Leaving someone alone is the best option, I thought, as I lay in bed, but the ghost appeared, the rarely seen apparition had returned, dressed in the glow of ember and a million different colors. What a sight it was, a view both horrifying and gorgeous, as my lover lay beside me, to be kissed by a spectral lip from top to bottom. Again and again, with little fangs extracting blood, driven by anger, lust.
“What are you doing here?” I asked it. It shook its head in six different directions and pressed its nothingness against my body. I loved it more than I did the person beside me, but nobody would ever know. I always kept that secret to myself and I would until the day I died.
“I will come. Every time, I will come back and tell you… you know that I miss you.”
It sounded both like a whisper and booming inside my head, my eyes flashed images of light as it spoke and continued to hold me. My lover stayed still, snoring and breathing normally. No one was going to wake up. This was the dream of two entities who needed excitement, that needed to feel free at last from routine.
“I will do what I must, over and over again. I just need it. For myself, it has nothing to do with you, but… it is so exciting, so wonderful. All for my pleasure,” I said and the ghost moved around as if disgusted at the prospect, but also willing and excited.
They kissed again but the more it went, the worse and better it became. There was a certain sensation that I could not pull out of my head as went one. The pleasure was immense, but the guilt was never-ending. I thought it couldn’t stop me, but it could, and it did, and it will.
“Wait!” I screamed but my lover did not wake up. “You can’t keep coming back, it is not enough, to enjoy something that is gone. Even though… even though… no… you must go, you must go and never come back. Leave me be. Those who live, we must carry on, and those who die, they must go wherever they go. We are not just unnatural, but completely against what is right.”
A kiss of this nature, I thought, was worse and more despicable, that a kiss forever founded on lies and deception and betrayal, because at least those who live, go on or stop. It, however…
“I can’t stop. I won’t. I come to you for a reason, a reason that’s beyond… you must have loved me… at some point… some point… and I can’t let that go…”
“Once again, you’ve forgotten,” and I gave in and kissed it again. My soul was poisoned anyway, to feel burdened by the guilt, and to join its feeble echo, in a cycle of punishment and desire. A kiss for a killing, forever trapped with a mind that forgot how it was to be banished, erased from existence, and me, the executioner, always reminded it and it not understanding, a visit later, a visit sooner, a lover who meant nothing, the ghost of it, in the whirlwind of torment. “Kiss me again, though I will feel nothing when the moment arrives and I will follow you beyond death, to be humiliated by the act I’ve committed.”
“I love you! I will always love you!”
“Because you don’t remember,” I said as it went through me and denied me the earthly pleasure of a kiss, of warmth and love, of the physical contact I deserved. “You don’t remember what I did to you.”