Lamia's Dream

Chapter 23

Nearly an hour later, we drove past the dilapidated old Spencer Mountain mill.  The rundown relic sat peacefully beneath the starry night.  Valerie parked on the dirt pathway.  At the top of the hill, I sat down, my back against a tree.

Valerie turned away for a moment and began to take off her blouse.

“Close your eyes,” she said, halfway through.

I glimpsed a tank top underneath.  Still, I couldn’t resist.  “I didn’t know it would be this could of night.”

Her blouse fell on my face.  “You wish.”

I chuckled.  Until I heard what sounded like bones popping. 

“Val-” I said, pulling the blouse off. 

I caught the wings halfway through their formation.  The bones had extended to their full length.  Then the black, velvet skin filled in between each of the bones. 

“I told you to close your eyes,” Valerie said.  She gave her large, bat-like wings two flaps.  “When I don’t use them in a while, it looks nasty.”

“No, it looks amazing,” I said.

Valerie smiled seductively.  She kneeled down in front of me and stroked my face.  “If you say so.”

We kissed briefly.  Valerie placed her head on my chest.  “Sorry, can I have a few moments to collect myself.  Tonight has been…”

“Sure, Val.”

She shifted into a more comfortable position.  Her head remained on my chest but her gaze looked off the hill, into the night horizon.  A lonesome, half-hearted gust of wind blew past us.  I wrapped my arms around Valerie. 

“It’s kind of nice, doing this in reality,” I murmured after a while.

“Yeah.  The colors in dreams are opaque and there’s no sense a smell.  Nothing beats a whiff of actual, fresh air.”

I stroked Valerie’s hair.  Then traced the area where her wings protruded from her back.

“I like them,” I said, as if my earlier statement wasn’t convincing enough.

I continued to examine them.  Some spots weren’t fully black, but a dark shade of purple.  I imagined someone tearing out Valerie’s wings.  It made me angry.

“Don’t think about him,” Valerie said, still looking off. 

We hadn’t been touching long enough for her to establish a connection.  While my anger was certainly present, it was not intense.  This was one of many cases where Valerie just happened to know how I felt.  She had gotten good at it over the past few weeks.  Either that or she actually could read my mind, which I hadn’t completely ruled out yet.

There was quiet again.  And I wanted it that way.  We were together now.  There was no need to fill the air with useless conversation.  We had each other’s company- that was enough.  I’d badger Valerie with more questions about her secrets on the car ride home.

“Do you remember our French class?” she eventually asked.

“How could I forget?  It was when you discovered I existed.”

“I always knew you existed,” Valerie replied, defensively.  She sat up and looked at me.

I made a face.  “Sure you did.”

“I did.  There never was an opportunity for us to talk.  And you were so quiet!  Do you remember that first day we sat together (in) French class?”