I wake up before Brennan, which is unusual. Normally, he’s up at four A.M. every day, preparing to welcome in patients that I’ve never seen. I go out of the house most of the time during the days and come back before dinner like he wants, so I’m never really around to meet the people he sees in his underground medical clinic. Occasionally I’ll stick around, but I’m beginning to think that he reschedules patients when I stay home. Although this must be an inconvenience for both him and his clientele, I don’t care enough, and in fact, I believe this might be one of the days I stick around for.
I know for a fact that neither Cecillia nor Das is up at this hour, so I don’t bother texting them when I grab my phone from the nightstand. I squint through the bright blue light, trying to check the time, and I’m not that alarmed to see that it’s two in the morning. It would explain why Brennan isn’t up yet.
I turn my head over to look at him peacefully sleeping. He looks so much softer like this—so much more delicate. It’s entrancing, and I can hardly tear my eyes away. I can hardly do that ever, but it’s much more difficult when he looks so vulnerable.
Ever since I realized that I love him, things have only been worse. Now I have an explanation as to why I feel so hurt when he ignores me or shoves me aside for things that interest him more. I want to be the center of his world, but I’m just not. He has never once woken up with me—never once given me a kiss good morning. What can I do though?
Every day is all the same. I wake up cold, eat breakfast, go out, eat dinner, get fucked, then rinse and repeat. It’s a cycle; it’s motions, but I don’t protest them much. I was never supposed to go through the motions; I was supposed to be the motions that others go through, but he's too addicting to stop now. I’m too far gone to stop. Because at any sliver or ounce of attention, I come crawling right back to him, no matter how riled up he gets me. I bite at anything he gives me like an abused dog, but I love it so goddamn much.
No one can deny that the sex is godlike, and I never regret it. It’s just that I wish I got a little more attention than just sex. I wish he would look my way every once in a while to smile just because he saw me there. I wish he would be content with only my presence. I wish that sometimes he would want me for more than the pheromones I secrete and the pleasure I give him. But I’m an incubus, and I breathe and bleed sex. And that’s what he thrives off of.
I sigh and start to pry myself from his warm arms. I slip out from the bed and go over to the dresser to pick out a new outfit for today. I decide on a pair of yoga pants and a tight, form-fitting crop top—things that are easy to move in. After I finish getting dressed, I creep downstairs silently and move to where I keep my shoes. I slip on a pair of jazz shoes I bought from the local dance studio, and I leave the house silently, making my way into the forest of lush greenery surrounding Brennan’s house.
Yeah, yeah, you’re not supposed to wear dance shoes outside. Whatever. I got that, but I don’t use them for dance. I use them for parkour.
I know you’re thinking, “What the fuck? Parkour?” And yes, parkour. Cats do parkour. Think of demons like cats. We have to move around, jump through tree lines, and do weird shit at three A.M. We’re exactly like cats, except we also have a habit of picking on mortals. Wait, no, even that’s not that different.
Anyway, I wear jazz shoes because they’re very flexible and easy to move in, and they’re super light. They protect my feet from getting all scratched up on tree bark and rocks, and they’re nice and useful for purposes other than for what they were intended. So, don’t get all angry at me for wearing them outside.
I let my glamour fall, and huge leathery black wings sprout from my back. My tail whips around briefly before settling down, and I can tell that scales have already armored vulnerable areas of my pale flesh. The first time I let my glamour fall here, I completely forgot that growing wings and a tail would rip through my clothing. I ended up having to buy more, which was a great nuisance, so I made sure to cut appropriate holes beforehand this time.
I walk up to the nearest tree and take a deep breath in, feeling life fill my lungs and refresh my mind. Then, I grab onto the nearest tree, digging my razor-sharp nails into the bark before climbing all the way up into the canopy. I stop to just sit on a branch, rejuvenating and rebirthing myself in the serenity and fertility of nature. It’s all wonderful and beautiful, the way nature breeds and flows with sensuality. It lives to carry on. Such a simple desire, but so rejected by humanity.
I leap from the branch to land lightly on the next, my feet tenderly alighting onto the limb. I lean over and run my hand down the trunk of the tree.
“I hope you don’t mind,” I whisper to it, and its sympathy and understanding radiate through me.
I drag my hand down the branch I’m standing on until I reach its leaves, and I caress them as if they were my children. I slip my foot down smoothly and dive down to touch down on another tree, using my wings to slow my fall. I continue on like this, making my way through the treetops and ridding myself of energy until I see the sun peaking over the horizon.
Its golden rays swathe me in warm bliss that I don’t dare to ignore. I stop where I am and sit back against the bough of the tree, dangling my legs into the air and closing my eyes in reverence. I bask in the way the drops of crisp heat warm my skin and lull me into exhaustion. I don’t attempt to fight it either as I find myself slowly but surely drifting away from reality into the evanescence of life and the void unconsciousness.
No sounds disturb me. The only audible noise is the hushed twitter of tiny northern birds and rustling leaves. Crickets play songs for me on the violins of their limbs, and frogs sing an acapella. All is perfect, bright and beautiful. All is calm.
And nothing disrupts it. Quiet and—