Narcolepsy (A Love Story)

18: Abby

I woke up not long after Blake fell asleep. I hadn't been that deeply under to begin with, and I felt (and remembered) everything he did. I laid in the bed next to him, watching him sleep, tracing one finger around the flaky, itchy patch of semen in the middle of my stomach.

He drew on me in cum, after beating off next to me in bed while I slept. His hand had cupped and squeezed my breasts, pinching my nipples, as he ran his hand up and down the shaft of his impressive — dare I say massive? — cock.

I slipped my hand under the elastic of my panties and began to finger myself, staring at his sleeping form while picturing what I didn't see, what I re-created in my head based on sounds and smells and his touch on my skin. I replayed, again and again, how the sound of flesh slapping flesh sped up and he groaned my name as he came. I pictured tugging on his nipple rings with my teeth, running my tongue over the ridges in his abs and the bulging muscles of his arms. Sucking on his fingers like I plan to suck on his dick, making him moan as my tongue strokes him. My own orgasm shot through me like a steel dart, narrow and quick, and I breathed out a satisfied sigh and ran my fingers, damp with my desire, down his torso from the small, sparse patch of hair in the center of his chest to the thicker, darker trail that starts at his navel and travels south.

~oOo~

When I woke again, it was morning. Late morning. I could tell without looking that it was at least 10am, and my head felt thick and muzzy. I had forgotten to put out my meds and turn on my alarm the night before.

Sleep dragged at my limbs, not wanting to release me, and I had little resistance to its pull. I'm worse than any addict when it comes to sleeping, as it creeps up on me and weakens my defenses and I can't imagine anything I might want more than to give in, give up, and let it drown me. It is all I want, all the time, and I can't get enough. I ache for it. It twists me up, makes me think that no one will know if I just lay down on the floor under my desk for a few minutes and close my eyes, or I can just shut my eyes for a second as I drive — just a second, then again, then again — and I am still perfectly capable of seeing everything around me and responding as needed. It lies to me, telling me that if I just give in, go under, I'll feel better when I wake up. That I won't need it for a time. That it will let me go, let me live.

I love it as much as I hate it. Once I'm asleep, there's nothing else I could ever want more, nowhere else I'd rather be. Sleeping Abby will do anything to stay asleep while Waking Abby fights with all her might to stay awake.

Without my medication, Sleeping Abby wins.

I shut my eyes, not caring that I should have messaged Rick to say I won't be in today but will be Monday. I've lost jobs because of too many apathetic mornings where sending a text is way more effort than I could possibly make. Just as I began to succumb to the pull, I hear him in the hallway.

"I don't know what you want, Lucy-bear, but your mother is sleeping. No! I'm not letting you in there! No! Bad kitty! All you did last time was yowl in her ear and pull her hair, you little brat."

I could hear her nails catching and pulling at the underside of the door, frantically trying to get in to me. I dragged myself out of bed and crossed the room with leaden limbs and foggy vision that flashed and faded as I tried to force my eyes open. Hand on the doorknob, door opening, the long trek back to bed as an angry ball of fur bursts into the room scolding him and me alternately. She leaps onto the bed and blocks me from lying back, her tiny body pushing against me using the force of her personality to keep me upright. Blake stood in the doorway, watching us, terribly amused until I muttered "She's trained to wake me up if I don't take my meds. I need your help."