The Dawn of Darkness (Part 12)

I'm in the car, trees are passing along as we drive. The radio is blaring a Goo Goo Dolls song, one that makes me smile. I look over and see myself sitting next to me, hand resting lightly on the top of the steering wheel. My face looks over at me again and gives me a wink. I look down and see the female body that I am possessing. It is foreign to me, but I make the decision to go along with it. To let the dream take me where it is planning to go.

We pull onto a quiet suburban street and park in front of a house. It's light yellow in color. There are white shutters in the window. It looks very much like the one that I saw when I was walking with her. I get out of the car and am met by myself, taking my hand. I am led up to the front door. The dream me, the male form, unlocks the door and we go inside.

The house is quiet, there is no one else present. The male me leads me to the living room, sits me on the couch. He asks if I would like something to drink. I nod. He walks out of the room. I look down at my bare legs. They are lightly tanned, young and strong. I am wearing a pair of pink high-topped Converse, drawn up with rainbow colored laces. The bows are double tied.

He returns with a glass filled with dark colored soda. There are pieces of ice floating in it, clicking lightly on the glass as I raise it to my lips and drink. He takes it from me when I am finished and sets it on the coffee table. He sits next to me on the couch. My heart is racing. He starts to talk. I hear him, understand him, but cannot make out the words. He places a hand on my knee and a shiver runs through my body.

There is a want inside of me. I like when he touches me, it warms me from the inside out. I look at him and see the face that I have known for so long. Floppy light brown hair, large, wide-set hazel colored eyes. A nose that is a little too long, a little too narrow. A full bottom lip. A smile that is cautious, that hints at something undiscovered. It is my face, and yet... it is his.

He is leaning over to me, his eyes are drawing to a slow close. I tilt my head back and await the kiss that is coming. As his mouth drapes over mine, I allow myself to close my own eyes. His lips are soft as they grind onto mine. His tongue parts my lips and enters my mouth, swirling around my own. I feel his hand go to the back of my neck. He is pushing against me, lowering me to the couch. I go without a fight.

His body is on top on mine. I manage to draw my legs into a lying position on the couch, and he rises up and lowers his full weight onto me, his mouth never breaking contact with mine. My heart is pounding hard in my chest. There is a rush of blood to the spot between my legs. I feel myself blooming. It isn't much different than the feeling of blood rushing to my cock, the feeling that I am more familiar with, except I don't feel hardness from myself, from this female dream body. Instead, I feel the hardness from his body, pressing dully into the inner part of my thigh.

His hands are running up and down over my chest, grabbing at my breasts. My heart rate quickens. It is delightful and frightening at the same time. I get the sense that no one has touched this female body like this before. Flashes of uncertainty spark behind my eyes. I raise a hand and try to push his away. His touch is insistent. His fingers squeeze harder.

I hear myself arguing against his mouth. I am speaking "No" into his kiss, my hands are fumbling more. His touch gets harder, even more emphatic. His knee is pushing between my legs, starting to force them open. Panic washes over me. I start to struggle in earnest.

He breaks from our kiss and sits back, his weight pinning me to the couch. His hair is disheveled. His eyes are glaring wide open. The look in them isn't quite right. When he slaps me across my cheek, I am unprepared for it because I am mesmerized by those eyes. I cry out when his hand connects and reach up to my face. My cheek is stinging. It feels as if there are thousands of needles under my skin, trying to break through from the inside out. My cheekbone is throbbing. I begin to weep.

His hands run down over the length of my upper body. He starts to pinch at my nipples through my shirt and bra. My tears turn to sobs. I am shaking my head, begging him to stop, repeating that "No" over and over, my voice thinning with every recitation of the word. He stops. I carefully open my eyes and look up at him. He is studying my face with the deepest of intensities.

I cannot help but stare back up at him, to analyze his face as well. His eyes are peering hard at me, but they are empty. His pupils are dilated so much that they look like black holes. The muscles in his face are lax. His expression is impossible to read. What he will do next appears to be as much of a mystery to him as it is to me.

What he does next is grab me by my hair and yank me to my feet. I scream out in pain. My hair is set in a ponytail, high on the crown of my head. He starts to pull me deep into the house, down a hallway. I cannot keep up and my feet fall out from under me. He drags me down the hall. I can feel hairs being ripped out of my skull. There is a trickle of wetness on my scalp, but I don't know if it is sweat or blood.

He brings me into a bedroom. It is not the master bedroom, but it clearly belongs to a teenaged male. There are posters of half-naked women on the wall and dirty clothes strewn around on the floor. He throws me towards the bed with such force that I roll across it and thump against the wall. The blow dazes me and for a moment I cannot breathe. He slams the door to the room shut and flips the lock on the doorknob.

He is pacing the room, rubbing his palms together and breathing hard. He starts to talk to himself under his breath. I cannot make out what he is saying. Suddenly he stops pacing and slams the heel of his hand against his forehead. His head whips over in my direction. His eyes are ablaze. It occurs to me that this is what a crazy person looks like. My sobs start afresh.

He comes to the side of the bed and reaches forward to touch my face. It is not an act of aggression, but I cringe from it nonetheless. Anger spreads over his face. He balls his hand up into a fist and punches me in the nose. Blood spurts out and flows down over my open, wailing mouth. It drips off the end of my chin and stains the blanket beneath me.

In a flash of a second, he has spun around and unlocked the door, exiting and slamming it shut behind him. I am in too much a stupor from the punch to attempt an escape. Just as my mind screams at me to stand up, he is back in the room.

He has a washcloth in his hand and it is wet. He sits down next to me and presses it to my face. It is cold and eases some of the fiery sensation burning at the front of my face. My crying becomes muffled against it. He strokes the back of my neck and then reaches up and yanks the elastic band that is holding my ponytail out of my hair. I feel my hair cascade down my back. My head hurts less with it freed. The pulsing in my skull lightens up.

He sits like that for a few minutes, holding that washcloth to my nose and stroking the back of my head. It would have been a welcome gesture if he had not been the one that done the damage. I am almost tempted to surrender to this bizarre show of affection. Just as my mind is about to embrace that idea, it rejects it just as quickly and I pull away from him, backing into the corner of the room that the bed it pushed into.

While he is left there, staring at me in confusion with his hand hovering in the air, holding the bloodied washcloth, I begin to kick. My foot connects with the side of his face and he is thrown off the bed. I inch forward and then hop down onto the floor. I start to pull my foot back and swing it at his crumpled over body, but he catches it with his hand and yanks it. I lose my balance and come crashing to the floor, my ass hitting the carpet. Pain shoots up my spine, stars cloud into my vision.

He is on top of me in an instant. Covering my mouth with his hand, stifling my scream. He pushes his face into my ear and begins to growl insults. I stop trying to scream and begin to cry again. He tilts his head and looks into my eyes. There is the briefest of moments when a touch of sanity comes back into his gaze. He is looking into my eyes. I force myself to keep them open and look hard at him, try to implore him with my eyes. For a second, I am almost convinced that it is working.

Then he shakes his head, hard. He closes his eyes and whips his head side to side, like someone does when trying to get water out of their ear after immerging from a pool. Like he was trying to shake the sanity out of him. My heart seized. When he looks back at me again, his face is placid. He smiles.

Then he is grabbing me by the ankles and dragging me out of the room. I start screaming again, the screams tearing at my throat, burning the insides of my mouth. I screamed until I couldn't breathe and then inhaled and screamed some more. I clawed at anything that I could get my hands on as he dragged me back down the hallway and toward the sliding glass door leading to the backyard. My hand knocked over a floor planter and loose soil spilled out. I tore at a rug and dragged it along with me.

He had gotten me to the sliding door and was throwing it open. I tried to hold onto the side of it as he pulled me outside. My fingers held tight and my knuckles turned white. He reached down and pried my fingers off one by one. When he'd gotten one hand free, he grabbed me by the opposite wrist and yanked. Sparks of pain shot through my arm. I flailed wildly. Tried to flip over. Tried to kick. Tried to hit with my free arm. He howled as my foot kicked sharply at his shin. I fought to get back into the house. I felt his hand at the back of my head, his fingers lace through my hair. He pulled my head back hard and then slammed it down against the ground.

As blackness began to seep into my vision, I caught sight of a picture on a nearby table. It was of two young boys, arm in arm, smiles spread from ear to ear.

Twin boys.