23. Lucid Dreaming

The night is young. That"s what they say in the movies, right? This feels like a movie, as I"m lying here in bed. It"s warm and fluffy like a cloud. My limbs and scalp are tingling in anticipation. The man in my bathroom is getting ready to come to bed with me. I"m not sure if I can picture his face, but I know he"s there, and I have a sense I know who he is.

My mind is wading through the fog, but the scene before me moves faster than my brain can process. I"m left to focus on what I"m seeing and abandon all logical thought.

The man's wearing a black short-sleeved shirt that hugs his biceps. Tattoos crawl from beneath the material, snaking down his arms. There"s something about it that makes my mouth water. My eyes only travel down to his gray sweats, which puts his hardened cock on full display. The fabric is loose everywhere, baggy, all except for where his shaft is pulling it taut. I can see everything down to the outline of his head. Fuck!

But my mind is in a sleepy haze of confusion because it's like he doesn't move, and his clothes are gone, leaving nothing to hide his shaft.

Double fuck.

My brain doesn't question who he is again because my body swears this is right. If it feels right, then it has to be right, right?

I"m on my side with my hand beneath my pillow, which is how I usually sleep. A shiver runs down my spine when his large palm lightly grazes my outer thigh to the curve of my ass. I think he"s about to take the space behind me when he kneels on the bed, but instead, he captures my knee and spreads me open. His body molds into the space between my legs as if he was always meant to be there.

Lucidity while sleeping doesn't happen often. It occurred a lot more when I was a kid, which would end up being night terrors. However, I"m lucky today is one of those days when I can enjoy this because this moment is anything but scary.

"I"ve thought about you and this tight pussy all day," he groans, pushing his hips into mine. I"m angry at the thin fabric separating us, but I can"t move. My limbs are heavy.

"Hmmmm," I whimper, urging for more. I need more pressure to rid my cunt of this ache.

"I"ve got you." His warm hand slips between us and presses against my bundle of nerves.

"Yes," I squeal with a voice I don"t recognize as my own.

"I"m about to fuck you in your dreams, Dead Girl, and there"s nothing you can do about it," he states, running the head of his cock through my folds. The piercings on the tip are cold, but his skin is silky soft, and I want more. Am I too proud to beg? No. Definitely not. I'm about to do so when he braces his arms on either side of my head, his dick notched.

"I"m not sure why I"m obsessed with you. Maybe it"s because you remind me of myself, and no one else has ever come close to being compared to me. Been able to compare to me. Not even my twin." he whispers in my ear before putting his weight on his forearms so we are face to face. He rests his forehead on mine. His inhale stealing my exhale. "You're actually about six feet beneath my level of filth." Then he thrusts into my needy pussy.

"Oh, King," I moan. The piercings rub a spot I didn"t know I had. I shiver, wanting him to hit that button again and again.

He chuckles. It"s warm, deep, and even raspy with lust. "Miss me, dead girl?"

I"m panting when I admit, "I"ve been wondering when you would return."

His face is blurry in my sleepy state, making me focus on the sensations I"m feeling. I know him. He"s soul-deep. There"s a fire burning inside me that is being stoaked by his cock. My hips meet his, and he stops moving, allowing me to take what I need. I"m clenching around his cock, milking him for all he"s worth. My body shivers, and a moan claws at my throat.

Just when I"m about to beg for more, my words are cut off by a hand around my windpipe and a rough slam into my pussy. My body erupts with a euphoric explosion. I close my eyes, savoring every thrust. I"m thriving on that edge of bliss and don"t want to come down from whatever this is. Just as I"m about to explode for a second time, I slam my lids open.

There"s a shock to my system when the haze of sleep is no longer there, cloaking my world. The bright morning lights are peeking from behind my thick blackout curtains. The pressure in my abdomen builds to a peak as if it"s a roller coaster about to take a downward plunge. My mind is catching up faster now while my body greedily sucks the life out of the thing giving it pleasure.

Then I realize this isn"t a dream. This is my reality, and the man thrusting into me, pulling every orgasm from me, is covered in blood.

I open my mouth to scream, but my voice is held captive by his hand. He never stops moving within me as he tsks. "No need to scream. I just couldn"t resist taking you while you slept. You look so peaceful. So scrumptious the way your pussy peeks from the back with your knees drawn up." He leans in close to my face and whispers, "I can"t resist taking what"s mine. Over and over again."

My heart pounds in my chest, and my eyes widen with every word he speaks. If that"s not the hottest thing anyone has ever said to me, but whose blood is that?

I can"t focus on my curiosity for long, though, because he claims my clit between his fingers and pinches it hard. The pain elicits a type of pleasure I never knew was possible. He goes between massaging me and giving me pain. Back and forth until my head is a white-hot ball of fire, the spots in my vision burst, and my body explodes like a dying star.

"Fuck, you look gorgeous when you fall apart for me," he states just as my eyes close, and I drift off to sleep once more, wholly satiated.

When I wakeup from my alarm buzzing in my ear, I remember my dream. Even though my mind is fuzzy about the pieces, I distinctly remember Dr. King"s torso covered in blood. That was a dream, right? A Night terror?

I"m questioning everything because I don"t even believe my own mind at this point as I get ready for work. I"m walking through mud in a daze. The fact that I told Brandon to never come back after today begins to clear my thoughts. I"ll have to do all of this by myself again, and I don"t feel anything about it. I"m emotionally dead inside, empty. It"s almost as if I"m stuck in that limbo of pleasure where my body and brain are all fuzzy and blissed out.

In no time I"m standing at the morgue"s door, pushing it to find an empty room. Brandon left an hour early, as he said he would.

A yellow sticky note with rough, scratchy handwriting is on the desk, and I lift it to see what it says.

"This is the last you"ll hear from me, Monica. You need to watch your back."

Is that a threat?

I thought I knew Brandon, but over the last couple of days, it"s proven that I never really knew him at all.

After three callsfrom the local nursing homes, I"m finally back in the morgue with the bodies of people who have lived their lives and signed a DNR do not resuscitate. Since they didn"t want to return to the land of the living, they lay on my examination tables, waiting for their families to claim them. These things always happen in threes, so this should be it for tonight. If not, then another set of three deaths will occur.

No further work is to be done until the morning. I"m sure the retirement facilities will wait to call their families either to avoid delivering the news or to give them the courtesy of a full nights sleep before their world is in upheaval. Whatever their reasoning, my job is done for the night. If a family doesn't claim the body, they will be eligible for the furnace. It"s a perfect opportunity to dispose of the mismatched body parts from the wreckage a few days ago… and Johnny. I need to say my goodbyes. My chest tightens at the thought. I was prepared the other night, but Dr. King"s surprise visit only gave me another excuse to delay the inevitable.

"I really need to get this over with," I say after a low, exaggerated sigh.

The stainless steel handle is cold when I open the door to his freezer and pull out his tray. I"ve never had a corpse for more than a day after the embalming process, and we don"t start that until after they"ve been claimed. We only have about a week before his flesh begins to gray and sluff off. Right now, though, he"s beautiful under the fluorescent lights with his intricate line work. The tattoos are almost identical to those of his brother had in my dream. I don"t understand how Jax killed Johnny, especially considering I found him hanging from the ceiling with his hand around his dick. Family drama can be a doozy.

I trail my fingers over his pecs and abs, then over the V lines that point you to his massive rod. "Maybe one last time, Johnny?"

My pussy throbs with the thought of getting dicked down again by him and his brother. I can"t deny the sensations of being in a twin sandwich gave me.

"I think he was a little jealous when I was sucking you off," I whisper in his ear as if any of the dead bodies in here will tell my secret. "A dead body of all things to be jealous of. Can you imagine?"

My eyes begin to water, but I blink them away. I"ve got to cherish this while I can. I remove my shirt at a slow pace, letting the cool air pebble my nipples into hardened peaks, and use his hand to cup me like before. The arm I put back together won"t hold for much longer. Glue and flesh are pulling away like wet paper at the seams. I should stop messing with it before it falls off completely, so I set it back at Johnny"s side.

"It was in the way he touched me everywhere down to a place in my soul no one has ever reached. Like no matter who I am or what I"ve done, he possesses me," I continue to explain to Johnny and myself why I"m starting to come to terms with his brother. "I think I could be with him, even if it were just for the warmth of his touch." I grab hold of Johnny"s cock. "You know? I"ve never had anyone that wanted me for me."

I let go of him, pulling down my pants. My clit is already begging to be touched. A low throb pulses between my legs, and my skin hums with need. When I bend over to remove my jeans the rest of the way, a cool breeze brushes my wet sex. "You can"t give me everything I want, Johnny. Not like I thought you could," I admit as I climb onto his tray and position myself over his shaft.

The head of his cold hard cock presses against my entrance, different from how Jax felt. Fire and ice. But I love it all the same.

"Having him and having you is the best of both worlds. With you, I know what I get. I can control you. With him? Well, with him, he has all the control. I can just let go." I explain as I sink down onto his hard cock. Its chilly feel instantly makes me clamp down around him. "Ahhh, this is too good to quit," I groan, riding him like this is the final time I"ll ever have one inside me.

I cup my breasts, squeezing them before running them through my hair. It"s as if I"m putting on a show for anyone who will watch as I let go of all the judgemental words and harsh glares people have shot my way. The thought process of letting everything go is liberating.

When my thigh muscles begin to burn, my legs shake. I don"t let that stop me. I"ll keep riding him until he"s out of my system. Until I look back at the past and don"t wish I had him one last time. This is the end of an era for me and Johnny. I look into cloudy green eyes, and they draw me in like they always do. They remind me of a beautiful emerald lake on an overcast day, and I"m the power line that"s just taken a plunge into it. Electricity pulses over my flesh in waves of hot and cold. It builds in intensity with each rock of my hips and passes my fingers over my bundle of nerves until it becomes unbearable to hold much longer. My body trembles, and the balled-up knot in my abdomen breaks open, coating my body in a sheen of sweat.

"I think I need to keep something to remember you by," I whimper, my cheek pressed to his chest.

Once I"ve caught my breath, I reach out to grab the rounded tool that looks like a spoon of sorts off my tray. With him still inside me and my breast pressed to his chest, I don"t think twice about what I"m about to do. I scoop out his eyes and drop them onto the metal table for later. There are a few sample containers in my storage closet I can grab to put them in.

There"s a scuffing noise of something rubbing against the concrete floor. I lift my head ever-so-slightly and notice one of the freezer doors is open. Did I do that? I"m the only one here, and I don"t remember opening that one. The hairs stand on the back of my neck as if someone is watching me. Then I turn slightly, glancing behind me to find a green-looking Brandon.

"You"re fucking sick," Brandon screams right before he vomits like the exorcist, covering the concrete floor in his puke.

He never left! He never fucking left! I quickly scramble off Johnny and gather my discarded clothing, covering myself.

"It"s not what it looks like," I say, my voice wavering without my permission, giving me away. He knows my secret, and there"s no way I can talk myself out of this one.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

Brandon is holding his stomach, but his gaze remains on his puddle of chunks. Before I can even think about slipping my shirt over my head, his head snaps up, and I"m caught in the web of his accusing eyes. Lines of rage carve his baby face, forming at his squinting eyes and pursed mouth. My clothes shake against me as my hands tremble. I"m more terrified than I"ve ever been in my life. I"ve been called every name in the book. Hell, I"ve been stalked and taken against my will. Well, kind of. However, the one thing I"ve never had is for someone to look at me the way Brandon is right now.

There"s nowhere for me to go as he stalks toward me in full, purposeful strides. Before I can think of another way to escape, he"s grabbing a fistful of my hair, forcing my head back to meet his hostile gaze.

"You couldn"t give me the time of day because you"d rather fuck…" he sucks in a sharp breath between his teeth.

His hand tremors with pent-up fury, causing my own head to go with it and jarring my vision before yanking me back and directing my face at Johnny"s lifeless body. I lose hold of my clothing in the process. My sweet Johnny, who"s never done anything wrong, is being made the villain in Brandon"s story.

"You"d fuck him instead of me?" he demands, his voice cracking, sadness seeping through the cracks, but he quickly shuts that down, gripping my hair tighter.

"Ahhh! You"re hurting me," I cry, flailing around, grappling at Brandon"s wrists to alleviate the burn on my scalp.

Brandon flits his eyes over my naked frame, and there"s a mix of emotions there that pass by too fast for me to catch before he embraces the wave of hatred he"s been riding.

"You even let his brother mark you, didn"t you!" he screams, spitting in my face. "I started putting it together after I saw the bruises, and my father frequently asked if the body had been burned."

There"s a clatter of metal as his hand fumbles with the tools on my tray. I can"t see which one he picks up, but I can be safe in assuming it"s one of the scalpels when something sharp rests against my collarbone.

"There"s nothing I wouldn"t have done for you. There"s nothing I haven"t done for you," he whispers. "It was always supposed to be me."

Then there"s a moment of pain. I try grabbing the knife, but he slices at my hands and arms, making contact in a few places before I give up. Fire blooms between my rib cage, immobilizing me. He cuts so deep that the blade scrapes against my sternum and vibrates the surrounding bones. I can"t see what he"s doing from this position, but I know I"m in big trouble. He"s heavy-handed with hatred. I might not live to see another day. Tears sting my eyes and trail down my face.

"Brandon!" I scream, "What… what are you doing?"

I moan in agony as fire turns to hot lava that runs down my abdomen. I"ve given up grabbing for the scalpel and sightlessly fumble around me for my tray of tools. Maybe, just maybe, if I can get my hands on something, I could…

"Your heart is as cold as ice and as black as night, but I want to see it with my own eyes, the very thing that broke mine in two," he seethes, "You"re nothing like the pure white innocent angel you display for the world." He cuts deeper, moving from my chest to my belly before lifting his hand and moving toward the opposite clavicle. It"s then I realize he"s cutting me open like a cadaver. Alive! "No, you"re just as awful and nasty as every rumor I"ve spread about you."

"Ahhhh," I scream as his blade gouges my sternum. If he wants to get deeper, he needs the bone saw, but I hope he doesn"t figure that out. My mind is split between his words and the agony he"s inflicting on me, but I finally pick up on that last part he let slip. "You. You let me go through this miserable loneliness and expected me not to do something about it?" I cry, but his eyes are lost and hazy, as if he"s disassociated from this plain of existence entirely. There"s no getting through to him. Is that what he meant when he said it was always supposed to be him? He isolated me, so all that was left was him?

My chest pulses with a torturous beat like my heart is on the outside of my body. I just want to curl in on myself to staunch the pain, but my arms are weak. I'd be a bloody pile on the floor if he didn't have me held up by my hair. Blood continues to pump out of me, but it"s not warm anymore, and I"m freezing. This isn"t good. I think I"m dying. Brandon"s eyes blink rapidly to stop the movie, which keeps rewinding in his mind. I wish I could break it. Tear it to shreds so we could both forget about all of this, but I know that will never happen. Nothing will ever be the same again. When he comes back into his body, he releases my hair and grabs me by the throat. Brandon wasn"t supposed to be like this. He was the sweetest guy I"ve ever met. He never made me feel like a creep. Well, until now.

"Shut up," he spits, swinging me around, crashing me onto an empty tray opposite Johnny"s. "Tonight, you"ll get to see what you did to my heart with your sickness and rotten insides." His lips are turned down at the corners in a sneer as if he can"t stand the sight of me after what he saw me doing with Johnny. Rotten? That voice in the showers from high school. It can"t be.

I"m leaning on the table, hoping it can staunch the wound because the rest of me is useless. Pretty soon, my legs will give out, too, and by then, I"ll be dead. Brandon undoes his belt and pulls my arms across the table in front of me before strapping my wrists together. What"s the point of him tying me up? It"s not like I can fight him, but I haven"t given up yet. There needs to be a way to get through to him with my words. I need to.

"Brandon," I whimper softly. His eyes pierce into mine briefly with that familiar softness before morphing into steel once more. "I just wanted to be loved. You should understand that, right? No one wanted me. The whole town hates me." I don"t want to focus on the fact he"s the reason for all of this. That will only make him more upset.

"I was here!" he yells, jabbing his finger into his chest. The motion is doubled in my head, making me dizzy. "Me! I was here for you! Everyday! Regardless of what they said! Then you go and get a boyfriend on top of all that."

My brain swims for a moment. "Boyfriend? You mean Johnny?"

I glance at him over my shoulder on the table as this goes on around him. The movement causes my chest to scrape along the table I"m leaning on. It burns like hell, and I cry out, letting my head fall to the table.

"No," he grits out, "The one that broke my fucking nose!"

The one that broke his nose? What is he talking about?

"You rang, pretty boy?" A sarcastic and furious voice rings out just before a hard, skin-on-skin smack knocks Brandon on his ass in front of me.

"Youuuu." Brandon struggles to his feet with his hand covering his cheek, glaring at Dr. King

I grit my teeth, suppressing a moan, not wanting to distract Dr. King. My heart pounds against my ribs, begging to break free of its prison at the sight of him, but it hurts. Everything hurts. My whole body is throbbing now. I"ve lost too much blood. Even my vision begins tunneling.

"Yes. Me, the boyfriend. The name is Jax," he states coyly. "Remember that because you"re going to be screaming it in a moment as you beg for your life."

They are momentarily still as a silent yet vicious storm brews between them. I can almost see the thunderclouds mounting, rolling with lightning, sparking the inferno. Then they move. They run at each other and meet with a loud clash of skin slapping skin, thuds of bodies hitting tables, and instruments falling to the floor. There"s no time to worry about Johnny. While they"re distracted, I bite at the makeshift cuff. He cinched it tight and doubled back through the buckle twice, making it impossible to yank my wrist apart and break free. Plus, I"m losing a lot of blood, making it hard to keep my head up for more than a few moments.

The scuffing of shoes, soft blows, and grunts continue, but I can"t focus on them right now. I"m gripping the belt with my teeth, and I"ve almost got it loose. I think I catch Brandon getting the upper hand, but I can"t watch anymore. My head is growing heavy, and my movements are slow, but I persist. My blood coats the tray I"m leaning on, and it"s slick. I"m tugging so hard I feel like I"m going to break my teeth, but I"m determined. That is, until my arm slips. My chest bangs against the table, knocking the breath right out of me.

"Ughhh," I cry out. The pain is insufferable. It"s like the knife is being dragged through my chest all over again.

My legs wobble beneath me. I can"t keep this up much longer. The first loop is so close to being pulled free. Come on. Come on. I coach myself just a little more. When I attempt to dislodge more, I realize all the noise behind me has stopped.

I swallow as a shadow looms over me. My vision blurs further, and I"m moving through quicksand. I"m afraid if I look up, I may lose my balance. I"m even more terrified to see who the victor might be.

"Stop, Dead Girl, let me help you," Jax commands with a voice like melted butter.

My muscles relax, and my eyelids grow heavy. I"m so tired. Jax is here, and I can finally stop fighting. My legs give out, and I brace myself for a fall. Thankfully, a strong set of arms catches me before the floor does. With the way he"s holding me close to his chest, I should be experiencing more pain, but right now, it"s only a low throb. An involuntary groan leaves my lips.

"You"re losing a lot of blood."

"State the obvious much?" I try to sass, but my tongue is thick in my mouth, resulting in my words coming out slurred.

His gaze snaps to mine, and I think I see sorrow in those deep forest green pools. "Don"t worry, Dead Girl. I"ve got you. I"ll fix everything."

And with those words, I"m at peace.

He lays me on a table with slow and careful ease. Water trails from the corners of my eyes, seeping into my hair. He brushes the moisture from my cheek with a tender reassurance. I'm thinking about how, in these gentle moments, he shows he's not a complete asshole. That deep down inside of him, there's a touch of humanity reserved only for me.

But then he talks.

"That fucker's biggest mistake is thinking he can mark what's mine. My marks are the only ones you should be wearing."

As screwed up as those words are, they are a life raft on this sea of torture and blood, and I hold on tight to the odd flavor of comfort they provide.

There"s a clatter of tools as I close my eyes. An intense burning gnaws at every fiber of my being, but I'm past the pain now. He has me as I drift off to the deep timbre of his anger-riddled voice… into limbo.

"Anyone who spills your blood that isn't me will die."

Hehas me.

My chest is on fire.My first instinct is to sit up, but the sharp pain makes me groan. It"s hard to move. The backs of my eyelids are spiderwebbed with red veins, and loud beeps assault my ears. Voices battle for dominance in a cloud around me like whispers through a thick fog. Their volume is low, but their tone is not. It"s the only reason I can hear snippets of this conversation.

"Let me in there," a man growls.

"You can"t go in there, sir. She"s critical," a stern, feminine voice states.

"I don"t care. She knows what happened to my boy," the man retorts. His tone portrays he doesn"t give a shit what she says.

In the back of my mind, I know this voice, but I"m still floating. Fuzziness swirls in and out of the recesses of my mind, and I know this is drug-induced. My chest hurts, but my limbs tingle, and I feel weightless.

There"s a screech of metal on metal. Is that a door sliding? Clothing rustles, and then several footsteps vary in pitch and speed. Their words become more apparent.

"Hey!" a masculine voice yells.

"Hey!" another slightly higher-pitched woman screams, "Stop! We"re calling security!"

"She"s under a lot of sedation, and her blood pressure is critically low. You could hinder her recovery." The voice of who I assume is the nurse forcefully informs, "You can"t go in there! Sir! Sir!"

I don't know what's happening. My chest throbs, growing in intensity. I want to scream along with the staff, but my mouth won"t open. Inside, I'm panicking, and the monitors are going wild. The alarms are shrieking nonstop, drowning out anything else they might be saying about me.

Suddenly, my body is yanked from the bed and the murky depths of my consciousness. My fingertips brush the comfort of it as I"m pulled away. Pulled from safety. My chest feels as if it"s ripping apart, tearing at the seams as I"m shaken.

"Tell me where he is," the man cries. "Where is… Brandon?" His voice cracks with desperation.

"Officer Charles! Put her down and step away!" Thank goodness. Someone who can talk some sense into this man who is clearly barely holding it together. "You"ve been warned once. The whole force is out looking for your boy. Leave this woman alone."

He roughly drops me, and I bounce on the mattress, sending shooting pain through my chest. My mouth still won"t open, but in my mind, I"m screaming from pain while someone else wails for an entirely different reason. It"s something no one wants to hear because it"s excruciating. The man's cries hit a cord that a woman can only brush. He must be crying for Brandon. There"s no way Jax let him live after what he did to me.

"I know," the person with the level head consoles, "but she"s unconscious and is of no help to us right now. We should ask other people if they"ve seen him. We're wasting time here. The first twenty-four hours are the most critical. You know that."

The scuffle of feet recedes, and gentle hands move me back into the black depths. There"s a cool sensation in my veins before the burn in my chest extinguishes. Once again, my mind is quiet.