Read The Stranger I Know (Dark Romance) for Free Online

the bed fondles me, his hands exploring my breasts, touching my nipples just enough to make me shiver, and hovering down my belly and brushing my thighs. I fight myself and him at the same time. Two sets of hands embrace me, their rugged textures feeling my thoughts, my feelings, my fears. I squeeze my eyes shut and let them. I can't stop it anyway.
    I'm exposed to two Strangers. One I know, the other, I don't. Every facet of my personality, my dreams, my nightmares, my personal monologues. They're all there. They're taking them. Piece by piece, their hands take a part of me away, as if I'm a jigsaw puzzle to be solved and put back into the box. The pieces turned upside down and the image forgotten from age and crinkled edges. Nothing fits together anymore. Too many times were they forced together incorrectly.
    The men vanish for a moment and I catch my breath, even though it still feels like I'm suffocating. I open my mouth wide and air sucks in, and lips find mine. I open my eyes and the blindfold is gone, and James' face is on mine. I try to push him away, but my arms go straight through his body. His tongue fights mine, and I join in without consent. I can't control myself. I feel hands inside mine, like I'm a glove, and suddenly I realize the Stranger is leaning over my shoulder. His arms are tucked inside my own. I can see his arms twitch and mine twitch along with them, as he forces me to undress James' button down shirt. His fucking shirt he probably paid five hundred dollars for. No, his dead father paid for. I fight and fight but the Stranger's inside me, he won't let go.
    I throw myself out of my bed and my dream, stumbling against the wall and clinging to air as I smack my head on the lamp. It falls and crashes against the carpet. I'm awake, thank god.
    I lean down and pick up the lamp, groping the darkness and setting it back where it belongs. I turn it on and feel my neck. Covered in sweat. Great. I'll be a mess if I don't take care of this.
    The bathroom's sink runs hot. I splash my hands with it and tidy up my hair. I examine my bruise, but it doesn't look too bad. If I bruised like a peach, I wouldn't have any fun in the hotel. Everyone would know. I'd have to tell them I was in a fight club.
    But what the hell was with that dream? I can't turn it over. I don't really want to either. I fill a glass of water from the sink and take two sleeping pills. I won't turn the dream over either.
    I crawl back into bed and stare at the lamp, as if it was the one that caused the dream. I slip the ice mask back on, even if it should be called a lukewarm mask at this point. I wipe some splashed water away from my face with the sheet before I fall asleep again. No dreams this time.
    ***
    T he next day is gray. At the insistence of my morning alarm, I sit up and crumple the bedding beneath my arms.
    I dress and pull my hair back into a tight bun again. As I'm observing my work in the mirror, I turn my head and can see the destruction from the stranger's blade. A couple of strands that are too short to be pulled up into the bun have been cut short. It feels as visible as a hickey to me. I put pressure on it and try to pretend that'll make it go away.
    ***
    A rriving at work ahead of schedule, I take the time to just breathe and let the heater warm my toes a little longer. High heels are mandatory, despite the obvious contradiction it imposes on my attempts to look more like a man at work. If I don't wear the heels, my height is too disparate and I notice that men start talking down to me. Not just physically, but like I'm a child. They always look like they should be punched in the face. They all look like they want to fall to their knees and ask me if I did all my homework.
    I feel my forehead throb and I pinch my temples to try and stave away my mounting frustration. I inhale deeply... and exhale. A glance in the rearview mirror calms my nerves, but disappoints me at the same time. No one strange is in my back seat.