What Will It Take?

Imagine if someone showed up at your door. All this person, always female, has with them is a suitcase and a smile. It's a man's world. Women aren't stupid enough for this type of situation.

"Hi!" they say. "You once asked for a girlfriend, a lover, a wife?"

Now, every guy at some point has been in this position. They hit rock bottom and the only way up is carnal. Some try to say it's "Emotional companionship", but really... They need to get laid.

Anyway, You can't shut the door on this person, and if you try, they're either already inside or they stick their foot in the door. They're your guest.

They come on strong. They seem perfect, or caustic enough to make you hot and bothered. Either way, you're reacting - the blood boils, the pulse quickens, pupils dilate, and in a good few cases, you get wood.

They ask to stick around for a while, offer to pay rent, help out, clean up - and if you still refuse, they skip ahead of their gameplans.

If you're "Happy" with them being a part of your world, it starts.

You get along. You start to know each other inside and out. You have fun.

You don't get on. Tensions rise, inconveniant misunderstandings, walk-ins. You're getting warmer, hotter.

They don't leave. They go out, sure - out to work, out to get groceries, out to get... other things. But they never leave fully. Even after they said they'd be gone after 2 weeks, 3 weeks. But they DO go out for hours at a time.

You like her. You worry she's being fucked in some alley, or being piledriven by multiple suitors who she met at some bar. Hell, you just worry she's been hit by a car.

You don't like her. You start to hate the silence. You miss them. You miss the conversation, as well as the arguements. You worry just as much as the last guy.

But she always comes back. Alone. Tired, or even strangely refreshed.

You grow together. She sells you some sob story about being fucked by Uncle Charlie, or being a drifter, going from town to town. She stopped drifting, or running, because she likes you. She's fallen for you.

You cry. You both cry. You hug. For hours. And then you kiss.

You feel pity. Sorrow. Maybe something bad happened to you as well. A kindred spirit. In need of comfort. You kiss.

No matter how you felt before, you don't feel anything.

You're in too deep. You're in the embrace. Bodies fused. Fluids mix. Cries in tune. You feel everything and nothing but each other. It goes for hours, even days. You change positions in scale and grandeur. You become the other. And then back to Earth.

Too deep.

After that, nothing changes, but so many things do.

She goes out for longer. You worry more. She comes home looking ruffled or disheveled. Blood under her fingernails as you suck on them. Dirt in her hair as you smell it. A growl in her voice as you bite her, and she bites you.

She changes the house. Whole rooms move in a night. She has so much energy at night, or after carnal affairs. You can't help but like the change. But whole rooms are left empty, nothing but the carpet and something you've never seen before in the centre of the room. Some kind of statue.

the embrace becomes dangerous. She likes to tie you up. Cut you. Her screams become... primal. Yours do too. She chains you to the wall, milking you dry. It's... Incredible. There's nothing like it. On Earth. You often black out, later waking to bitemarks and fingernail marks all over your body. You're drained.

So tired. You start to resent her. You try to ask her to slow down. But she either doesn't listen or just flat out scares you. She smiles all the time. You never noticed until now, when you're looking for fault. She just agrees with you... and nothing changes.

She starts staring at the moon, from the garden. Just stood there looking at it like some sort of mirror.

A dark reflection.

And nothing changes. You wait for anything to happen. You don't need to work, she brings in the money, you just wait. Wait for the boom to drop. Nothing changes. You just wait.

Always waiting. You know she isn't human. You piece it together. Succubus. Siren. Demon. Anything you know gets thrown in. But it's the smile... the moon... the screams... the tormented and twisted statue she ritualisticly cleans. It's almost phallic, and worshipped. Like you.

You wait for her to snap. For her to go full evil and tell you what she is. But she never does. You live. It's the worst torture. Death is better. You just wait, and eat, and sleep, and fuck. You never leave, you're in too deep. Too damn deep for anyone to save you.

You never know when it'll happen, and that's just as bad as waiting and living.

It just smiles. And loves you. And the moon. And the statue.

I... Love her. I think.

Like she loves the moon.

Always staring.

Waiting.