Dream Eater (m|m)

Chapter 2

The lobby is huge and shiny—lots of glass and metal—and filled with enough potted plants to deserve its own gardener. A fountain occupies the center, spouting water in cascades of diamond drops. I stare at it as we cross to the elevators.

I make for the big double doors, but the guy tugs my arm and leads me a few steps farther. He uses a keycard to open a smaller, private lift. Inside, there are only two buttons: L for 'lobby,' and P for 'penthouse.' He presses the P and the doors slide shut.

We ride up in silence, and I study our dual reflections in the mirrored wall.

We're a mismatched pair. He looks mature and well-groomed. I look young and like I could use a good meal. 

One of those things is true.

My body's actually over a hundred years old, though it still looks about twenty, which makes sense because that was my age when I died.

It was tuberculosis, and I was in a makeshift hospital filled with the dead and dying. Those still alive were lost in fever dreams, making it an ideal feeding ground for dream-eaters.

I don't know if he felt sorry for me, or just wanted to make a new demon, but this one old guy did something to my soul. When I died, I didn't go anywhere. I just stood there staring down at my dead self, and he looked at me like he could see me and told me to follow him. He stole my body from the hospital and took it home with him, and I followed, all lost and incorporeal. Then he showed me how to re-possess my body, and told me I was a dream-eater now.

Congratulations kid, you're a demon.

He disappeared after that, and I never saw him again.

The elevator doors open and we step out into a massive penthouse with an open floor-plan. Everything looks too expensive to touch. Damien leads the way, and I follow, not quite sure what to do with my hands.

He walks over to a long bar and pours himself a glass of something brown.

"You want one?" he asks, indicating the bar.

"Some water, please."

He brings me a glass with ice.

"So," he says, "how does this work?"

I shrug. "Simple. We sleep together."

He looks at me sharply. "No offense, but you're not my type."

I smirk.

"Oh yeah? Why's that? Too much man for you?"

He raises a brow. "More like not enough."

Ouch.

I run my hand through my messy brown curls.

"That's not what I mean anyway. I mean you go to sleep. I go to sleep. We go to sleep together, and then I fix your dreams."

Moving to sit on the sofa, he crosses his ankle over one knee. Even his socks look expensive. "I'm sort of a night owl," he says. "I don't know if I'll be able to fall asleep this early."

And I'm not hanging out in Awkwardsville until bedtime, no matter how uptown it might be.

"No problem," I say. "Take one of these." I pull the little box of pills from my pocket and hand it to him.

He doesn't take it.

"I don't do drugs."

"Good. Neither do I. These are herbs. Valerian root. It'll relax your muscles and make it easier to fall asleep."

He looks at me skeptically, but takes the box. Picking up one of the small brown pills, he sniffs at it and grimaces.

"It smells like shit."