Whispered Kiss

Ghosted

A chill stirred in the morning air. My sleep transfixed eyes found the curtains of my open window, swaying. In the far corner of my room, the old bag of scrap parts I called a radio stirred awake. A hypnotic chant began spewing from its static filled speakers.

You're better than drugs.

Your love is like wine.

You're my addiction, my prescription, my antidote.

You kill the poison, calm the rage.

My back arched, and my hands tightened into fists as my feet parted. He stood over me, his unruly hair failing in shadowed streaks across his face. He embodied an abysmal black hole that sucked the shadows from their designated spots until they clung to his body in a concrete mass of curving obscurity.

You're better than drugs, your love is better than wine.

The music continued and with each word I slipped into an entrancing haze, one which willed my body to perform commands I didn't give. The more the song played, the more I became enraptured with the words, each syllable a message to the deepest parts of my soul.

You're my addiction, my prescription, my antidote.

You kill the poison, calm the rage.

The current song switched to another, but the words from the second song and the words from the first held the same significance. He wanted me, needed me, and above all, craved me.

The volume rose until the windows vibrated in their casings.

Let me out of here, and please don't ignore me.

Baby can you feel, feel me?

Baby can you feel, feel me?

In my perfect world, you're happy with me.

When I picture it, it is so heavenly.

Feel me.

Feel me.

Mecca Kalani's lyrical deepness stuck on the words feel me, forcing my back to arch more. The sensation scarcely made sense to me though my body continued its dance. A dance with something beyond what my mind understood. The man looming above me stretched out his hand and his index finger pressed into the skin above my ear, dragging down the length of my neck. Like a satisfactory feather without the tickle, the stroke left behind a burning heat, moving ever so slow, down, down, down. . . The worn nightgown I wore slipped from my shoulders and pooled around my middle. I was bewitched. Somewhere within the recess of my mind, a piece of me fought to be released but whatever got hold of me refused to let me take control.

"Your mine."

"I'm, I'm you-"

The door slammed open and light poured into the room, shooing away the misshapen darkness. At last, the spell broke and an aching scream slipped from my lips, my hands rushing to yank up the nightgown with shaky fingers.

"No. Not again." Dianna whispered, rushing into the room and unplugging the radio. I righted myself and watched her in her disheveled state, her eyes wide, her hair sticking up in pointy ends and her head shaking unconvinced from side to side. She inched a step forward.

"Please. Please tell me it didn't start again? Please?" she begged in small rasps, still shaking her head in denial.

I shot up from bed and almost tripped over the tumbling duvet, before I reached for her and grabbed hold of her arm, pulling her towards me.