Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 89023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Which is… nothing. It’s not personal. I don’t feel anything, ever. I’m gone. I’ve been gone for so long now, I doubt I was ever here.
Little Baby Darkness pets me and gazes into my eyes. “I can be anything you want, Josep. Anything at all.” And then she morphs into Paul and strokes his hand down my cheek.
“Is it me you want?” These words come out of Dark Paul’s mouth and in his voice.
Eating and fucking Paul, as basic as it sounds, has been enough to content me. He’s bigger than life. He fills up every empty space when he’s around. And he’s energetic. He never gets tired of trying new things. He’s always busy. He feeds this energy to me and I drink it up. The blood and the sex is enough to keep me interested. If it weren’t for Paul, I’d have sipped the Black blood centuries ago.
But he’s not enough to entice me into infinity.
I reach up and take Dark Paul’s hand off my cheek—surprised that it doesn’t feel like sand—and hold it close to my chest. Not because I’m making some kind of gesture, but because it’s just kinda sad that this thing—this powerful, all-knowing thing—is… begging.
For me, no less. Which is more than sad, it’s pathetic.
“Listen,” it says, morphing back into Little Baby Darkness, “if you don’t at least try, Josep, then I’ll just become her. I’ll steal everything she is and just be her. And then you’ll have no choice. This would not be a hard thing to do. I am, after all, inside her right now.”
I shrug up one shoulder, kind of surprised at my indifference. Not about Little Baby, but the Darkness. It wants me. To be its lover, or slave, or confidant.
But it’s a lie.
This has always been my problem with the Darkness. It’s a lie and I’ve always known it. I can feel the lie. And the lie is so much worse than the truth because the truth is, I have no one. No one cares about me.
Paul pretends because he needs this, right here. This, what I’m doing with the Darkness. Which is being close to it, and understanding it, and being the object of its desire. Paul wants that, and that is all Paul wants.
The Darkness doesn’t want me. The Darkness wants me to do something. This comes in the form of the power it puts into my blood. It fills me up with lies. And then, in turn, I give these lies to others.
If you really think about it, I’m nothing more than a transfusion. Except I’m not even that important. I am nothing more than the transfusion bag. I’m a bit of thick plastic hanging on a rack. That’s it.
This is the crux of my relationship with the Darkness.
Little Baby Darkness kisses me. Right on the lips. And it’s nice. If I were to allow myself to believe the lie, it would be so nice. To really have her as my own. A partner in this world. A lover. A friend.
“I can be that, Josep,” the Little Baby Darkness whispers. “I can. I can do anything. I promise you.”
“But you cannot be the real her, Little Baby Darkness.”
She sits up, straddles me, then leans over my chest and places both hands on my cheeks as she stares at me with very blue eyes. “I can. I can.”
I take her hands in mine and remove them from my face. “Why? Why do you want me?”
Her eyes flit down to my chest. Then come back up to my face. “Do you want the truth?”
This is not Little Baby’s voice. It’s a deep voice. One of a man, but of course, this thing on top of me isn’t a man. And then, just as I think that, it morphs into one. A man who is me. Who looks just like me.
“The truth is the only thing that matters,” I tell Dark Me.
Dark Me smiles and I recognize this smile because it’s my smile and it’s meaningless. It’s a lie. It’s me, pretending to care about the petty problems of whomever it is I’m talking to.
“Because, Josep, you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
And because I’m a liar, I can’t tell if this is some existential exercise in knowing oneself, or… I’m just hallucinating and the whole conversation is pointless.
“Can’t you see it?” Dark Me asks. “Can’t you see how God has touched you?”
I make a face. The word ‘God’ alone is enough to trigger this face, but the underlying sentiment is equally repulsive. “That’s ridiculous,” I tell myself. I mean, Dark Me. “God has never touched me.”
“Were you not human once?”
“I’m not having this conversation with myself, Dark Me. So if you want me to participate, morph into someone else.”
It wriggles on top of me, kind of… humping me. Its hands start caressing me, its legs moving alongside mine, its cock growing against my stomach. And even though I don’t want to be turned on, my cock grows in response.