Chapter 15 OLIVIA
OLIVIA
I'm trapped again.
But somehow, even though I can’t move, I know that I’m not actually stuck, bear trap or otherwise—like all the other dreams before.
It still feels like it though; sharp claws gripping my ankles as warm blood slithers down my feet.
Genuine fear is barely the snap of a thread away and though my body senses danger, my brain is telling me it’s not real; I know I’m only dreaming.
Still, I feel like I might die here. Death lingers in the air.
I’m at the same cliff I always find myself at in these dreams, nearing the edge but not quite close enough to fall. The wind brushes against my skin and it feels like a thousand tiny little razor blades cutting the surface. The cold air clings to me but I feel like I’m on fire.
I want to scream but I try my best to remain calm as snowflakes flutter down from the black hole of a sky, and I try to find an escape to the feeling of being trapped.
I don’t mean to struggle. I know it’s not real; I can’t help it.
But just as I feel my body about to give up, my brain about to give in to the illusion that’s being crafted, the air changes.
Something shifts between the moments of knowing that I’m living in a false world created by a conscience that seems hell bent on torturing me and the reality that maybe I actually like the torment.
But regardless of the war inside my head, it’s undeniable that I feel a new presence with me this time.
Something is out there. Something is always out there but this time, it’s different. It feels familiar. It feels safe, in a way. Evil and brutal, but safe.
I anticipate the scream that normally echoes right about now in the nightmare, but it doesn’t come.
Instead, I feel a calming touch caress my temple and slip behind my ear.
Like the wind is seducing me into tranquility and suddenly, the invisible trap around my feet is gone.
Again, there’s no sign of the pain I’d felt, and I sigh in relief when I don’t find any blood either.
Normally, this is where I’d start to run, to flee the danger that lurks around me and wanting to run from the grip that seems to hold me here; capturing me with no knowledge as to why.
But I find myself standing still instead because for some reason, I don’t feel like I’m in danger.
I let my intentional breathing ground me as I look around, waiting for the wind to further guide me, or whatever it is that’s protecting me.
Because that's what it feels like, protection.
Suddenly, something fleeting greets me again.
Another gentle touch, maybe. Or maybe it’s just the wind once more.
Whatever it is, it’s serenity to the fright that anchors me in this nightmare, counteracting the fear I know I should be reacting to.
And as I wait—not exactly sure what it is I’m waiting for—I feel the trail of goosebumps that forms from the side of my neck and down over my collarbone, trickling over my skin like ice.
And then it goes lower, and now I feel trapped to whatever is controlling me right now. Pleasure blooms in my core as the feathering touch goes lower, over my breast and then…
Oh. I find myself letting out a small moan as I close my eyes and succumb to whatever is creating this feeling. I know that I am physically alone, still standing in the same spot as before but something or someone is here with me. I just can’t see them.
I bite my lip, feeling wetness pool between my thighs as my nipple tightens at the invisible touch that incinerates me; heating me up and lighting my body ablaze.
And then, a small burst of wind covers my face, cooling me down and simultaneously providing me comfort.
I gasp and before I know it, I’m yearning for more.
Whatever is happening, I want more of it.
That’s when I realize that I am no longer standing near the cliff, but instead I’m teetering on the actual edge.
Though I’m not afraid. Or maybe I am. The undeniable race of my heart is the tell that I am experiencing the very fucked up version of being afraid .
. . the one that sets my body ablaze with a rapturous ecstasy.
But my desire for more is short-lived because within seconds the feeling is ripped from me.
The pleasure I’d been yearning for morphs into pain as something grips me by the neck, squeezing it tight and causing me to lose my breath.
I struggle for a moment and right before I feel myself fade into oblivion…
I’m awake.
Gasping for air and gripping at the blanket covering my chest, I start to feel the embarrassment creep in.
The shame and humiliation from what I know to be my truth settles deep.
Because I know I can never escape the pleasure and desire from my own fear.
The dream went from the horrifying realization that I was about to submit to death as I usually do, only for it to change into the harmonious epitome of a beautiful nightmare; one of the many that end with me saved and alive but scared and aroused.
I take a deep breath before slowly skating my hand over my body, wanting to chase the high by following the same trail I’d felt in the dream.
It’s something I know I’ve conjured in sleep, though not sure of who or what would be the cause of it in my dreams. But this time it felt more real than it ever has and I crave to fulfil that need for release.
I use my fingers to trace the trail, starting behind my ear then over my collarbone before slipping over my nipple.
I let my finger linger there for a moment, closing my eyes and breathing in; wishing for the cold sting of icy air that I’d felt in my dream.
I slowly circle my nipple before I continue downward.
But I don’t stop where it stopped in my sleep.
I keep going, slowly sinking my hand into my shorts and under my panties.
And when I touch myself, I confirm that I am in fact heavily turned on. I’m so fucking wet, it’s embarrassing.
But it feels so fucking good.
My heart is still racing from the thought of death approaching me moments ago as I slept and I lean back into my pillow, keeping my hand in place.
I squeeze my eyes shut and allow my mind to float away to whatever fucked up memory I can think of first. And I want to cry when the first thing that comes to mind is the shower from last night.
I’ve never been so turned on before. Something I am ashamed to admit but it was undeniable.
I was scared; I’m sure the fear I felt in that moment was at the height of anything I’d ever experienced before.
But there was something about the way he held me hostage while his voice whispered over my skin.
How the spray of the cold water countered the heat from his gun and the searing pain from his touch.
The pain that only hurt as much as it felt good because even though he was rough and demanding, he still felt safe and gentle with me.
Or maybe I’m being delusional to try and justify why I enjoyed the way he was handling me.
I should have been terrified for my life.
And, partially, I was. But even as he clasped his hand over my mouth with all his might, nearly taking my breath away, I can’t deny the way that my pussy clenched when he shot that gun. When he used it to nearly get me off.
Fuck, and his voice. It’s been years and all I’ve been able to think about is his voice. His words. His hands around my fucking neck.
But I hate him. I hate him and…
Oh, fuck. I’m so close to coming. I hadn’t even realized I worked myself into the frenzy I’m feeling right now, thinking about the only man I swore to never think about ever again.
But as I touch myself, circling my clit with the pad of my finger and then pressing downward to enter myself, I can’t help but to want to succumb to the pleasure I’m feeling just by thinking of the fear and pain he’s inflicted on me this far.
I bite my lip hard, my teeth digging into the flesh of it as I feel my orgasm cresting. I hate myself for this, but I can’t stop. It feels too fucking…
“Hello? Anyone home?”
I freeze.
Fuck. It’s Alli.
I quickly remove my hand and flip over, pretending to be caught under the blanket and still asleep as I hear footsteps quickly approaching my room.
“Knock, knock,” she sing-songs without actually knocking on the door. But I don’t move or answer her. I’m afraid if I do, she’ll be able to sense my need. Or hear it in my tone.
Because I am needy. So much so that I literally want to scream right now. I was so close to coming but now, in no less than twelve hours, I’ve been edged twice. Three times if you count the interaction with Trace right after the maze.
“Bitch, wake up! We got shit to do!”
“Go away,” I finally groan, feeling frustrated and confused beyond belief.
I hear her shuffle closer to my bed as she giggles.
“No can do. We have pancakes to get to and then we play truth or dare. And you know I have been dying for that one. And also . . . duh! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”
I finally decide to flip over to face her, seeing her look down at me with the most chipper expression. Her bright red hair is tied up into a messy knot and her cheeks are pink, likely from the cold outside. Or maybe it’s from something else entirely.
“Did you get laid?” I groan as I pull my hand under my pillow, my sleepy voice still very much present.
“No,” she says, dragging out the vowel in a playful way. “But I did have an orgasm, so same thing I suppose.” She smirks nefariously at me.
An orgasm . . . I wonder what that’s like, I think to myself.
I lift my head up to grab the pillow from underneath me to toss it at her. She catches it and laughs.
“What time is it, anyway?” I ask, realizing that the sun is shining through every crack the cabin has to offer, letting in light and painting the room in a golden hue.