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Shiver (Inspired by Snakadaktal)

The mattress shifts as you rise and walk to the wide window overlooking the coast. I tense, taken.

The sheet has fallen from you, and the moon lights up your figure. Dark ridges crisscross from your shoulder-blades down to your hips. You've never let me see; we're always in darkness. Even now, you don't let me see. I keep my breathing low, and you don't notice the difference.

Half of me longs to slide my feet to the cold oak floor and meet you by the window, to cup your cheek and kiss you tenderly. To touch your lips, and help you sleep. Things are confusing in these times, the nights are cold, and I have warmth. But you don't seem to desire warmth.

The other half longs to trace your scars. Not to ask how you got them, but to tell you how beautiful they are. To tell you how they make you complete. To wish I could have been the one to give them to you.

But I don't. I stay still, and you pick the sheet up from the floor and gather it around you again. The window is closed, and my eyes snap shut as you climb back into bed beside me.

You lost your trust. I understand that. I have scars too.

When your breathing has settled, I reach over and trace the mountainous ridges along your back. So beautiful.

For now, I will be constant. Love you, kiss you, be your sun, something that comes around every day for you to rely on. And at night, I will touch your scars, and shiver.

Story by:

Tristan Deeley

22 June 2018