the window.

"Gross," I said, covering my mouth in disgust.

"Humans do it all the time," he said. "What makes the slugs any different?"

Do demons have sex that often too? The thought intrudes my mind as I catch myself staring at him. Can they even have sex?

I shake my head. Pull yourself together.

I ignore his words, walking into the bathroom. Thankfully, it was slug-free and I quickly ran a hot shower to wash the slime off.

As I towel off, I found myself staring at the mirror. The last time I was in this position, I had a mental breakdown.