Bleeding Red Ecstacy (668 hits)
Category: UberMadness! EntryRating: 2 on 3 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Stagger Lee (View user info) at 2006-09-25 00:39:39 EDT
This post was an official UberMadness! entry. Click here to view the original matchup.
I woke up with a sore throat this morning. This was nothing unusual in itself; I would imagine this happens a few times a week. Still, the way I felt was enough to give me pause.
"Good Christ," I said, as I rolled from my bed and collapsed on the floor. At least, that's what I tried to say. The word caught in my parched throat and stung the roof of my mouth. I coughed, and it produced a sharp, stabbing pain that made me feel as though the flesh in my throat was cracking. Just tearing right the fuck apart and gushing blood down my raw pipes.
The sounds of my distress awakened Claire. She sat up, the sheet falling from her body. Her tangled hair hung in her face, and she looked at me with sleep-induced confusion.
"What's with you?"
My attempts to reply were not coherent. In fact, they were barely audible. The words wriggled in my mouth, unable to escape from their dry prison.
She sighed. "For fuck's sake. Go have some water." She lay back down and pulled the covers over her head once more.
I rose from the floor, my mouth burning with the pain, and some indefinable sense of shame burning into my mind.
I made my way to the bathroom, flicked on the tap and guzzled the water with unabashed greed. It cascaded down, soothing me, quenching the fires with clean, cold salvation. I stopped. The pain returned almost immediately, but it was lessened in its force, calmed by the healing water.
I looked at my face in the mirror. I looked haggard, as though I had not slept in days. The skin seemed to hang loosely from my face, pockmarked and leathery. As I stared at this hideous thing in the mirror before me, another dry, twisting cough racked me and I spat a wad of thick, bloody phlegm into the sink. It stuck to the side of the basin and settled there, refusing to move from the porcelain shore in the drain.
Disgusted, I ran the tap and flicked water onto my bloody leaving until it washed away into the pipes. I ducked my head and gargled some more water. I was now developing a deep, throbbing headache. I turned from the sink and pain sheared through my skull, nearly driving me to my knees with its force. I clutched at the sink to steady myself, and I saw the tips of my fingers split, very slightly, and leak tiny stains onto the white surface.
I was dismayed. I regained my footing and hastily wiped at the bloody counter, before staring intently at my fingertips. They seemed reluctant to keep on bleeding; in fact, I could not see the cuts that they had developed mere seconds before. I felt a rising sense of panic, a black, almost physical presence in my mind. I stumbled from the bathroom and down the hall. At first, I kept one hand on the wall to steady myself, but then, with the irrational fear that it might break open and bleed, I removed it from the wallpaper.
I fumbled with the doorhandle and returned to the bedroom. Claire was fully awake now, and looking at me with actual concern.
"I heard you coughing," she said, her eyes darting over my face. "Are you okay? It sounded pretty bad."
Inexplicably, I felt ashamed that she had heard me, as though coughing or sickness was something to be hidden, an ugly secret not for public view.
"I'm fine," I said. An uncomfortable silence fell, and I realised that I had not merely spoken; I had snapped.
"Oh. It just sounded really...painful."
"No, it's alright. Sorry. Really. It did hurt a bit, though. I think I'm just tired. Sorry."
She smiled, slightly tentatively, but a real smile. "Come lie down. Get your rest. I'll call work for you. You need a day off, anyway." I began to protest, rather feebly, and she waved me away and rose. She went to get the phone and I slid between the cool sheets.
Claire returned in a few minutes. She had made some attempt to brush her hair, but the knots had won their battle, as they usually did. She smiled at me again, a warmer smile this time, and now there was a certain glint in her eye as well.
She slid into the bed next to me and curled up against me, nuzzling her face into my neck. I could not have been less in the mood. My body felt useless and worn. But then she kissed me, and it was as though something was set off just below my skin. A flush of warmth radiated outward from where her lips touched me.
Her hand caressed my chest, and wherever her fingers brushed me felt unnaturally warm. I didn't question it. I was burning now, not just in my throat. The sensation was enveloping my entire frame, swallowing me whole. My skin felt electric, overly sensitive. I felt solid, immovable, invulnerable, unstoppable.
Claire curled her fingers around me, and from then on I couldn't help myself. I rolled on top of her and pinned her down. She looked slightly worried, perhaps sensing my odd state of mind. I couldn't explain it myself. I didn't care enough to tell her this.
There was a customary moment of awkwardness as I tried to find the correct angle, and in that moment, I almost felt normal again. But then I pushed into her, hard, and Claire was not expecting such violence. She gasped, in mingled pain and surprise, but I didn't apologise or lessen my advance. In that moment, and the moments that followed, my inflated sense of invulnerability and ego soared to previously undreamt of heights. I was the fucking sceptre of god. I felt liberated and caged.
My mind was at once distant and fully in control. I was helpless to stop, yet I controlled every movement precisely. Claire reached a hand up toward me, in supplication. Her face was concerned; there was no pleasure in this for her. I grabbed her wrist and forced her hand back down to the mattress.
I coughed again, suddenly, surprising me, temporarily throwing off my rhythm and sending a gout of hot blood from my mouth to crash upon Claire's frail skin. No phlegm in this one. She yelped, and tried to wriggle from under me, but I was strong, man, I was the goddamn Rock of Gibraltar, and her struggles could have no effect upon me. I caught her other wrist, and my fingers cracked and spurted. I viewed this with dispassion as the blood ran over the white sheets in stark, vivid contrast.
It was then that my skin split wide open, in an almost perfectly straight line down from the hollow of my neck to my stomach. Claire's eyes widened and her face contorted and a scream tore from her throat. Blood cascaded from my body in a scarlet, burning flood, yet beneath my skin was not raw flesh and twitching muscles. There seemed to be another layer of...something. I couldn't discern what it was.
But I was not worried. This was all correct and proper. It was meant to be this way. I hurtled towards the brink of climax, safe on my way to becoming something more than I already was.
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