Crisis Of War

{ XXVII }

{TRIGGER WARNING! EXPLICIT CONTENT! DO NOT READ IF YOU CAN'T HANDLE IT, THANK YOU! Otherwise, enjoy!}

I open my eyes, squinting because of the bright light falling through the curtains. What?

The curtains in the room aren't supposed to let any of the light through, but suddenly they do?

Once my eyes finally adjusted to the bright sun, I realize I'm not in the same bed anymore.

Or in the same room for that matter. Probably a different country as well. Because the sun is shining bright.

I'm somewhere else.

Somewhere where the sheets are softer than anything else I've ever felt before, somewhere where the sun is warm instead of just a ball of light that shines throughout the day, somewhere where I would hear a soft wind blow against my window instead of storms.

Somewhere away from the cold, wet, weather. Somewhere where it's warm and alive.

It's a dream. I know it is.

Because there's no way I'm in Venice again.

I look at the book lying in front of me and try to read the letters. For some reason, my mind won't let me, so I simply give up and drop down on the bed again, stretching on the soft sheets underneath me.

I'm wearing a big shirt, which is obviously not mine, and take a deep breath.

It's Rio's.

And it smells like him.

Piece of shit...

He still haunts my dreams. And I hate him for it. Because that's the only time of the day he occupies my mind anymore.

I hear the door close, but never heard it open, and don't even try to look to see who it is. Because I know.

I know what's going to happen in this dream.

Because it's not a dream.

It's a memory.

It's something that actually happened. Something that I'll never forget.

'What are you doing here?' I ask, just like I did that day, when I finally turn around to face the person walking into my room.

It's Rio.

And just like that day, the sight of him knocks all the air out of my lungs.

He's wearing gray sweatpants again. No shirt.

And his chest, god, that chest.

It's as if god sculptured him muscle by muscle, not allowing any imperfections whatsoever.

'I heard you were staying in.' He says as he slowly takes a seat on the little couch near the window.

I loved to sit there when the sun was out, but at this time of day, the sun was shining in another direction, so I laid on the bed instead.