Never Leaves

1

The dark crept out from under the bed, slow and precise, like a cat unfurling itself from a nap. But it wasn't the dark's intention to stretch. No, it had a different motive that night. Slowly, it's tendrils uncoiled, the shadows shifting until a hand formed. Followed by an arm, a shoulder, a torso, a neck, a head...

With it's upper half now resembling a man, the dark turned back towards the bed. It slunk silently forward, and loomed over the sleeping woman laying in a tangle of dishevelled bedding. Her bare back was towards the dark, the covers draped low on her hips; though her breasts and most of her face was pressed into the pillow she clutched like a lifeline.

In the small chink of light that permeated through the curtains, the dark could make out the glimmer of drying tears on her cheek. The mass of dark shuddered, like a man sighing in resignation. How often had the dark lay beneath the bed, listening to the woman crying herself to sleep?

For months the dark had lurked, silently biding it's time, waiting to strike. Until realisation dawned, that nothing the dark could bring would be worse than what was already in this woman's mind, or the hurt she held in her heart.

But still, the dark had remained. Waiting. Watching. Until it could linger without action no longer. Until it had slunk from beneath her bed, stretched and transformed. Until it moved and bent low over her defenceless body...

and gently caressed her face.

The dark smoothed it's shadowy hand lightly over her her tear stained cheek, ran it's inky fingers through her dishevelled hair, stroked down her back in a way it hoped would only slightly disturb the sleeping woman; just enough so that she'd wriggle and grope instinctively to pull the bedding more snugly around herself, staving off the chill the midnight hour brought.

The last thing the dark did was stroke between her furrowed brows, waiting until her face softened and she sighed peacefully in her sleep. Then slowly, carefully, the dark moved away. It twisted and coiled, curling in on itself until it was nothing more than a swirling mass of shadows, allowing it to once again slink beneath the bed.

Where it rested.  Waited. Watched. Biding it's time.