Empty Monday mornings

She watched him sleep, her killer, her lover. His eyes tightly shut, nightmares behind them, unseen, unreal. Her fingers traced his strong jaw line, chipped fingernails leaving small, red marks on the skin she loved so much.

She wished to tear him apart, the one who traded her kisses for cold goodbyes on empty Monday mornings. But then there were these Saturday nights, when her bedroom door would crack open and he’d sweetly caress her hair, whispering “baby, I’m back now, I’m back.”

Blissfully he slept here next to her, ready for claws to close around his neck. But she would forever be his prey. Never able to destroy her hunter.

“I love you,” she whispered against his bare collarbone, sad kisses trailing the man she couldn’t say goodbye too.

“Mmm,” he mumbled, a blind response to the flourishing touches that lingered on him.

In his dream, he saw himself running away from the one he needed so much, the love he had failed to believe in for longer than a night or two. The pain of missing her, leaving her, looking for her again.

But it was all he could give. He loved her for as long as his tormented self could handle, before his sweetness would transform into hurtful words and misunderstandings.

In his dream, he ran from her. In reality, he came back to her. And the other way around.

Grasping his hair softly, she pressed herself against him, gently waking the boy from his sharp yet velvet sleep.

“You’re killing me,” her voice ripped apart his kohl heart.

He trembled, not knowing when the dream had ended and where reality would get a hold of him.

“I’ll  bring you back to life, baby…” he cried.

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