“You trust me, don’t you?”
Well, when she puts it like that, you can’t really say no. Of course you do. As you nod hesitantly she smiles down at you, stood looking over your bare body, lying flat for her.
“That’s right. Close your eyes for me, dear.”
And just like that, everything goes black.
“Good girl. And don't even think about opening them.”
It's a little scary to be kept in the dark like this, but you trust her, don't you. Nothing to do but lie waiting for whatever plans she might have for you. Eyes closed.
“You’ll feel a sharp scratch. Keep still.”
A hand rests on your arm and you feel a scratch on your arm a moment after. You breathe in. Sharp. But it only lasts for a second. A fraction of that. And then nothing.
“Oh, you’re doing so well. So good. So brave.”
Your heart leaps at the praise. Who knows what she's doing, but it doesn't matter, really. You trust her, don't you. And you're starting to find yourself too tired, too sleepy to even question it.
“Can you count down from ten for me, cute little sleepyhead?”
What? Of course you can. You let out a tiny giggle at the simplicity of your task, but your heart’s not really in it. You’re too exhausted to be able to tease her for giving you something this easy.
“You're not counting, sweetie.”
“Ten.” Your voice comes out as barely a whisper.
there’s a tickling feeling down across your chest
you’re cold on the inside
like someone’s reaching into your body
hands moving through fluids, touching things they’re not supposed to touch
you’re being held
your fear, sadness, anxiety in someone else’s hands
your love, joy, pleasure in someone else’s hands
then the snip of scissors and it’s all gone
and you can feel yourself closing up again
“Time to wake up, dear.”
Your eyes slowly open, adjusting to the light, and looking down upon you is the most perfect girl, the most important person in your life. She's always been beautiful, but seeing her again, there's something dazzling about her, something holding your attention absolutely on this gorgeous woman. She only has to glance at you, and you can't help but blush, ecstatic that she would acknowledge you even for a second.
She raises a blood covered hand to your cheek, which you understand there’s something strange about, but if she doesn’t care, why should you. You whine softly as she strokes the side of your face, painting it with red, and it feels incredible. You nuzzle up against her hand just for a second more of her euphoric touch against your skin.
And she lifts up her other hand, showing you a dripping, scarlet organ.
“I stole your heart.”