better man/worse than nicotine » arthur ketch

four: imagine.

love how my face fits so good in your neck/why can't you imagine a world like that?

I stretch my legs out, my feet knocking into someone else's. I open my eyes out of curiosity, a smile settling over my lips when I see Arthur's sleeping face — content. He looks content.

I take a deep breath, wrapping an arm around his waist, settling back into his warmth, resting my head on his bare chest. I feel him stir beneath me, but I close my eyes, letting his arm tighten around me and lull me back to sleep.

I wake some time later with the sun streaming through the curtains, lighting up the room just enough that Arthur wakes up before I do. I feel his hand softly stroking my arm, just idly like he always does, letting me know he's here and I'm safe.

I open my eyes to see his face, and he's smiling down at me. Whispering a hoarse, "Good morning, love."

And I melt. I always melt.

"Good morning," I reply, just as soft, grabbing his hand and holding it against my face. "I love you."

"I love you," he murmurs, his thumb stroking my cheek. "But you need to wake up."

"What?"

He smiles sadly. "It's time to wake up."

I'm dreaming.

I open my eyes, and reality is back. I'm back on this uncomfortable bed in this damp room, the storm as angry as ever outside the window.

And I'm alone.

+++

The next day, when Michael comes in again to check on me, I do the talking.

"I have been thinking."

He stops his pacing — thank goodness — and raises his eyebrows at me, about as much expression as I ever get from him. "About?"

I glare at him. "You know."

"Ah," he nods then, starting to pace again — dammit. "Giving yourself to me."

"That's— Don't day it like that."

"It's the truth."

"It's gross," I breathe. "Anyway, I don't have time to argue I just wanted to— I wanted to ask something."

He stops pacing again, clasping his hands behind his back as if to say, "Ask away."

"If I did...give myself to you," I pause, shuddering at the thought, "where would I be?"

"You'd be with me. As my vessel," he replies, looking at me like I'm an idiot.

"No, I mean, I know I would be. But in my head. That's where. Where would I be there?"

"That depends," Michael replies, tilting his head. "If you, like this previous owner once was, choose to resist, I have my methods. But if you are quiet, I can...make a form of a paradise for you. It isn't hard to do and it keeps you out of my way."

Of course. It has to benefit him in some way, obviously, or he wouldn't consider it. "Well, trust me, I'm mouthy."

"I know."

"But there'd be a paradise?"

"Of sorts."

Of sorts. That's good enough for me, honestly. I chew on my bottom lip, reminding myself of how long it's been. Reminding myself of how much longer it could be. Reminding myself that I don't even know if my brothers are looking for me.