The Incubus

I finished this on 9/21/04, when I was seventeen. I didn't want to change the flow of the story, as this is a sort of landmark for me, but I have added a bit more detail and clarified the grammar, albeit as little as possible.

I'm not exactly sure what time it is. It's late, I can tell that much. It's late and I'm tired, but I can't seem to fall asleep. Just one of those nights, I suppose.

Part of me thinks that maybe I should get up and take one of my dad's sleeping pills; the biggest part of me refuses to leave the warmth of my covers. It's currently mid-December and freezing cold outside. My room alone must be about 40 degrees, thanks to my stingy parents and their belief of less is more. Even with four blankets, a long flannel nightgown and socks, I'm shivering.

I keep trying to force myself to fall back to sleep, but every time I close my eyes and begin to drift off I think of something and then my body jerks back to consciousness. Ugh. I've been doing that far too often these past few months.

Slowly I open one eyelid to peek at the clock on my nightstand. 2:47 AM. Great, and I have to be up at five to get ready for school. I'm going to completely bomb that Geometry test if I don't get any sleep tonight.

Groaning, I roll over in bed and face the wall, my back to the nightstand. Staring at it won't help me fall asleep any faster. During the transition however, icy air seeps under the covers and rushes over my ankles, sending more shivers down my spine. It's so effing cold in this room.

Then I feel it. No, I sense it and then I feel it. I don't dare move or make a sound. I don't want to believe he's there, and so I try to block my mind, think of nothing but sleep. But I can't, it refuses to come. My thoughts begin to race.

I can feel his eyes watching me, but still I try to show no sense of recognition. He knows I know, though. He always does. There's no point in pretending otherwise, really. Yet just like all the other times, I feebly try to think he's not there. This amuses him apparently, as his smug laughter fills the room.

The familiar sense of foreboding floods over me as I finally open my eyes and look towards the foot of my bed. And again, that same familiar wave of heat spreads through my body as I gaze at the visage that stands before me.

This time his appearance is different, and I hate him more than ever. To him mere mental suffering isn't enough, as he has now decided to toy with my emotions as well. Try to make me want him. Test my will power or something.

Instantly I squeeze my eyes shut and make the attempt to empty my head and fall back asleep, to block him out. And once again, I fail. I can feel my strength leaving me as he approaches the bed, as I hear his voice whispering. And I know that once again, he's going to have what he wants.

Defeated, powerless to do anything but stare, I open my eyes again to gaze bitterly at the long black curls, the round, icy blue eyes. That beautiful, milky skin. He grins and I feel myself sink even further into submission. He's cruel, he knows it, and he doesn't care.

And suddenly I realize: neither do I.

The dark velvet robe sways as he walks towards me, that arrogant, expectant smirk spread across his lips. Those glossy, perfect lips. I look away, desperate not to give him any sort of acknowledgment of my thoughts. Let him do his thing and be done with it, as usual. Feel no pleasure.

With one swift movement he rips all four blankets off of the bed and straddles me, and I gasp as my legs are suddenly exposed to the freezing cold air. An experienced hand unbuttons the top of my nightgown while the other runs up my knee.

I hate myself for admiring the warmth, the softness of those hands. Against my better judgment I look again at the face above me and try to see past the face of the man I admire, that I long for. To see some trace of the lies, of the deceit that I know is hiding underneath. He disguises it well however, for I see only the man that haunts my fantasies and dreams. My resolve is failing me and my apprehension is slowly melting. He's smiling at me... such a beautiful smile...

It's not true, it's a mirage!, my mind yells. Don't fall for it, this is a trick!

He leans over me and those shining black curls fall gently onto my face. So soft and luxurious against my skin... What is that scent? It's wonderful, whatever it is. I just want to run my fingers through these beautiful locks, but I dare not show it. My fingers twitch.

Yes, his eyes tell me. Touch it. Touch it.

My mind screaming at me that this is wrong, that I should be strong, I slowly lift a shaky hand.

No, no!

His eyes flare. Yes.

A soft sigh escapes my lips as my fingers wrap around the curls. How long have I dreamed of touching this very hair? How long have I fantasized of gazing up into these eyes? So long, too long have I waited for this moment.

He lowers his face and kisses me with surprising gentleness. Goosebumps rise on my arms and legs, and a shudder runs the length of my spine. His lips form a burning trail down my chin and onto my neck, pausing momentarily at the top of my half-unbuttoned nightgown. He gazes at me from the top of his eyes, a half smirk showing the darker side to his face.

All I can do is close my eyes and try not to look at him. That voice is still telling me that I shouldn't enjoy this, that I need to scream for help, and that this is all wrong.

But I can't even open my mouth. His lips are on mine again with more ferocity than before, and I realize with a shock that my nightgown is now completely off, lying in a pile somewhere on the floor. The freezing night air feels like a billion knives penetrating my skin simultaneously, and I shiver uncontrollably. I'm not sure if it's from the cold or from the fear of what's yet to come.

I hate being exposed like this. Yet for some reason I can't even lift my arms, nor can I move my legs to try and get a covering of some sort. It's as if all the muscles in my body have gone numb. My mouth goes dry, and I try to swallow my sudden surge of panic down.

His fingers slide under my back to the clasp of my bra and, with the ease of an expert, unsnaps it and slides it over my arms. The sudden exposure to the freezing air has an obvious effect on me, and he grins. His perfect white teeth gleam in the moonlight.

So beautiful.

As his hands move down my stomach to my hips, he wraps two fingers around the sides of my underwear. For a moment he just watches me, examining my face. He's thoroughly enjoying my humiliation, I tell myself bitterly. He slides the panties down my legs and tosses them to the side.

By this point I have become completely naked and am shivering so hard that my teeth chatter. There are little bumps all over my skin and the hair on my arms and neck is standing up straight. My mind is racing, though not nearly as quickly as my heart.

Why can't I cover myself? Why won't my arms move? I don't like the look in his eyes, I want to cover myself so he can't look at me the way that he is... With expectation.

But I can't, and he wants it that way. No fighting back.

Now it's his turn. He sits upright, knees still against my thighs to keep me in place- as if I could move- and I see his right hand reach up. He pulls at the clasp of his robe. It falls into a pile on the bed to reveal a black turtleneck sweater and black pants. He then crosses his arms across his stomach and pulls the sweater over his head.

My eyes widen at the sight of his chest and arms, and a sudden urge to run my hands over his skin and feel the muscles strikes me with such force that it alarms me. I say or do nothing, but I can't look away either.

His fingers move to his belt, his gaze never moving from my face. It unbuckles and he pulls it free of the belt loops, tossing it onto the growing pile of clothes. Next his shoes and socks.

And then he reaches for his pants.

Panting and wide-eyed, I try desperately to get my limbs to work, or my vocal chords so that I can scream, but I can only move my head from side to side. Panic rushes from the pit of my stomach to my throat and I begin to whimper. Not daring to look at him, I try instead to think of a way to get him as far away from me as possible. Nothing is in reach to grab.

When I feel him crawl on top of me, a burning sensation erupts in my fingers- why won't my arms move? I scream inwardly, the sound unable to pass through my lips. Beads of sweat are forming on my forehead and hysteria begins to take over- he's now directly above me and I now realize what's coming and I'm afraid but I'm not really sure if I even want to stop him.

Then it happens- a searing pain shoots through my body, and I wonder if this is what it feels like to be cleft in two with an axe. I scream in agony but no sound leaves my mouth. He's moving rhythmically into me, every motion sending a fresh wave of searing heat through my abdomen and thighs. A horrible ripping sensation follows each thrust- or is that merely my mind creating sounds? Silent sobs rack my body as a sort of delirium forms, distorting everything around me.

My eyes roll back into my head and I only vaguely feel my skin rubbing against the sheets, only remotely notice the blood between my legs. There is no sound, only the muffled beating of my heart which, for some reason, I can hear. Like I'm underwater or something.

As the rhythm increases, so does the intensity of my thoughts. My body begins to constrict. The heat spreads to my face and arms, and my breath becomes shallow. I know what's happening, but I try desperately to ignore the pleasure my body is beginning to feel. Only pain and fear and sadness consume my mind.

After what feels like an eternity, a huge resounding shudder runs through my body, followed closely by the same reaction in his. I gasp for air and grasp at the sheets, turning my head to the side and burning with shame as his warmth fills me.

And then he raises himself from the bed and puts on his clothes once more, turning to gaze at me for a moment when finished. I refuse to look him in the eye for fear of crying, but when I know he won't leave until I do, my eyes begrudgingly meet his. There is nothing of love, nothing of emotion in those blue eyes of his. Only a glazed expression of satisfaction, and of warning.

When I close my eyes again I know that he is gone. Gingerly I reach between my legs and see the blood on my fingers and the sheets. He'd re-opened the wounds from the last time he'd visited. Usually he didn't make me bleed, but recently he had become increasingly violent towards me. My eyes burn from the tears that I force myself not to shed, and I slowly lift myself up off of the bed to get my nightgown and blankets.

At first my legs give way and I have to hold on to the bedpost to keep from falling, but then I manage to get my clothes on and lay the blankets back on the bed. Putting a pad on my underwear to absorb the bleeding and pulling the nightgown over my head, I lay down as gently as I can and wrap myself in the covers like a cocoon.

Exhausted, my eyes drift to the clock on the nightstand. 3:52.

For awhile I just lay there and wonder, careful not to move for fear of intensifying the already throbbing pain in my groin. I feel his presence still in the room, smothering me. For a moment I think I can still feel his warmth inside of me. I immediately push that thought to the back of my mind as instead my thoughts drift back to the curls, the blue eyes, the flawless skin and face.

None of it was real. I know this. The real thing was miles away, completely oblivious to my existence. The real man would never have done such a cruel act. But this is all I have to cling to, the only way I will ever feel the sensation of being loved by him, even if it's only for one brief, terrifying evening every few months or so.

Burying my face in the pillow, I weep. Vaguely I think that I'm going to fail the Geometry exam tomorrow, and that doesn't help me feel any better. Suddenly it feels like the walls are closing in around me, and that nothing is ever going to go right for me again. There is no one I can confide in, no one I can run to for help. I'm alone, and more afraid than ever as I wonder when he will decide to return.

And silently, guiltily, I hope for his return, this black knight in shining armor. A part of me wonders what true love and compassion might feel like, but with the incubus using me as his toy I will never know. I'm his, he knows it, and he doesn't care.

My incubus.