Rune
“What. The. Actual. Fucking. Fuck?”
The wood floor is smooth underneath me.
Pain radiates up from my tailbone, confirming I fell.
But…
I blink. Over and over.
I look at my thumb. At the tiny cut.
“Okay.”
I take a breath.
“Okay.” I take another breath. “I did cut myself. I did fall. I—”
Heat lances through my body.
I lean forward, bracing my hands on my thighs.
The heat builds. Swirls. Grows until the warmth is hot.
I gasp against the intensity, struggling to catch my breath.
It’s so hot.
I can’t—
I close my eyes and suck in another breath.
I can breathe.
I’m okay.
I’m—
The fire flashes through my limbs, and I drop onto my side.
My cheek presses into the cool floor, and I force my eyes open.
I’m still in my apartment. I’m not in some cave. That wasn’t real. That didn’t happen.
The boiling heat simmers, and the hot drops to warm.
But my chest…
I try to sit up, but my chest feels so heavy. Like my rib cage has been filled with cement. Except it’s not suffocating. It’s… Gods, it feels alive.
Panting, I roll onto my stomach.
But as soon as I push up onto my hands and knees, my core throbs.
Like throbs.
A moan crawls up my throat, and my back arches.
My body is not my own.
I don’t know what’s happening to me.
Another moan rolls over my tongue, and I clench my teeth as I press my thighs together.
My heated blood pools low. And I…
Why am I getting wet right now?
I lift my head, tilting my hips. And I… Fuck. I squeeze my eyes shut, and I imagine the man from the cave… behind me.
I imagine his hands gripping my ass.
I couldn’t see his hands. They were covered. But I know they’d be big.
He’s big.
I bet he’s big everywhere.
Another moan echoes in my chest as my pussy clenches around nothing.
If he was behind me. Pounding into me…
I drop my head forward.
“This isn’t real,” I whisper to the floor. “This is all some dream.”
I open my eyes. And with my head down like this, my hair falls around my face like a curtain.
“Maybe thirty is the new midlife crisis.” I try to joke with myself. But my attempt to laugh dies when my gaze locks on a wet curl.
I scramble to my feet.
My feet… covered in wet socks.
New panic blooms inside me.
But…my heartbeat is steady.
I press my hands to my chest. Against my damp shirt. And I feel my heart beating steadily.
Did my heart stop?
“No.” I shake my head and say it again, louder. “No.”
My heart is beating.
I’m alive.
I’m in my apartment.
I didn’t teleport to a rainy mountain cave.
But…
I swallow.
But my fucking clothes are wet!
Tears well in my eyes.
I’m so confused.
I feel too hot. My chest feels heavy. My clothes are wet. My hair is wet. But I’m standing in my apartment.
I’m standing in my apartment, more turned on than I’ve ever been in my life.
Tears of frustration and fear roll down my cheeks.
My heart thuds an extra beat as my pulse finally catches up to my storming emotions.
But that’s it.
Just the one extra beat.
Then my heart goes back to a normal, healthy, steady beat.
Wiping at my tears, I shuffle to the other side of my bed and stop in front of the mirror leaning against the wall.
I stare at my reflection. And it confirms what I already know.
My clothes are truly, actually, really wet.
Reaching down, I tug on the hem of my jean shorts, where the damp denim rubs uncomfortably against my skin.
My fingers pluck at the front of my shirt. The clinging material shows off the outline of my bra underneath.
I was so cold.
On that mountain. In that cave. It was so cold.
I tilt my head to the side. And I narrow my eyes.
Am I steaming?
I start to tug at my shirt, pulling it up to rip it off.
Then I pause.
I need evidence. Photos.
I rush the few steps over to my little table and pick up my phone. But… What am I going to do? Take a photo of myself in the mirror, showing that my clothes are wet? And then what? Show it to who? Tell them what?
Hey, so I’d like to make a police report.
Yeah, I was in my apartment, then I cut my finger, licked my blood off my finger.
Then I blinked, and I was somewhere super cold on the side of a mountain in a rainstorm.
Uh-huh. Yep. And then I found a sleeping man.
But I think he might actually be a vampire.
My blood dripped into his open mouth. He woke up.
I fell onto my butt. And landed in my apartment.
I set my phone down without taking a photo.
I can’t tell anyone.
The weight filling my rib cage pulses.
I stare at my reflection.
His eyes were solid black.
Something was gleaming at the top of his head.
The man in the cave was a vampire.
I close my eyes.
Maybe he’s in trouble. Maybe he figured out a way to… summon me, because he needs my help.
I try to focus on his face in my memory.
Try to place his features.
Dark lashes. Strong jaw. Parted lips.
My core clenches. And my hands lift on their own, squeezing my breasts through my shirt.
My eyes snap open.
This is insane.
Spinning away from the mirror, I grip the hem of my shirt and yank it off.
I toss it on the floor as I stride to the bathroom. My bra goes next.
I stop inside the bathroom and shove my shorts down, wiggling my hips to get the wet denim off. Then my panties go.
I lift one foot, then the other, peeling off my socks.
The shower curtain is already pulled back, so I reach in and turn the water on.
Naked, I turn to the mirror above the sink.
I look like me.
Pale skin. Wide hips. Large tits. Soft stomach. Thighs that rub.
I start to slide my stack of bracelets off my wrist, then I freeze.
In the cave, I used one of these to hold my hair back.
My hair hangs down past my nipples as I look down at my arm, trying to remember which bracelets I put on this morning. And if any of them are missing.
I bite my lip, those tears threatening again.
I can’t remember. I have so many bracelets. A bowl on my dresser filled with them. And I think I just grabbed a random handful this morning.
Did I grab my heart one today? The one where the heart-shaped beads are all the colors of the rainbow?
I look back up at my reflection. At my unruly hair.
The memory of pulling my hair back is as real as the memory of that man, that vampire, opening his eyes.
Not caring that I’m naked and the curtains on my front windows are open, I rush back out of the bathroom to the bowl of bracelets I keep on top of my dresser.
But no matter how much I search, I can’t find the one I’m looking for.