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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/919692-Life-in-a-Dream-2
Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Personal · #919692
Read with the first. It's a happy dream, although it may not seem so. Not as bloody.
He was happy. His light chuckling every now and then proved that. He looked at me, for the first time in a long time, with love in his beautiful green eyes. I feel his hands engulf themselves in my hair, gently brushing my scalp with his fingers. I shiver at his touch, not sure if I should trust him. I couldn't remember the last time he was happy, and didn't want to do his ritual. He speaks, his beautiful voice telling me not to worry, that he loved me, and would never hurt me. I instantly believe him.

I lean into his touch at once, feeling his smooth hands trail down my arms and stopping at my stomach. Lifting up my shirt, he traces the scars from our last encounter, softly, so I can barely feel it. His voice higher than normal as he tells me he's sorry over and over again. I forgive him, but I had already forgiven him after the bad dreams had started.

I turn towards him, staring into his eyes, showing him that I never cared, that I always loved him. His eyes brighten, but not enough. He tells me that he wants to prove it to me, that he really means it. I shake my head, and gasp in surprise as I feel warm familiar lips touch my own. Not in a bruising kiss, like I was so used too, but a gentle, chaste kiss, quickly ended, and his knife suddenly appears. My eyes widen in shock, and I try to get away, thinking I had fallen for it again. But I feel my hand being gently held, and a finger rubbing small circles on my palm. I pause, and peek into his eyes, still green, still warm, still loving. I relax again, and I feel the knife being pressed into my hand. I lightly grasp the cool metal of the handle, and watch as an arm appears in front of me. His arm. I stare and reach out a hand slowly, marveling at his white skin, and how warm it feels under my trembling hand. It’s perfect.

He says nothing, but his eyes stare intently, waiting. I remember the knife, and immediately bring it up, letting it bite into his arm. I look back up, and his eyes are closed. There’s a low mumbling coming from him, but I cannot understand it. I dig the knife in deeper, but pull away instantly, stabbing the ground next to me, until the handle touches the ground. I curl into a ball, tears threatening to spill over, and questions running through my mind. I feel him kiss my cheek, and tell me once more that he loves me, rubbing circles lightly on my back with his fingers. And I smile.
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