Megan's Salvation

Megan woke with a gasp, tired and exhausted. She felt as if she had kicked and clawed her way back to consciousness, finally escaping the terrible dream that had a grip on her. Sitting up, she rubbed her arms that were icy cold while her face burned with a heated flush. She tried to explain it all away as just being a normal reaction to a nightmare. “It was just a dream, calm down Megan,” she heard herself mutter as her heart pounded and her whole body throbbed. She laughed halfheartedly, as she tried to brush off the disturbing aftermath that had her shaking.1

Scared and alone, remembering her dream was the last thing she wanted to do but she found it impossible to stop her mind from trying to reconstruct it, to make some sense of it all. Bits and pieces of her broken memory flashed vividly in her head and the images terrified her. Although her dream was vague and incomplete, she would never forget the dark, sinister, nature of it and how it was, strangely enough, unbelievably erotic. It was as if something evil had come to her bed, to take her, physically and spiritually. What frightened and confused her now was that after struggling to escape her dream, she now contended with an inexplicable desire to return to it.2

Goose bumps raced up Megan’s legs and her whole body shivered as a cold wind swept over her bed. “I don’t remember leaving the balcony doors open,” she thought as she watched the curtains float eerily in the soft moonlight. Rolling out of bed, she quickly wrapped her naked body with her blanket and paused to examine her clothing scattered on the floor - she didn’t remember removing her nightgown or undergarments either. Her head began to spin as she realized there were other things that she could not explain. Things that her burgeoning awareness was gradually revealing to her, like, how mussed her hair was, or why her lips were moist and throbbing, and the most unsettling of all was the inexplicable feeling that she had been touched, fondled, made love to.3

Walking to the doors that led to the balcony, she stood at the threshold and played the latch. “That was some dream,” she said as she put her hand against the wooden frame and rested her head on top of it. Feelings of intimacy were not new to Megan but this was different, it was deeper, more fulfilling than anything she had ever experienced before. “Love?” the thought of it troubled her. “Love with whom, with what, someone from a dream who raped me?" Was it rape, she wondered, knowing that she couldn’t deny that the man from her dream had been able to touch her flesh and her heart in a way that none other ever had. Who was this dream lover, she wondered as she lingered in the doorway and eliminated, one by one, the long line of her ex-fiancés, boyfriends, and one-night stands that stained her memory. The cool air caressed her face and distracted her thoughts and she welcomed its numbing effect as her meaningless life flashed before her eyes.4

Mindlessly Megan stared up into the evening sky, not sure how long she had been there as her sense of time clouded. How long had it been, minutes, hours, a lifetime, since she was last with the man who had trespassed her dreams? “How can I possibly want to return to someone who was so violent and cruel?” she asked herself. She had almost reasoned herself back to sanity when she thought she heard a voice. Someone was whispering her name, beckoning for her step out into the night. It was a soft, echoing voice, heard not with her ears but with her heart, so subtle yet very demanding. 5

Being one who always presented herself as strong and unyielding, Meagan was surprised at how the voice cut through her façade, leaving her weak and susceptible to its seductive calling. Timidly, she stepped out onto the balcony, succumbing to the enticement that tugged at her heart. Wisps of hair streaked her face as the wind gusted and she was content to leave them untouched as she searched from where the voice had come. Icy fingers ran up her back and she turned sharply, peering into the grounds below, sure that someone was out there, waiting, watching her. The sensation made her feel exposed and vulnerable, and she pulled her blanket over her bare shoulders and combed back her hair with her fingers as she continued to search for someone hiding in the darkness. While craning her neck from the left to the right she felt a stinging sensation that bored into her skin. Her hand went instinctively to the spot and there she found two gaping holes, tender and sticky with blood.6

“It wasn’t a dream,” Meagan shrieked and staggered back into her room as the shattered details of her dream suddenly became painfully clear. Her dream was of love, no, it was not a dream, she told herself again, and it was not of love. She had been ravished, sexually and emotionally, by someone who wanted her to become something other than who, than what, she was. It was a struggle for life itself, a desperate attempt to hold on to the life she had, and at the same time, to surrender it to the man who came to take it from her. The memory was appalling, and yet it somehow aroused a hunger in her that was base and profane.7

She remembered that he came to her from the shadows, from the dark corner of her room. He was strong, powerful, and unwilling to take no for an answer as he took her into his arms with the single intent of having her. His eyes were intense, determined, and so captivating that she could not turn away from the dark ebony pools. There was death in his gaze, yet it was inviting, comforting, as if it were a sanctuary from her life of broken dreams and relationships.8

“Oh my god,” She cried, as she put her hand over her mouth when she remembered that when he came to her side, she opened her bed and herself to him, willingly, wantonly. He was not gentile nor was she, as his intention to take her matched her desire to give. He didn’t waste time on foreplay, and she didn’t want him to as their desperate need to become one overshadowed all sensibility. She could still feel the tearing, the agonizingly painful, searing thrust when he entered her. It was violent and ruthless and yet he, being with her and in her, fulfilled her in a way that no man had ever done before. She was hot as fire and he was cold as ice, his rage fell into the arms of her love, and the distinction between the two of them blurred as their passion reached its zenith when he sunk his fangs deep into her neck causing waves of orgasmic pleasure to consume her.9

Was it pleasure or was it pain, Megan only knew that he had taken her to the heights of ecstasy and she wanted more, needed more. Letting her blanket slip off her shoulders and onto the floor, she parted the curtains and stepped out onto the balcony once more. The evening air cascaded over her body and awakened memories of his touch, his cold lifeless flesh against hers, and she received it with open arms. Tossing her hair back, she ran her fingers over her wounds, displaying them as proudly as she did her breasts, which stood firmly against the cold night air. She knew that he was out there looking at her, wanting her, the way she wanted him.10

Leaving her doors open and curtains parted, Megan turned slowly, seductively, and slipped back into her room where she waited expectantly. Her invitation to her lover was complete when she spread herself upon her bed and laid in restive surrender. She knew that he would return to once again to fulfill the desire for which her body yearned so desperately. He would demand and she would surrender, he would take and she would give, willingly, completely, until she had no more love or blood left to give.11