Happy Monday! Welcome! This short is from one of my backlisted short stories. Can you tell me which one? And can you guess which Genre this one falls into?
Copyright © 2011 by Serenity King
Short snippet from previously released short story
Uta felt uneasy as she sat on her sofa with a blanket wrapped around her, sipping a glass of red wine and waiting for her friend Nylora to come over with a pizza from their favorite pizza spot. Ever since a car accident had landed Uta in the hospital, she’d had problems keeping warm. Her friend Nylora teased her relentlessly about her needing blood. Even though Uta often laughed along with her friend, she was starting to wonder if Nylora was right. Maybe she did need blood. Lately she’d wanted blood. She even liked the smell of it. In fact, some nights she craved it. Maybe another session with a therapist wouldn’t be a bad idea.
Ever since that night—a night she had little remembrance of—something seemed different about her. The only thing Uta remembered about that night was leaving her office to meet a potential client about decorating an old Victorian home. That was it. She had no memory at all of the accident. Her therapist called it suppressed memory. Suppressed or not, she couldn’t remember a damn thing.
Uta felt as if she was being watched all the time. She’d had these feelings in the hospital and they’d grown stronger since she’d been released. Her nights were filled with vivid dreams of a lover she didn’t have.
Yet the dreams were always so real. So real in fact, that when Uta would waken with the soft breeze from her bedroom windows caressing her naked form, her bed covers were always rumpled and pushed to the far side of her bed, her breathing was heavy, her hair was tousled, and her womanly juices saturated the insides of her thighs and her bed sheets. Odder still, her gown was always lying in a silken heap at the foot of her bed.
The first time it had happened, Uta had been scared shitless that someone had broken into her apartment and taken advantage of her. In the back of her mind, she knew that no one had. But her body had tingled all over as if she’d come off one of the biggest climaxes of her life.
Just to be certain that no one was in her home, she’d gotten out of bed on very shaky legs. Hurrying across the room she closed her windows and grabbed her robe off the settee. Slipping it around her shoulders, she walked out of the bedroom to look through her apartment. After finding everything in order, she’d made her way into the bathroom adjoining her bedroom to take a shower.
In the shower, she’d felt as if someone was watching her. She’d jerked the shower curtain back to find no one there. Uta finished her shower quickly, put on a nightshirt, and went back to bed.
She hadn’t fallen asleep as quickly as she’d have liked, but she had fallen into a peaceful sleep.
But the next night, the dreams came back. They had continued until a week ago. Truth be known, she’d enjoyed every one of the dreams. Each dream held something different. Some nights she’d wake up and her inner thighs would be sore. Sometimes her neck ached and tingled so she could’ve sworn she’d have passion marks. Upon waking up, she’d run to the mirror to check, and to her extreme disappointment, there was nothing to see.
Her lover really did exist only in her dreams. Only now she didn’t even dream about him anymore. She hadn’t had a dream in over a week. She was downcast, weak, and just outright miserable.
Hence, the girls night with Nylora.
Uta was brought out of her reverie by a firm knock at her door. She jumped at the sound. “Damn, I really have to pull myself together or Nylora will have me committed,” she said to herself.
Getting up from her sofa, she made her way across the room to open the door. She smelled Nylora’s perfume and the pizza—sausage and pepperoni pizza, to be exact. Not bothering to ask who it was, Uta undid the dead bolt and opened the door.
“Hey Lady, how many times do I have to tell you about opening your door without knowing who’s on the other side?” Nylora asked her friend as she walked past Uta into the apartment.
Uta stepped aside as Nylora practically Bo-guarded her way inside. Nylora was only a little over five feet tall, but she liked to boss everyone around. Uta’s five-nine frame towered over her. Following the petite woman into the room, she said. “I knew it was you Nylora. I smelled—I smelled the aroma from the pie.” Uta had almost said, “I smelled your perfume,” but she stopped herself just in time. The last time she’d told Nylora that she had smelled her perfume from far away, Nylora had had too many questions. Questions Uta didn’t have answers to.
“Oh, Lord, you and that smell thing again,” Nylora said, placing the pizza on the kitchen counter and then turning to face Uta. “And why the hell is it so dark in here? You didn’t pay your electric or something?”
“Yes I paid my electric. I’ve been having problems adjusting to the light, that’s all. I already told you that,” Uta responded.
“Uta, for the past week you’ve been wearing shades to work. Okay—the light is miserable, and I can understand it gives you headaches. Hell, I know how I am about light when I have a migraine. But I didn’t know you actually lived in the dark. Maybe you should think about going to a neurologist for these migraines and your sensitivity to light. You’re scaring me,” Nylora said, uncharacteristically serious.