ILLICIT DESIRES | 18 +

21: Dinosaur

RITA

It must Be the Dead of the Night.

Every organism is sleeping, as if it's dead — ready to be consumed by Mother Nature. But not every organism obeys the rhythm of day and night.

There is a rebel against nature's resting time, as I hear footsteps.

I open my eyes, though the night still clings to me, and I see nothing but pitch black. Another weakness of mine is my poor sight.

I am night-blind.

I can see nothing. Reluctantly, I push myself up, my body moving sluggishly.

"Damn," I whisper to myself, disoriented, as I search for light in the darkness. For a brief moment, I think I'm home — in my botanical bedroom.

But when I touch the walls, I feel cold surfaces instead of my ivy. The empty nightstand and the missing bedside lamp are only another reminder that I'm in his realm.

I frown and wonder why he doesn't have a bedside lamp. Although he didn't exactly look thrilled when I armed myself with it back when he wanted to put a bullet in my head.

Does he have a phobia of lamps?

He looked haunted...

Now the pitch-black room haunts me, my night blindness a cruel reminder of my vulnerability.

I stumble around in the dark.

I really shouldn't get too comfortable and should watch my surroundings more.

Yet I cannot help it. The food he spoils me with makes him more sympathetic. And he talks to me — even if it's teasing or insults — which I appreciate very much.

Because I was isolated from human interaction. I only communicated with my plants. And my mother. Talking to him makes me more gregarious.

But I must not forget — I cannot forget — who I am dealing with.

A killer.

He can make me blossom in euphoria. He can ravish my nectar. He can roast my bum. And he can strip me of my dignity as well. Like the time when he made me apologize to his fickle woman — Hoe.

Or was it Jo? Whatever...

Lost in these confused thoughts, I let out a sharp cry as my hands bump against something moving.

"Hell, my ears! Why the fuck are you screaming?"

Oh... it's him. He is back. And he sounds irritated. Always so grumpy.

"I'm sorry," I murmur, pressing a hand to my chest to calm my racing heart.

"You startled me."

I take an instinctive step back, but the darkness — my foe — works against me. My foot catches on an unseen obstacle I cannot make out, and I yelp, bracing myself for the inevitable fall.

But then, I am clasped by strong hands.

"Watch where you're going," he says gruffly, holding me instead of letting me fall to the floor.

"I can't," I whisper.

"I can't see in the dark."

I feel his breath close to my face.

He is very close.

"Wait a minute, seriously?" I feel his hand leave my waist, and a breeze brushes my face. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

"I told you, I'm night-blind! How was I supposed to know?" I snap at him, indignation flaring as I try to slap his hand away.

"Wait," I murmur through pursed lips in the darkness, clasping his finger in a monkey grip. "Are you showing me your rotten finger?"