My Personal Demon

13:08*

*sexual content ahead

I'm tired of the rain. I think the sky is tired of weeping, too, melting into a new shade of gray from exhaustion. The magnolias out front are drowning from the excess water, their leaves turning a sickly yellow pallor.

The sun glows dully behind a cover of clouds, not wanting to be awake any more than I did. The days pass slowly, crawling under my bed and messing up my sheets. No amount of coffee can chase the fatigue away. I drink enough to shake, but the weariness is firmly stitched inside me.

I don't like being trapped in my house. I've gone into the shop for work, but even then I've mostly been staying indoors.

Jesper is the only reason why I haven't sunk back into the same pattern of depressive thoughts. He's kept me in a state of sexual frustration all week, pulling away after tightly wounding up a knot of desire in my belly. I'm on edge, more sensitive than I should be.

He's gone back to driving me crazy again, this time without the blood and dead animals in the yard. I'm a hair's breadth away from throwing myself at him, begging him to touch me. Thankfully, I'm so drained of energy that I don't entertain the idea. Keeping my self-respect intact was easy when the thought of begging on my knees seemed like drudgery.

The rain slams into the windows, no longer leaving soft pitter-patters against the glass. I imagine a crazy old woman throwing a fistful of beads against my house and that is exactly what the rain sounds like. The winds shake the exterior of the house, threatening to come in and whisk me away to who knows where.

I wasn't afraid of the storm. I wasn't even afraid of death.

My feet carry me to the door leading me to the backyard. I don't even bother to put on shoes as I walk outside, letting the rain and wind face me. The cold is refreshing and I feel alive for the first time in days.

I'm drenched in a matter of seconds and my hair is in my face, but I didn't care as I sat on the wet chair outside. He loved the rain just as much as he loved his cigarettes. It was the only thing more miserable than he was.

Raindrops cloud my vision, but I've never felt a greater clarity in my life. Death and smoking weren't going to bring me closer to him. He never wanted me to become him, to wear his skin and enact his rituals. Love meant that I would complement him, complete him in ways he never thought possible. He was always going to be the rain and his blue-inked pages and I was the crazy person willing to stand in the middle of it all.

Jesper catches sight of me through the window, alarm immediately flooding his eyes. He comes out, handsome as ever.

"What are you doing? Get back inside," he said. He grabs my cold wet hands, warming them with his heat.

I pull away, suddenly indignant. "Now you want to touch me? After what you've been doing all week?"

I grab the hem of my shirt, pulling it over my head. His pupils dilate at my exposed torso, my skin slick from the rain. I yank the collar of his shirt toward me, feeling his hunger roll off of him in waves.

"If I go back inside, you'll continue to deny me any satisfaction. We're doing this here, alright? You're getting inside me and you are fucking me until you can't stand. Am I making myself clear?"

"Crystal," he said, unbuckling his pants. My mouth grows dry as he gets rid of his underwear. I yank off the rest of my clothes, eager to be naked.

The tip of him plays with my entrance. Impatient, I practically shoved him into me. I wasn't going to apologize for wanting him.

He shifts beneath my skin, the length of him growing until I feel him touch my cervix. I gasp, surprised. I hadn't expected him to use his abilities for that.

He slams into me, hitting a wall of sensitive nerves. I cling to him, sinking my nails into his skin to maintain a grip in the rain. He always made me desperate for him, but there was an edge to my hunger this time. Maybe it was the anger, the slickness of the rain, or even the crackling lightning above. Whatever it was, it was like having sex for the first time.

And I was loving every second of it. I liked being filled by him, the delightful way he stretched my insides. He was rough and gentle at the same time, satisfying me in just the right way.

"I can see the whites of your eyes," he said. "I'll take that as a sign that I'm doing a good job."

I don't give him the satisfaction of a response. The sound of his legs slapping my thighs was titillating enough. Did he like me in this position, with my ankles dangling near his ears? Or did he prefer it the other way, holding down my neck while ramming into me from behind?

Both felt good to me, but I found that I liked seeing his face more. My hunger was mirrored in his eyes and the light caught his irises in a way that made it seem like I was staring at two bright flames. He was beautiful in an otherworldly way. I briefly entertain the notion that he was too good-looking to have sex with before smiling at the thought. His beauty was another reason why I should be in this position, flesh to flesh with this demon.

Should I be scared of what he was? He seemed familiar these days, far from the alien thing I saw when we first met. Why should I be afraid of someone who didn't want to hurt me? But there was a small voice at the back of my mind that was warning me to be careful. How much did I really know about him? If he felt like it, he could kill me or go back to driving me insane.

The peace that we have is fragile, the pleasure equally as temporary. We couldn't go on like this forever, keeping half of ourselves hidden away while touching the most intimate parts of our bodies.

What were we?

That question seemed too simple for what we had. There wasn't a word that could describe what he was to me, the way he became the shield to my loneliness and sorrow.

But at the same time, those three words were too complicated for what we were. The widow and the demon. Did it need to be more than that? Was it wrong to continue as we were? There was no harm in the world seeing him as a normal man that was keeping me company.

Except for the fact that he wasn't a normal man. The sex alone was proof.

We finish, letting the rain wash the sweat off our backs. There was a strange look in his eyes as his limbs untangled from mine. His face has an emotion I never thought possible for someone like him. Was I imagining it or did he look ... guilty?

Before I could think about it, he picks me up and carries me into the house. I get a strong sense of deja vu as he towels me off and hands me a set of dry clothes. Something about him seems distant like he was a million miles away in his own head.

I kiss him, startling him. "What are you thinking about?"

"I'm not sure myself," he lied. "I was just gone for a minute."

"Where were you?"

His brows furrowed, realizing that I had caught on. "I was back home. Not that I can really describe it. I've been here for too long."

"Can you go back?" I didn't want him to leave.

"Not yet. There's something I need to do first. I'll be free once it's done."

He didn't sound too happy with his task. It weighed on him like an invisible chain around his neck. Who had him on a leash? If he could only tell me then I could help–

"No," he said. "This is something only I can do." Then, he softened his voice. "If I need your help, I will ask for it. Promise."

His words do little to reassure me, but I know he's telling the truth this time.

The clock ticks on the wall, moving with every second. The time that I had with him seemed more precious than ever. He was going to leave, not that he could help it.

I think about telling him to stay, to live this dull mortal life with me. We'll have sex until we turn to ash, just like my husband.

If only I could stay in this small eternity, cradled at his side.