As I finish revising my latest draft and close my word processor with an almost satisfied sigh, I turn to glance at the wall clock in my brightly lit office. Just about five in the morning. Well, my editor knows I keep odd hours, and she doesn’t question it. She’ll see my email later, whatever time normal people wake up.
I shrug on the jacket hanging off the back of my chair, fish around in the pocket for a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, and step out onto the balcony in my slippers. The sun won’t be up for another hour or two, but the sky’s already started to brighten. I blow smoke into the chill spring air and stare down at the city below us—streetlights flickering off, shuttered storefronts, a car passing by here and there.
Eventually, I stub out my cigarette in the ashtray and step back inside. I drape the jacket over the chair, turn off the lights, and head to the kitchen to whip up breakfast. Before I get started, I pull out the little voice recorder from my pants pocket, set it on the counter, and hit the red button. While I cook, I talk to you about how my day went, how my work’s going, how much I love you.
I set a plastic-wrapped plate of food down on the table—scrambled eggs and home fries, just the way you like them—and then step back to the counter to pick up the recorder. My finger moves to stop the recording, but…no. Not quite yet.
I walk over to the bedroom, keeping my tread soft and quiet. I know no matter how much noise I make, you’re not going to wake up, but it helps a little to pretend you might.
You’re right where I left you, lying in bed in your nightgown, gently tucked under the covers. The blackout curtains shut out the twilight outside, but in the dim glow of the single small nightlight, I can see the soft, slow rising and falling of your chest.
“God, you’re so beautiful.” I’m not whispering, but my voice is low, reverent.
I carefully set the still-running recorder down on the bedside table, take off my glasses to set them next to it, and then sit on the bed beside you, running my fingers through your hair.
“You’re an angel, Clarie.”
I lean down to rest my head in the crook of your shoulder, basking in the soft coconut fragrance of your shampoo and your own scent layered underneath.
“I know I’ve told you before, but I love the way you smell. I love all of you. You just make everything feel so right.”
I pull away slightly, spending a few moments just staring at your sleeping face, stroking your cheek slowly with the pad of my thumb. But before long, I’m pulled back in, and your lips feel so warm and soft against mine. My kisses start gentle but quickly get greedier, more urgent, slipping my tongue into your unresisting mouth, your head cupped in my hands. I sit up for a second to pull aside the blanket, and your body stretched out in front of me takes my ragged breath away.
“Fuck, Clar…”
I shift to straddle one of your legs, then kiss you again, one hand gripping your head to lift it up just a little way to meet me. My other hand wanders along your side, from your hip to your waist and up to grope one of your perfect tits through the soft, thin fabric of your nightgown. You never make a sound, no matter what I do to you, but your pulse is getting faster, your face is flushed, and your nipple is stiff under my fingers.
“Yeah, that’s right… Good girl…” I growl out, unbuttoning the top of the nightgown and spreading it open. I kiss my way down your neck to your chest, licking and sucking at your tits while my arms wrap around you, feeling the shape and heft of your body.
“Clarie…” I pick up your arm and move your hand to feel the growing bulge in my jeans. “I need you so bad…”
I clumsily strip off the jeans, hike up your nightgown, tug off both our panties, and then spread your legs and kneel in between them. I lean forward to kiss you some more and stretch a hand down to your pussy. You’re already wet, but a little more won’t hurt. While I play with your clit, I wrap your hand around my cock and use it to stroke myself, pre dribbling onto your fingers. Finally, once I can’t wait a moment longer, I lift your hips into position, lining myself up with your entrance.
“Here it comes, Clar… Ohh, fuck!”
I pound into you over and over, jostling your limp body with each thrust.
“Clar, Clarie, god, you feel so good…”
I wish this weren’t the only way I could have you, but, well, I wouldn’t be doing it if I didn’t enjoy it. Once my head cools, I’ll probably hate myself a little, same as usual, but right now, I’m using you as my personal sex doll and loving every second. I push your legs up and lean in to kiss you again, my moans and half-coherent dirty talk spilling into your mouth.
“Ohh, fuck, Clar, I’m so close, that’s it, be a good doll for me and take it— Fffuck!”
My fingers clutch frantically at your hair and your nightgown as I shoot my load inside you. Almost as soon as I’m fully spent, afterglow washing over me, I feel a sudden unstoppable drowsiness hit me too. I was planning on cleaning us both up first, but I’m about to fall asleep before I can even pull out of you. You’re going to make fun of me again, but right now, I’m too tired to care.
“Gonna sleep now…” I mumble. “Sorry to leave you with the mess. I love you, Clarie. I…”
It’s back in the old days, right at the very end—the five of us against Entropos. Things aren’t looking good, but you’ve got a last-ditch plan; you just need the rest of us to run interference long enough for you to charge up your spear past maximum and hit him with it at point-blank range. I know what’s going to happen, but I’m still going along with it, doing everything exactly the same; that’s just how the dream goes.
I’ve got my guns in both hands, firing round after round at him. Jackie’s dashing around punching out monsters as he spawns them. Lucy’s doing something with those weird scissors of hers, a half-dozen flickering copies of her all dancing in the gaps between my bullets to stab and slash at him. And Alexa, of course, is shouting at him about friendship and humanity and stuff and getting him to monologue back at her. All the while, your spear glows brighter and brighter as you sneak up from his blind spot.
I’m not sure what it is that gives you away at the last second. I want to hope it wasn’t one of us looking too long at you. Maybe he caught sight of a reflection. Maybe you were just never going to get that close without him spotting you. He whips around, not fast enough to save himself, but fast enough to catch you right in the chest with a Chaos-charged fist in the instant before your spear strike obliterates him.
“Blue! Clara!” Alexa cries out.
We all rush to your side as you lie splayed against a wall—me faster than any of them. I’m shouting, we all are, begging you to be okay, but you just won’t open your eyes…
I wake up, gradually getting my bearings. I’m lying on the couch, my head resting in your lap and your hand resting on my head. I’m cleaned up and wearing one of those cute frilly dresses you like seeing me in. You’re sitting there asleep with the TV still on, paused at the end of a video—looks like the new episode of Yuru Camp. You must’ve dozed off after you finished watching. The notebook is open on the coffee table, with the voice recorder and my glasses sitting on top of it. I turn my head to glance up at the clock—a little after 3pm.
I sit up slowly, scooting in next to you and giving you a kiss on the cheek, then put on my glasses and pick up the notebook and recorder. There’s a new sketch in the book: me, in this dress, sitting in the nice armchair. I’m posed neatly upright—although my head is still lolling slightly to one side—and my hands are folded in my lap. If I were awake, it’d be a very classical portrait sort of vibe. Asleep, there’s an added layer of voyeuristic beauty to it. I usually hate seeing myself—in art, in photos, in mirrors, in anything—but I like the way you draw me.
While I admire the sketch, I navigate the menu on the recorder’s little LCD screen and hit the button to play back the three new recordings.
“Hey there, Laurie,” your voice echoes from the small speaker. You sound more subdued than usual, less jokey. “I know you feel bad about having sex with me like that sometimes, even when I tell you I’m happy for you to do it, but I just… Thank you, love. I…” A shaky sigh. “I really needed that this morning. It just made me really happy waking up with you right there inside me, knowing you’d been enjoying me. I love you too. So, so much.” I can hear you giving me a kiss, then a few quiet fabric noises—probably unbuttoning my shirt. “…Even if you do leave a mess sometimes,” you chuckle. “I’m leaking cum onto the sheets again. I’d better go clean off a bit. You can sit tight like that until I’m back.”
I can picture it in my mind’s eye—splayed out unconscious on the bed, shirt unbuttoned and spread open, everything else already stripped off. Exposed, defenseless. Yeah, that hits. I’m getting pretty horny about myself today, huh. That always feels like a special sort of victory, and it doesn’t happen often. You make me feel a lot of ways no one else can.
The second recording starts playing. “The eggs and potatoes were delicious. Thank you, Laurie. I really—appreciate isn’t strong enough of a word, I’m just so grateful for you. I love you so much. You’re always doing so much for me.” I hear the sliding of the balcony door and the background noise of the outside. “We should figure out a way to go somewhere together, sometime. It’d be tricky, but I bet we can work out something. I want you to be able to have that. You deserve it.”
The recording keeps going for another ten or twenty seconds, just the rush of the wind and the sounds of distant traffic, and then stops, cutting over to the third.
“I drew a little sketch of you. You’re gorgeous, Laurie. I was admiring you all dressed up, and the sun was shining in on you from the balcony window, and you looked so beautiful I just had to drop everything and draw you right there. I hope you like it. Also, I hope you like these pancakes, once I finally finish making them. Thanks for being beautiful at me before I mixed my drys and my wets. It’s very considerate of you, love.” The sound of a whisk in a metal bowl. “I think I’ll sit on the couch with you a while, after I get the bowls washed. Maybe we can watch something nice together. I… I’d like that.” A pause. “I’ve been working on a new song, but I’m not ready to record it yet. Soon, maybe. I want you to hear it once I’ve got it more figured out.”
“I love you.”
I crane my neck around to see pancakes on the table behind me, and suddenly realize I’m extremely hungry. I get up, use the bathroom, and then sit down to eat breakfast before returning to the couch.
I pick up the recorder from the coffee table again and stare at it in my hand. I’ve still got a soft, warm feeling in my chest from all your reassurance and gratitude and love, but I can tell you’re not at your best. It doesn’t sound like it’s anything specific, besides the all-encompassing obvious. We each have our bad days, and I want to help you through this one however I can.
“This is beautiful, Clar,” I say, turning to look at you while I record. “You know I have a hard time feeling beautiful a lot of the time, but I’m beautiful in this. You make me see it. Thank you.”
I lean over to give you a kiss while I think about what to say next.
“I’m so grateful for you too, love. You light up my life. Always have, always will. I’m happy anywhere as long as I’m with you, but a trip sounds nice—you deserve that too. I’m sure we can figure out something.”
I reach down to clasp your hand, entwining my fingers with yours.
“Thank you. Really. I love you so much, and I’m so lucky to have you, then and now. You’re my world, Clarie. And once you’re ready, I’m looking forward to hearing that song.”
I stop the recording, then get up again to grab my laptop from my office and bring it back to the living room, setting it on the side table by the couch and maneuvering the whole setup into a comfortable position. Finally, I gently pull you down onto your side, your head resting in my lap now, my hand occasionally wandering down to stroke your hair while I work.
Before I check my email, I plug the voice recorder into the USB port, copy off your latest recordings, and clip out the “I love you”s to add to my folder. You’ve joked that I should turn them into a synthesizer pack or something; I’ve got more than enough for every key on a keyboard. Mostly I like playing them back while I fuck you. Some days, it feels too hollow, and I’d rather just focus on the you in front of me in the moment; but when I’m in the mood for it, it’s pretty hot. I’ve seriously contemplated putting together some sort of pull-string voicebox on a harness or something, but I’m no good at tinkering with electronics.
I do know I’m a freak. You’re always reassuring me that I’m not, or that everyone is really, but deep down, I know I am. Some of that’s circumstance, but I’m pretty sure I was always like this on some level, and the way you laugh and smile and accept it, welcome it all, welcome me, means more to me than I can ever explain. I’ve still got fantasies I haven’t told you about—like the one where I get a ton of photos of you and turn my office into a full-on stalker shrine, maybe pretend I’ve drugged you and kidnapped you, and so on—but I know I will someday, and I know you’ll still love me. I just need a little longer to work up the courage.
Anyway, my theory is that you need to be some kind of freak to be a really good author. I’m definitely more than qualified, and it’s been working out all right so far—I’m making enough to support us, at least, although it helps that our lifestyle’s not all that expensive.
On that note, I’ve got an email back from my editor, thanking me for the draft and saying she’ll send me her comments on Thursday. In the meantime, I should work on the next chapters; I open up my word processor and get started.
Work goes pretty smoothly. I take a break around 7pm to make myself lunch, another at 10 to turn the TV back on and hit Replay on that episode you were watching, a couple quick smoke breaks in between. Sometimes I talk to you about questions I’m mulling over—not with the recorder, just speaking to you asleep on my lap. Lucy calls it “rubber duck debugging”. You make a pretty good duck too.
A little after midnight, I put away my laptop and pull out a book I’ve been enjoying. I get to a scene that cracks me up so much I just have to tell you about it, so I click on the recorder, and then I end up rambling about all sorts of stuff. You’re so easy to talk to.
Finally, at 3am, I decide to turn in for the night. I carry you over to the bed, take a shower, put on those PJs you got me, change you into your nightgown, and drift off to sleep in your arms.
We’re in your hospital room, all sterile shades of white and the humming and beeping of machines. The doctors still have no clue what’s wrong, and they wouldn’t believe us if we told them. All anyone knows is that you haven’t woken up in a week, and maybe you never will.
I’ve gotten Alexa and Jackie to go get us some food or something; right now, it’s just me, Lucy, and you.
“Just tell me.” I’m staring Lucy dead in the eyes. “Can you do it? Yes or no?”
She stares back at me with a sharp-edged calm. “Yes, but, the scissors can only rearrange what’s already there. They can’t create new—”
“I don’t care. Do it.”
“And what about you, Lauren?”
“What about me? If I can give her any sort of life back, it’ll be worth whatever I pay. And I won’t be any worse off than her, right? What’s any of this worth to me if she’s gone?”
She holds my gaze for a long, silent moment, then nods.
“I’ll only be able to do this once. No take-backs. Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Without another word, she manifests the scissors and…
I wake up lying in bed with you hugging me tight, your sleeping face buried in my chest. I feel a small spot of dampness on my pajama shirt, and your closed eyes are puffy, trailing tear-streaks.
Carefully, keeping one arm wrapped around you, I stretch out the other to retrieve the recorder from the bedside table. I turn the volume down low, hold it close to my ear, and press play.
“I… I’m sorry… I… Jackie came over to visit for a bit, and I remember that thing you mentioned a while ago, and I wanted to give it a try for you, and she was happy to, but I… I just couldn’t, when I looked at you sleeping there it just felt so—it’s not wrong, you’re not wrong, it’s just more than I could take…” A ragged breath. “W-we only barely got started, she took one photo but then I freaked out and…”
“I just, you’ve given up so much for me, I owe you so much, and I w-wanted to do something special you’d really enjoy, but I messed it up, and now I’ve probably hurt Jackie’s feelings too, and I… I’m sorry I’m like this. I’m sorry.”
Glancing at the bedside table, I can see a single polaroid, lying face down. I reach out for that too, still not getting up, hugging you tighter into my chest. It’s you and Jackie, on the bed, kissing, my sleeping figure out of focus behind you, and god—
“God, Clar, you’re so much more than I’ll ever deserve,” the microphone already recording, “you didn’t have to do this for me, you didn’t have to keep the photo, if it makes you upset then I’ll burn it, you’re what I care about more than anything. Please, promise me you won’t push yourself like that again for my sake. You and I will always owe each other everything, and we’ll never owe each other anything—that’s just how we are. I’m the one who twisted Lucy’s arm into grafting our damn souls together. Sure, I wanted you to live, to wake up, but my heart was pounding out of my chest at the dark, fucked-up little thought that while I was at it, I could finally make you mine, forever. And I miss you, so much, even though you’re right here, and it drives me crazy that I’m the one person who can’t look you in the eye and tell you face to face exactly how much you mean to me and how much you do for me every single day until you believe me, but I’ve still got you, and you will always be everything I could ever wish for and more. And don’t worry about Jackie—I’ll message her later and make sure we’re good, but you know how she is, she’ll be fine. Right now, I just need you to know how much I love you. I don’t have any deadlines today, fuck it, I’m spending the day in bed. There’s nowhere I’d rather be and nothing I’d rather be doing than sleeping here with you.”
I stop the recording, wrap my arms around you tight, and give you a slow, gentle kiss on the forehead, hoping it’ll reach you somewhere in your dreams.
You’re my world.