In-out-side by Maria Gracia (MaGa).

You wake up and stare at the ceiling feeling his presence by your side, his body joined with yours. Why is he here? You cannot help but question and wonder how long it will take him to leave. He, who has yet to fade whilst looking into those amethyst eyes. People shy away, diverting their gaze from them-because of them- the one reminder the monster outside the wall left that you could never hide. They avoid you; the uncomfortable, the unnerving- lo diferente.

He turns around trying to clasp you between his hands, to cradle you against his chest. Will you let him? His breath caresses your neck, his porcupine features tickling your cheek as he nuzzles his way to your lips.

Frigid bitch - that is who you are (who you were).

There is no response from you as to what he is doing; no sound, no movement. Your body an ice sculpture that refuses to melt and become flexible. But wait, your hand fists the midnight-showered wall like a lifeline and in your mind you chant: Don't let him know that this is what he does to you. He will get up, he will leave.

Like every time before this one, you are too weak, you fail. "It feels so good, too good, to fail" he murmurs, counting each and every one of the stretch marks that cover your body, your mind. His touch soothing, his fingers a warm summer rain against the ivory stone that is your skin. He focuses on one of the marks and bends down to kiss it. "Have these been caused by droplets of water that fall upon your body; are they stars?"

Shivers run from your white-blue hair to the silver in your toes, he carries on touching, digging into more than what is tangible, adding pressure to the scars almost desperately as if trying to make them disappear, conjuring them into his memory.

He laughs because he knows. He will have you where he wants in no time; next to him, alive and on fire and, finally, away from your post, away from the wall. Will he ever have you where you want to be – in(out)side? You struggle and finally let go, damn the stars, damn be those amethyst eyes. Your arms go around him claiming defeat, a thing he never fails to tilt his head at, wondering and questioning you and your intentions until the head hurts and the fingers ache from trying to reach beyond the x & y plane.

In the end… the stone rises, the wall falls, the gargoyles fly away.

Note: This is the first thing I've written in a long time. The first thing I've posted in much longer. I'm thinking about writing short pieces like this one (430 words); we'll see.