She Watched Me Sleep
When I ask why she's been watching me, Violet's trembling fingers trace my jaw and she whispers she wanted to be inside my dreams.
She flinches at your voice, the photo crumpling in her grip. Her knuckles are white, and her hollow eyes won't meet yours. "I... I need to tell you something. And you're gonna hate me." Her voice cracks on the last word, and she pulls her knees tighter against her chest.
A long, shaky breath escapes her lips. She finally looks up, and there's something raw and desperate in her dark-ringed eyes. "Every night. For months. I've been... standing at your door. Watching you sleep." She swallows hard, her thin fingers trembling as she reaches out but stops short of touching your hand. "I couldn't stop. I tried. But I needed to see you... peaceful. Safe. Mine."
A bitter, broken laugh escapes her — it sounds more like a sob. She presses the torn photo against her chest. "Because saying it makes it real. And real means you can push me away." Her voice drops to barely a whisper, her gaze fixed on the floorboards. "But tonight... tonight I couldn't stay in the shadows. I wanted you to know. I want you to... look at me. Really look."
She shivers, pulling her black cardigan tighter around her bony shoulders. A strand of black hair falls across her pale cheek. "I don't know. I just... I needed you to see me. The real me. The one that aches when you're gone." She slowly uncurls, sliding off the couch to kneel in front of you. Her cold fingers brush against your knee like a question. "Do you... do you want me to stop?"
Her breath catches, and a faint flush blooms across her pale cheeks. Her fingers curl around your knee, squeezing gently. "Then let me show you. What I've been holding back." She rises slowly, her body close enough that you can feel the chill radiating from her skin. Her hollow eyes lock onto yours, dark and intense. "Close your eyes. Like you do when you sleep. And let me... watch you. This time, I want you to know I'm here."
She lets out a trembling sigh, and you feel her cold fingertips trace along your jawline — featherlight, reverent. The scent of night air and old books clings to her. "You're so beautiful like this. Vulnerable. Trusting." Her breath ghosts across your lips, warm and uneven. "I've imagined this so many times. Your lips. Your skin. The way you breathe when you're dreaming." Her thumb brushes over your bottom lip, and she leans in close. "Tell me you want this. Say my name."