She runs to the brink of a distant unseen abyss and casts her deprecating observations into its depths.
The darkness enveloping me bleeds black then suddenly shifts to blue grey.
Then it all becomes blackness again.
She jumps in and out of my head as if trying to find the most comfortable spot to reside.
I try not to fight the process but wonder if the pain is truly worth what I may eventually discover from her; if I discover anything at all.
She settles in behind my eyes, and the landscape becomes a muted haze. I am beginning to see what she sees. But what for her is vivid color, for me is nothing more than a faint outline.
Together, we watch with growing interest as the shadow moves about.
Who are you?
Why are you touching me?
No! Please, no?!
Oh God, please don’t!
A violent thrust from nowhere purges Debbie Schaeffer from me. The suddenness of it all is even more painful than her careless entries and exits have been. The scene changes point of view, and I see a young woman clad in a party dress. She is arranged in a chair, her body limp. Her face is a palette of colors, painted haphazardly on delicate features.
Visceral, primal thoughts race through my head.
Electrically charged sexual desire wells within me, coursing throughout my body with an animalistic passion.
The feeling is unnatural and foreign.
The intensity of the desire frightens me, but I cannot back away from it.
In the real world I am disgusted by something dark that permeates the arousal.
In the real world I begin to feel physically sickened by the perversity that is woven within the shroud of lust.
Between the worlds I am engaged by it and craving more.
Oh Jesus! She is just so gorgeous!
She’s so close! So close!
Damn! She’s almost perfect!
Muted darkness.
Explosive blinding light.
Muted darkness.
Explosive blinding light.
Muted darkness.
Jesus…So close.
My desire is stiffening, and I can’t wait any longer.
I must fulfill the need.
Quench the fire.
On this side of reality I deny the urge to take myself in hand. In the darkness between, I am unable to resist.
“Dammit, Rowan! Don’t let him in!” Debbie’s voice scrapes past my ears with anger charged static. “You aren’t like him. Stop it!”
Panting…
Heart racing…
Quickening…
She’s so close…
She’s the closest yet…
If only she was really her…
So close…
Quickening…
Faster…
Again, Debbie’s voice punches inward and wrestles me away, evicting the sudden perversion from its warm and comfortable place in my head. For all the disconcerting imagery she brings with her, I am thankful for the rescue. Her voice is frenzied and caustic-aimed at me, him, whomever. She slips into the three-piece suit of my id, ego, and superego taking absolutely no care as the seams rip. The intensity of her emotion painfully rends the garment that is I.
“Look at me, shithead. I must look like a two-year-old who got into Mommy’s makeup. Are you blind or are you just stupid? How in the hell can that be getting you off?”
She slips out without warning and stands before me. I feel the hard sting of her palm against my cheek. “Don’t you ever do that again! It’s GROSS! You’re supposed to be HELPING me, Rowan, not acting just like HIM!”
Her voice calms, and she studies me carefully.
“Okay. That’s better. So now that you’re back, you want to tell me what is up with this guy, Rowan?”
Again, she flits away before I can answer. I am left standing in the cold darkness.
I hear her distant tenor echo in the abyss.
“Hey, you! Perv boy! Are you listening to me?”
She returns as quickly as she left, making my stomach churn as she turns my neural pathways into an amusement park ride.
Her momentary occupation of my conscious ends as she is bludgeoned from behind and thrown forcibly into the cold.
My hand is warm and wet…
Panting.
Heart still racing.
I’m spent…for now.
I tug at my zipper.
She’s so beautiful.
She’s so very close.
If only she really was her.
Then…
Then she would be perfect.
I tap directly into the solid grounding Felicity is forcing upon me and fight to expand my “self” outward. My growing consciousness forces the vile invader from within me. But it isn’t enough. I’m caught between Debbie and the shadow of her tormentor-effectively outnumbered. And, each time I chase one of the them away, the other comes from behind to occupy the space. I struggle to follow the tennis match going on between the hemispheres of my brain.
For one brief instant, calm ensues and I find myself face to face with a petite blonde.
She strikes a pose then begins to dance about.
Hey, hey, hey, whaddaya say!
Rowan’s here, now we can play!
Hey, hey, hey, whaddaya say!
Look at me, I’m dead today!
Take a good look, don’t you turn away!
Just look at me, Rowan, I’m dead today!
She stops and glares at me with a serious frown.
I’m dead, Rowan. So what are you gonna do about it?
“Rowan?” Ben’s voice slides in behind the morose prose. “What’re ya’ seeing? Tell me what you’re seein’.”
Before I can open my mouth to answer, my “self” is hijacked yet again.
“Oh yeah, that’s a great dress, asshole-if I was going to some kind of retro masquerade prom, MAYBE. Who
