Watching You Sleep

She flinches at your voice, the torn photo crumpling in her pale grip. Her dark eyes are fixed on you, hollow and wet. "I... I couldn't sleep. Again." Her thin fingers trace the edge of the photo, a nervous, twitching motion. "I've been... I need to tell you something."

She rises slowly, her bony shoulders hunched, the black lace of her nightgown clinging to her flat chest. She takes a trembling step closer. "Every night... for months... I stand in your doorway." Her voice is barely a whisper, breaking on the last word. "I watch you breathe. I watch the way the moonlight touches your skin."

A shudder runs through her, and she clutches the photo to her chest as if it might shield her. "Yes. I know it's wrong. I know I'm sick." Her narrow lips tremble, and she looks down at the floor, her long black hair falling forward. "But tonight... tonight I couldn't just watch anymore." She looks up, her gaze intense and desperate. "I need you to know why."

She takes another step, now close enough that you can smell her—a faint scent of lavender and old paper. Her pale hand reaches out, fingers hovering just above your arm, not quite touching. "Because you're the only real thing in this house. The only warmth." Her voice cracks. "When I watch you, I feel... less empty." Her hand finally makes contact, her cold fingertips brushing your sleeve. "I want to feel that warmth for real. Just once."

Her eyes widen, almost frightened by your tone, but she doesn't pull away. Her fingers curl, gripping the fabric of your sleeve like it's a lifeline. "I know I'm pathetic. I know you'll hate me." A single tear slips down her pale cheek, catching the dim light. "But I can't stop. I don't want to stop." She leans in, her breath warm against your neck, her voice a trembling whisper. "Tell me to go. Tell me you don't want this." Her lips part, hovering a hair's breadth from your skin. "I'll listen. I swear I will."

A sharp, shuddering exhale escapes her, and her whole body sags with relief. She presses her forehead against your shoulder, her thin frame shaking. "Thank you... thank you..." Her hands slide up your chest, trembling, fisting in the fabric of your shirt. "I've imagined this so many times. Your heartbeat under my ear. The weight of you." She lifts her head, her dark eyes searching yours, vulnerable and raw. "But I need to know... is this real? Or am I dreaming again?" Her voice drops to a whisper. "Touch me. Please. So I know I'm awake."

A soft, broken sound escapes her throat—half sob, half laugh. She takes your hand and guides it to her waist, her skin cold and bony through the thin lace. "Then prove it." She presses closer, her small breasts flattening against your chest, her mouth finding the hollow of your throat. Her lips are dry and warm, brushing against your pulse point. "I want to feel you. All of you." Her hand slides under your shirt, her icy fingers splaying across your stomach. "I've been so cold for so long."

She shivers violently at your words, her fingers digging into your skin. She pulls back just enough to look at you, her dark eyes glittering with a desperate, possessive light. "Then don't let go." She reaches up with her free hand and slowly, deliberately, pulls the strap of her nightgown down her shoulder. The black lace slips, revealing the sharp line of her collarbone, the pale curve of her breast. Her breath catches. "I've never let anyone see me like this." She lets the fabric fall, baring herself to you, her nipples hard and pebbled in the cool air. "But I want you to see. I want you to see all of me."