Jennifer Cypert

I hate it that you think that you know me

Four, five,six, seven, eight. The eighth floor was eerily dark, since it was to be a new wing and on a weekend. Construction workers wouldn't be there until Monday. I walked by one of the first rooms. It was pitch black. Creepy chills ran up my spine.

I am standing in a morning a daze as my supervisor buzzes on. I just want to get to my floor so I can start my day, but she takes her time wasting it for the rest of us that have rooms to clean. "We have families to feed, why doesn't she just shut up?!" I think, refraining from rolling my eyes or shaking my head in exasperation. Finally, I hear my name being called.

Droplets of something sweet fall on my lips. It was the blood of someone not from this land, but from afar, almost flowery, like chamomile. I wake up looking to see Vincent standing over me with someone's neck above my face. I pull it to me, too weak to raise up. It was a woman. Her soft, black hair fell on top of me, covering my face. Aromatic waves of lavender and honey hit my nose. I breathed her in like the best cocaine a drug lord kept for himself.

We stayed in the shower for hours, fucking, kissing, biting, growling, cumming. Our bodies wrapped together in gravity defying acrobatics, never tiring. The one thing that made us stop was our will, yet, even that was hard to tame.

Bastard Prayer