Sinbridge

Chapter 3 - Adonis In Mortal Clothing

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THREE MONTHS LATER

I feel his hand enter from below moving fast, our tongues entwined in a kiss, and then he's inside, changing my breathing with every thrust, hearing my moans of pleasure mixed in with his name timed to his body. Then all at once he stops and kisses from my breasts to my stomach,his hands light; then he's licking and using his fingers all at once, watching my reaction, feeling how my legs move, watching my body writhe. He tells me he's going to make me beg for it and I just let out a moan, unable to articulate a response. He leans in to kiss me and then-

BEEP BEEP BEEEP

The alarm rotated between about six different annoying noises of varying pitch and volume. It sounded like a disco for the Antichrist; it was an ear-splitting wail. It would rise to peak and then ebbed and rose to a peak again, undulating like a wave and all the while ringing my brain out like a sponge.

I groaned loudly, not ready or willing to open my eyes face the day. I shoved a pillow onto my head and tried to block out the alarm, huffing in annoyance when that didn't work. It was like a baby was screeching right into my eardrum. Reaching out from under the covers, I slammed my hand down on the snooze button. I groaned again, curse words tumbling out of my mouth like a leak in a dam wall.

From the carousel of random ideas came some order - a subtle awareness of who I am under the flow of thoughts with their loose connections to my waking life. After a few moments more I begin to analyse them in a lazy way, perhaps these ideas are meant to be kept. Some are composed as if from a book I once read, some are just silly. In another moment they are gone, leaving no trace. If they are still in my head, there is no bread crumb trail back to them.

My eyes flicker open to the dimly lit room still semi-filled with boxes. I had finished unpacking most of the boxes we had brought with us when we arrived nearly three months ago but that wasn't all my stuff; I still had more to ship from home. Ex home, I should say.

I looked around my crimson red room a little bit longer; not enough daylight to justify being awake. I close my eyes again, willing the carousel to return, for my mind to tumble back into dreams, back into dreaming about green eyes and arms with trails of art permanently etched into them, dreaming about kisses that set every nerve of mine on fire.

But it won't. Now the tasks of the day are demanding I think about them, find solutions, get tasks done by day's end. I am awake and there is no retreat.

I steal a glance at the annoying alarm clock that began beeping again, reading 6:00 in glowing red, and reach out to turn off the buzzer yet again, cursing the manufacturers. The alarm could be described as something between a guttural cry and a shriek. It was infuriating, it grated the nerves, it made you grind your teeth until it was done and cover your ears, begging it to be over. But it was very effective. We bought four.

One of these days I will murder you alarm clock. And I won't mourn it. But that day isn't today.

I stretched, cat-like sounds coming from my mouth before shuffling off my bed, already wishing I could return to the dream I was having, my bed and its red satin sheets I had bought after meeting the green eyed Adonis. Waking up can be really harsh, especially if your dreams are better than reality. The saddest part of it is, though, that eventually even the memory of your dream will fade - if you are even lucky enough to remember it that is. Then you're left with this lonely feeling of detachment, left to explore in the empty void of emotions, the only proof that you ever had the dream to begin with. And this dream in particular was one that I wanted to relive again and again and again.

Even if the co-star is a giant ghosting prick.

Walking down the stairs, I grumbled and swore with every step, cursing whatever being that maybe watching. The smell of freshly made butterscotch tea wafted up my nose and stopped my complaining. Picking up my pace, I made a beeline for the kitchen, navigating through the sea of boxes that had its contents scribbled on the side. Coming around the corner, I saw my womb roommate sitting on the counter top with her back against the wall holding two freshly made mugs of tea. Hopping up on the counter, I sat opposite of her and took the blue mug she offered to me.