Summer's Journal: Eleventh Entry
Chris put his arm around my waist, and pulled me up against him. My body was pressed tightly against his, and he forced his lips onto mine. I didn’t fight of course. I wanted to kiss him just as bad. From my lips he moved to my jawbone, from my jaw to my upper neck, and then my mid neck, and then right above my collar bone. My body squirmed, without my control; a soft sound escaped my lips, as he held the back of my head, and laid me on the ground. He lightly ran his fingers along my fishnetted side invoking a tingling pleasurable feeling that radiated through my entire body. He lay over top of me, and we met lips again. I wanted to be his…
Then I woke. My body was sore and aching as if I had just ran a marathon, and the adrenaline was still flowing, even though my body was doing nothing. There was a sweat on my forehead, beaded up from it seems hours of physical labor. But it was just a dream; but what a dream. My pillow was marked with black lipstick marks from not having removed my makeup last night.
I squirmed in bed, frustrated by what had transpired in my dream, and how my body was now acting because of the dream. I looked at my clock, it was 5:47. I rolled out of bed, and I collapsed to the floor. I remember that clearly because I landed on a heel and it hurt. I made my way to my bathroom, doused my face in water and washed the makeup off. I felt cooler, but the frustration was still there.
I rubbed my temples, and took a shower. After that I redid my makeup. I wore the outfit I wore in the dream. It was a tube top covered by a fishnet shirt, with black half gloves, I painted my nails black, and I threw on a black peasant dress with fishnet stocking and boots. My makeup was simple, white with darkened eyebrows and Egyptian eyes with crimson red lipstick.
Then I went to school. At school, all throughout history, I rubbed my nails on his back, barely touching, letting him know I was there, I drew designs on his back, some were hearts, others letters. Some were simple little circles. I closed my eyes, tried to stop, but when I did that I found my soft running my nails along him even more lightly, just the lightest sensation of touch.
After class he waited for me, “We have to go to the quad,” he spoke. I followed him, staying only inches behind him. Once we were outside he led me to a small garden I call it a garden because there were dieing potted flowers and a simple tree, and he put his arm around my waist and pulled me towards him, and our lips almost met.
“Hey Chris!” a boy ran up to us, “What are you doing with her?”
Chris let go of me, and I took a step back. It was hard to transcend and ascend social standings in high school. How wrong is it that since I am a goth and he is a jock we can’t have an open relationship?
He rather impatiently said, “Come with me,” to his friend. He led him to the side of the nearest building, and I concentrated and blood filled my mouth. One of the dead insects rose from its bed and decay and flew on decrepit wings to where they were. It landed and I merged its consciousness with my own. Insects cannot understand human words, but a human listening from a insects point of view can.
“Dude, did she cast a spell on you? That girls a real witch or something.”
“No. I’ll have you know, that girl and I are dating. It was totally my choice. So back off.”
“Dude she’s a freak.”
He grabbed the kid by the shirt and shoved him against the wall, “You don’t know her! You know nothing about her! Don’t act like you know her!”
“Whatever man, she has to have some witch curse on you.”
Chris lost his cool, and began to scream profanity at him. I don’t remember exactly what was screamed because I was paying attention to his actions, he shoved the boy against the wall, and the boy began to get red in the face.
“Just freaking back off!” Chris screamed.
“Find dude, whatever…”
The boy walked away. I broke consciousness, and the blood in my mouth went away, but a line had fallen from the corner of my mouth. Chris walked back over, and he was so peeved with frustration and anger he was shaking.
I took his hand in mine, and I pulled him gently to the ground. I pulled his head to my shoulder, and I stroked his cheek, and hushed him. I don’t remember if he was crying, but if he was it didn’t matter to me.
I whispered softly, words with only meaning he could understand. Soft lucid tones meeting his emotion and seeking to bring him peace, after awhile he began to calm down, I kissed his forehead.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“For what?” He asked mellowed and with a voice that echoed the harmony of defeat.
“For defending me,” I said softly into his ear.
He sobbed one last time, and I kissed his forehead, “You are amazing,” my eyes had to be sparkling when I said that to him. I hope they were so he knew what I meant.
I held him until the end of the period and once the bell rang, we parted.
I love him so.
-Dawn
Then I woke. My body was sore and aching as if I had just ran a marathon, and the adrenaline was still flowing, even though my body was doing nothing. There was a sweat on my forehead, beaded up from it seems hours of physical labor. But it was just a dream; but what a dream. My pillow was marked with black lipstick marks from not having removed my makeup last night.
I squirmed in bed, frustrated by what had transpired in my dream, and how my body was now acting because of the dream. I looked at my clock, it was 5:47. I rolled out of bed, and I collapsed to the floor. I remember that clearly because I landed on a heel and it hurt. I made my way to my bathroom, doused my face in water and washed the makeup off. I felt cooler, but the frustration was still there.
I rubbed my temples, and took a shower. After that I redid my makeup. I wore the outfit I wore in the dream. It was a tube top covered by a fishnet shirt, with black half gloves, I painted my nails black, and I threw on a black peasant dress with fishnet stocking and boots. My makeup was simple, white with darkened eyebrows and Egyptian eyes with crimson red lipstick.
Then I went to school. At school, all throughout history, I rubbed my nails on his back, barely touching, letting him know I was there, I drew designs on his back, some were hearts, others letters. Some were simple little circles. I closed my eyes, tried to stop, but when I did that I found my soft running my nails along him even more lightly, just the lightest sensation of touch.
After class he waited for me, “We have to go to the quad,” he spoke. I followed him, staying only inches behind him. Once we were outside he led me to a small garden I call it a garden because there were dieing potted flowers and a simple tree, and he put his arm around my waist and pulled me towards him, and our lips almost met.
“Hey Chris!” a boy ran up to us, “What are you doing with her?”
Chris let go of me, and I took a step back. It was hard to transcend and ascend social standings in high school. How wrong is it that since I am a goth and he is a jock we can’t have an open relationship?
He rather impatiently said, “Come with me,” to his friend. He led him to the side of the nearest building, and I concentrated and blood filled my mouth. One of the dead insects rose from its bed and decay and flew on decrepit wings to where they were. It landed and I merged its consciousness with my own. Insects cannot understand human words, but a human listening from a insects point of view can.
“Dude, did she cast a spell on you? That girls a real witch or something.”
“No. I’ll have you know, that girl and I are dating. It was totally my choice. So back off.”
“Dude she’s a freak.”
He grabbed the kid by the shirt and shoved him against the wall, “You don’t know her! You know nothing about her! Don’t act like you know her!”
“Whatever man, she has to have some witch curse on you.”
Chris lost his cool, and began to scream profanity at him. I don’t remember exactly what was screamed because I was paying attention to his actions, he shoved the boy against the wall, and the boy began to get red in the face.
“Just freaking back off!” Chris screamed.
“Find dude, whatever…”
The boy walked away. I broke consciousness, and the blood in my mouth went away, but a line had fallen from the corner of my mouth. Chris walked back over, and he was so peeved with frustration and anger he was shaking.
I took his hand in mine, and I pulled him gently to the ground. I pulled his head to my shoulder, and I stroked his cheek, and hushed him. I don’t remember if he was crying, but if he was it didn’t matter to me.
I whispered softly, words with only meaning he could understand. Soft lucid tones meeting his emotion and seeking to bring him peace, after awhile he began to calm down, I kissed his forehead.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
“For what?” He asked mellowed and with a voice that echoed the harmony of defeat.
“For defending me,” I said softly into his ear.
He sobbed one last time, and I kissed his forehead, “You are amazing,” my eyes had to be sparkling when I said that to him. I hope they were so he knew what I meant.
I held him until the end of the period and once the bell rang, we parted.
I love him so.
-Dawn
posted by Summer Dawn O'Ciardha at 6:54 PM
2 Comments:
Heh heh, you were kissing your pillow. Yeah, that's something I'd never do... Why are you looking at me like that? I'm not being defensive... maybe you are... Hey waht's that over there (*runs away*)
Very romantic, Summer.
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