Page 48 of Dark Desires
“Right. Is that when the dreams started?“
“No,“ I reply. “It felt like I wasn’t myself for a bit, maybe a full month, but slowly things got back to normal. Bryony and I were going to move in together after a couple of months because her lease was going to be up in a bit. I needed company, and I think Bryony was worried about me.“
“And that’s when the dreams started to happen.“
It’s not a question.
“Yes, that’s the first dream I remember,“ I say. “I thought it was, I don’t know, something to do with my cycle. But then it kept happening and my cycle didn’t matter at all.“
“And what kind of dream was it?“
“A sex dream, definitely,“ I say. “But…nothing was happening in it. It’s like I’m paralyzed, and there’s this man next to me, and I desperately, desperately want him to touch me. It doesn’t matter where I am or what I’m doing, all I can think of is how paralyzed I am, how much I want to beg him to fuck me. When I wake up, I’m so fucking horny. It’s like all I can think about is getting fucked. Like I wanna be dominated and bred, which is…“
I realize what I’ve said when it feels like the air is sucked out of the room. I think Malon might’ve stopped breathing.
He’s watching me, his cheeks red, his mouth half-open and his pupils dilated, covering almost the entirety of the green in his eyes.
“Wow, I’m sorry,“ I mumble. “That’s a lot.“
“It’s fine,“ he says, rearranging himself in his seat. Is he hard? Holy shit, does he actually have an erection right now? I definitely shouldn’t be looking at my therapist’s dick. I force myself to look back at his face, though it takes me a considerable amount of effort. “It’s therapy. You’re supposed to be able to share how you feel, and to be fair, I did ask you.“
“Right,“ I say under my breath, unsure of what else I’m supposed to say.
“You don’t have to be uncomfortable with me and it’s never my intention to make you feel unsafe.“
“You’re not making me feel unsafe,“ I reply, meeting his gaze. “You’re making me feel hot.“
Okay, not the right thing to say to your therapist, apparently. He leans forward and puts his hands on his knees, getting to his feet quickly and pacing away from me.
Amateur move. He’s definitely trying to calm himself down. “I think the nurse can show you to your room now,“ he says. “I might need to ask for you to be transferred out of my care,“
“Why? I like you.“
I know why. I can see why. He’s a good therapist and he clearly takes this seriously. “This is my job,“ he says. “I’ve worked very hard for this. I’m not going to throw it away because you’re pretty.“
“Thank you. Who said you had to throw it away?“ I ask. It doesn’t even sound like my voice. I wonder if I’ve finally lost my mind. I mean, after everything that’s happened, it wouldn’t exactly be a surprise.
In fact, it’s kind of a miracle it hasn’t already happened. How have I kept any of my sanity intact through this entire thing?
I look around. Maybe I haven’t. Maybe this is exactly where I need to be.
MALON
Ishould really ask the administration to transfer Trine’s care to someone else, but the very idea that I won’t be able to see her sends me into a tailspin.
I’m aware that I’m being immature. Not immature, short-sighted. Stupid. But there are a lot of things that Trine doesn’t know, that I can’t tell her.
The closer I am to her, the easier it’ll be to protect her. Still, I don’t want to scare her, but I fail to see how she’s not going to be scared. If I were her, I’d be terrified.
It’s stupid. I know I should control myself around her, but she’s making it impossible. The way she’s talking to me without realizing she’s talking about me–or fuck, maybe she knows, and she’s only doing it to tease me–makes me feel, fuck, almost human.
Ever since I’ve been here–since I’ve been this version of myself, anyway–things and people that make me feel human are very much out of the ordinary.
There are lots of things I don’t like about being in a human body, but it’s pretty easy to control compared to what it normally feels like to be myself. Except when I’m with her. That makes me feel like this whole journey has just started, like I haven’t spent practically eons trying to train myself to control this body.
After making my way into the staff bathroom, I stare at myself in the mirror. I inch closer to my reflection, my gaze flitting on the freckles on my skin.
It’s complicated, this whole thing. There’s, of course, who I was before I wasthis, and he still lives somewhere in my head, though his presence is ebbing away the longer I wear his body. He seems to have feelings about the way he looks. But he’s certainly less dominant in my head–his head–than he used to be, and my opinion about my own body has far more to do with curiosity than anything else.