"Please!" she called, panting and out of breath.
The dark figure in front showed no signs of slowing. This person gracefully galloped down the alley and turned a sharp corner. The female called out again, driving her legs down and heaving them up despite the exhaustion coming over her body. Her lungs were burning, as if she's swallowed a shot and a lit match. It was nearly dark, and she panicked at loosing sight of the tall male.

"Please wait!" she pleaded in a hoarse voice.
Her long, wild ebony hair bounced and swung as she jogged, her pace becoming increasingly slower. The tears were freely escaping from her dark, painful eyes as she gave in. She dropped to her knees, clutching her elbows and sobbing. Her chest heaved, the dark t-shirt was soaked in her sweat. Her sobs turned to coughing; she slammed her hand down on the rough pavement. Anger. She was so angry. Why didn't he stop?
The dark night swallowed her up. It swirled around her in one dark cloud and drown out all else. She no longer felt the pain in her chest and the moistness of her clothes. She felt nothing. Suddenly, her neck was caressed by an amazingly comfortable warmth. His smooth voice haunted her but did not cause her to jump. Her heart sank down and became a bowling ball in her stomach; though she leaned into that horrible sound. His arms came around her body so tightly she could no longer breath.

"Meme," the voice was distorted and different, "wake up."
She opened her eyes, to a softly lighted morning. Her bedroom's familiarity did not still her rapidly beating heart. Her eyes, those beautiful brown orbs of mystery, cleared and looked at the other. She sighed and rubbed her forehead roughly, feeling the cold sweat beads collected there.
"Morning," the male voice offered in a soft consoling tone.
"What time is it?" she questioned him groggily.

He leaned over her, supporting himself on his arms, "Just after nine," he whispered.

She closed her eyes and swallowed the lump that had risen in her throat overnight. He lowered his lips down to her forehead and pressed them to her skin softly. He smiled as he laid himself on top of her, holding her body tightly. She turned her head gently and looked over at the window as he softly kissed her neck.

"You should get ready, you're going to be late," she reminded him gently.
"Oh, yeah. You're right," he agreed.
He rolled off of her and hopped up. She watched him bounce around the bedroom, opening drawers and turning on lights. After he left the room she pulled the covers up over her shoulders and smashed her face back into the pillow's soft body. Her fingers tightly clenched the blanket before she suddenly threw it off. Feet to the floor, she made her way to the kitchen.

On her way past the living room, she stopped to turn the television on. The morning news chattered on in the background. She gripped the handle of the fridge and popped open the door. It was the same morning as it always was: the news, breakfast, getting ready for work, clocking in. She brought her workstation to life. The computer hummed, the printer tested itself. It was the same day, with very few variations. Five o'clock came, and she went.

Now back at the apartment, Meme's key slid into the lock and turned. As the door opened, the familiar smell of home welcomed her into the living room. The glowing television murmured in the corner of the room. Once settled, with her shoes off and her hair free of any restraints, an overwhelming feeling of exhaustion came over her. She laid her body into the soft, cushy couch. The velvety embrace of sleep took hold of her mind.

"You!" she exclaimed with a finger flung out at the tall male.

He was standing with his back to her, almost as if he was ignoring her entirely. She reached up forcefully and clamped her hand onto his shoulder. Then, without thinking she ripped him backwards so that he stumbled. Her eyes went wide as they glided over his face. It was a blank space where his facial features should rightly be. His head was adorned with ears and a beautiful head of a golden blond hair. It was long for a male's hair, but not by female standards. The male helped himself up; then simply faced her as if he were staring at her.
"Who are you?" she softly questioned him, for fear he'd run.
"Who?" his voice was intricate and warm, "The question I have is: why are you following me?"

"Me? I...I'm not following you." she said defensively.

"Oh," he said just as softly as he turned and began to walk away.

"No," she said as she took a few steps towards him.
"What are you doing? Not following me?" his voice teased her warmly.

She froze and tried to imagine his face. His voice was so telling of the small smirk that must be sitting on his lips. He turned to face her out of curiosity. She looked up, picturing his face. His blank face blurred with shades and bumps but returned to it's lack of features. He quickly brought his arm up to his face as if to shield it. A lightning bolt of adrenaline struck her chest at this event.
"You mustn't do that!" he scolded.
"I don't," she paused, "I don't underst-," she was interrupted by a flash of smoke.
Out of the dark cloud of spiraling smoke, the faceless male pulls a gold bordered mirror. He begins to walk towards her, with the item facing himself. She backs away a step or two, that lightning charged surge setting her heart to beat at a ferocious pace. Slowly, he turns the mirror to reflect her. Reluctantly she looks down at the mirror. Her eyes went wide as she gazed down at it.
With a scream Meme shot upwards from the couch. She panted softly, gliding her hand over her pounding heart. She set her feet to the floor, and quickly ran into the bathroom. In the mirror she touched her facial features. Her nose, her lips were still there, so she expelled a sigh of relief. It was only a dream. Her fingers found the cold water knob and turned it. Soaking her entire right hand, she brought it up to her cheeks and then slid it over the back of her neck. Her heart slowly stopped it's frantic pounding. For the longest time she stood in the bathroom, trying to make sense of the dream.

"Meme?" came Julien's voice in the doorway of the bathroom.
"Yeah," she whispered.

"Come to bed?" he was almost pleading with her.
"I'm not really..." she started to say but he walked towards her, causing her to become quiet.

Julien never took his eyes off of hers as he slipped his arm underneath her knees and around her back. She automatically wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder. He lifted her into his arms and held her tightly. He maneuvered through the doorway and hallway that led to the bedroom as if he were carrying a porcelain doll. Julien laid her body down into the bed slowly. He stood there and watched her for a moment before he joined her.

She felt him slid his body against her own, and soon after she felt sleep come over him. She, however, would not allow herself to fall asleep. Two hours had passed when the clock beside the bed began to beep annoyingly. Meme reached over and touched the circular button that held off the beeping for ten minutes.