glass sits in the middle of a dark red circle. I wonder if I’m the one who has spilled, if the stain is my fault. I’m red-hot, burning up. I look down at my sweltering body, covered in soft yellow silk. I’m not sure if I’m wearing a dress or a slip. My feet are bare, the tips of my toes painted blood-red.
I gaze across the table. Weston is sitting there in an impeccable black suit. His hair is slicked back, parted on the side, his face clean shaven. His eyes are as striking as ever — an even brighter shade of green — like sea glass. He’s clean and so beautiful. Next to him, I feel dirty, soiled. His gaze lingers on me, his eyes travel from my red lips to the swell of my breast. He adores me, desires me…even if I am soiled.
I pull my gaze away from him and take in my surroundings. We are on a boat; not a yacht, not a cruise boat, but a rather large pirate ship of some kind. The floors are a worn oak.
The sky is dark, the waves are choppy, yet the boat is perfectly still, the wine glasses steady. The wind is cool and harsh, yet the candle keeps burning bright.
I want him to come to me, to take me, to make me his. And suddenly, the table between us vanishes, and he is at my feet, kissing my blood-red tipped toes. I crumble to the floor, and bury myself in him. His mouth presses onto mine, his tongue explores, wild, frenzied. I want to drink him in, taste him. His mouth is sweet. I soak in the sugary taste, but soon, it turns metallic, sharp, like blood.
I sweep my tongue across the edge of his jaw, the texture rough against my lips. I slip off his jacket and shirt with barely a touch. His gentle hands glide against my skin and the soft yellow silk disappears into thin air. I press my naked body against his, and drag my hand over the smooth skin of his rear. He’s nude, but I don’t remember undressing him. Our bodies press together onto the hard oak flooring but it feels like we’re lying on clouds, floating. The sleek tight curves of his body fit perfectly against mine. He takes my breast in his mouth as he sinks into me. His thrusts are forceful, but he doesn’t hurt me. He only pleasures me. The first climax is soft and teasing. He watches me intently, conscious of what his body is doing to mine. The second climax instantly follows, long and intense, the sensation on the verge of pain, but exquisite nevertheless.
He rests his head softly against my chest. I want to keep him there forever. I feel languid, satiated.
A loud scream cuts into the silence — shrill and piercing. I run to the edge of the boat. My feet catch on hundreds of splinters. My feet are bloody. I see him in the distance. The waves crash around him. Gabe calls out my name, “Ella, Ella.” He’s going under, he’s struggling. And I know I need to get to him. The boat is moving fast and I know if I abandon it, I will never see Weston again. Weston begs me not to jump.
I struggle, torn between the two. My bloody feet start to vanish and I know I must make a decision.
I whisper ‘I love you’ to Weston and I dive in. The descent is long, and when I finally crash into the waves, the water is unbearably hot, scalding. I swim to him, fighting with every cell of my body to get to him. But the more I swim, the smaller he seems to get. I see him struggling, going under, and coming back up. “Keep fighting!” I call out, “I’ll be there soon.” I keep swimming, but my arms are tired. They feel like they’re wrapped in heavy weights. He gets smaller and smaller…
And finally, he disappears.
I weep for him.
The waves crash around me, become fiercer, higher, and I feel myself being taken under. And I just don’t have the strength to fight anymore.
Slowly, the world turns black. An excruciating pain overwhelms me. It travels from my lungs to the deepest part of my belly. A thousand stabbing knives.
I wake up in a sweat, tears streaming down my face. The time on the digital clock is blurry: 2:36 AM. I clutch my pink cotton nightgown, my heart beats