Sam knows as soon as she opens the door (the forbidden door, but since when has she ever cared about that?) that things will never be the same again.
The door is nothing to write home about. It's old and musty and smells like rotten wood. Looks like it's going to fall apart any minute, too. The door -- including the half rotten frame -- is leaning against the wall in great-great-grandmother Barbara's room, which no one ever uses for anything. Rumour has it Barbara (who was the crazy Barb long before Sam was even born, or her mother for the matter) brought it with her from the old country. Sam doesn't remember much of the old country. She only visited once with her mother when she was five, she didn't like the food much and she didn't understand the language. She remembers people giving her looks. She didn't like them either.
It might even be true that old crazy Barb brought it with her, Sam thinks just before her fingertips run over the wood. It feels fragile like it shouldn't, rough and smooth and warm all at the same time. Like what she expects and what it really is merges somehow under her touch.
She turns the old fashioned knob and light pours out between the cracks of wood. She nearly steps away then, but curiosity is stronger, and to be honest, it always wins. She pulls the door open and everything stops.
She can feel her heart slow down as she stares into the light. It's so white and pure that it's more than just white and it doesn't hurt her eyes. She can make out shapes in the light. They look like the things under a microscope. Amoeba, but with something like tentacles, but not, a bit like crippled wings without feathers. The shapes, beings, whatever, aren't pretty, but they aren't ugly either and there is something about them that makes her feel very calm as she watches them swim, flood, fly around in the white light.
She takes a deep breath and the smell of flowers hits her nostrils. She can nearly taste the scent on her tongue and then one of the shapes turns to her, like it heard her breathe. And what does she know? It's possible it did hear her. It starts flooding in her direction. Sam feels very calm. She puts one hand on the frame of the door and reaches out with the other. She only wants to feel the light, maybe the being too. The being tilts its -- well, not head, exactly, but something -- and then it reaches out to her too. Tentatively with one of the tentacles that aren't really tentacles, but aren't hands either.
When it brushes her fingertips it feels warm, soft, delicate and she shudders, it feels just that good. She smiles and her heart skips a beat. The being glows with her happiness, like it can feel it and then it curls it's tentacle around her wrist and she pulls.
The being is flooding in the room, but she can't really see it anymore. It's losing its shape and light, but she can feel it clinging to her wrist. And she holds on in return. The touch feels like it's burning a straight line through her bloodstream to her heart and brain and it feels so good she moans and claps her hand over her mouth to keep the rest of the noises inside.
She sinks to the floor slowly, the being still holding her wrist with a light caress and the light still shining through the open door.
The floor feels cold and hart and it's a shock to her system, but it also grounds her in time and space. She shakes her head to clear it and the being slowly lets go. It feels like a part of herself is being ripped away. She wants to hold it back, but it's faster than she thought and soon it disappears into the light and the door closes behind it without a noise.
She feels a strange kind of happiness the whole day. A detached kind of being warm and save and like everything is possible. Like the world is her plate to choose from. A tingly feeling spreads over her skin when she lies down in her bed that evening. The touch of the sheets is electric. The smell of her skin makes her want to lick it. She clenches her hands in the sheets and breathes.
She needs to open that door again.
No one ever goes into the room. It seems like everyone in the house has even forgotten that there is an extra room at the end of the corridor. Sam doesn't mind. She spends what feels like hours watching the light on the other side of that mysterious door. Looking at the beautiful creatures flooding in light and happiness, knowing when she reaches out it will come. It will reach out in return like it's curious too. Like it wants to feel her skin, like she wants to feel whatever it is made of. It curls one delicate, warm, soft tentacle around her finger and then her wrist, her arm and reaching up further every single time a bit more and she wants more, wants to feel it against her skin, everywhere it can, wants to reach, to touch, to caress her body.
When it leaves her, she's a shuddering mess and the only thing she wants is to be fucked.
She gets up on shaky legs as soon as the door is closed again, lies down on the dusty bed crazy Barb probably died in, pushes her skirt up, runs her hand over the rim of the stocking and up, up between her legs. She's shivering with the warm glow and need that the being leaves behind, like invisible dust. A high injected directly into her heart and brain, stimulating all the pleasure centres at once. She doesn't even get her panties off, she just starts rubbing, every touch nearly too much, and not enough. Harder, faster and her free hand clutches a dusty duvet while she bites her lip to keep the noise in. She has no idea what the being feels when she is filled with its magic, but she guesses it can feel some of what she is feeling, why else would it come back?
Afterwards Sam's lying on the bed, her panties wet, her scent filling up the room, her heart trying to calm down and wondering how it would feel to always have it there. To touch her, to make her feel this good. Not only when it wants to come to her, but every minute of every single day she has to spend here with people who don't get her. Don't get her blood red hair and short black skirts and ink on her pale skin. If old crazy Barb was feeling whatever the being is giving Sam, no wonder people thought she was nuts.
“I feel like your booty call, Sam," April says between kisses.
Sam honestly doesn't care. She's freaking horny and the warm glow she craves so much is fading with every passing second. She wants to be touched and licked and fingered while she can still feel it inside her. Crawling, flooding, and clawing its way inside her heart and brain and bloodstream.
“You are my booty call," Sam answers, tearing at April's clothes.
April laughs into Sam's mouth and it tastes sweet, but not as sweet as what Sam's feeling when she's with the being. Nothing ever seems to compare to that.
But April is so, so good with her tongue. Kissing the soft, sensitive inside of her thigh and then biting down gently, it makes Sam grab the pillow she's nearly murdering harder still. Sam can feel April's smug smile against her skin and doesn't care. She whimpers when April spreads her legs just that little bit further and then kisses her hipbone, licks a line inward and then kisses her where she so desperately needs to be kissed and licked and teased. She's wet and throbbing, it's so good she's nearly sobbing with how good it feels and she knows it isn't only April's doing. It sure as hell is the leftover dust of the being on her skin too.
“You taste amazing," April says and her voice sounds funny, kind of hungry, she never used to sound like that before. Sam looks down at her, she is too messed up to get up, too fucked out, her orgasm still lets her shudder and she wants to keep April close to her body and have her on the other side of the room, so she doesn't feel April's breath on her skin, simultaneously.
“Thanks, I guess."
“I mean it. I never tasted anything like that before. Just licking you, tasting you, smelling you, made me come. It's-"
“If you say weird, I am so out of here," Sam interrupts.
April laughs, shaking her head."You are weird and you know it," she says, getting up. Her long dark hair swings softly as she gathers her clothes.
Sam gives her a look. April looks gorgeous, she's the kind of girl everyone wants to fuck, and yet Sam is the lucky one who gets to touch that body, feel those lips against hers and it used to be enough, but it isn't anymore."I have work," she answers the unspoken question.
Sam nods."See you around?"
“Yeah," April says as she buttons up her blouse.
“The scent of your skin," April says and licks her arm, drags her lips up from Sam's wrist to the hollow of her elbow, kisses the tender skin, sucks a bruise into Sam's flesh and Sam pushes her hard. She can't stand to be marked by anything other than her being. April looks confused for a moment and then she just reaches for Sam's hand and kisses her fingers. Like she can't help herself. Sam knows that feeling.
“April..." Sam says weakly, because they've been at it for hours now. Sam feels tender and wet all over and her scent seems to fill up the whole room. She has no idea how many times April made her come already and she still seems to be willing to go on, just as long as she can taste Sam's skin. The sheets are damp with sweat and other fluids and Sam can't seem to get herself together enough to care. April bites down into the fleshy part of Sam's palm and Sam cries out. That fucking hurt and she just isn't into pain at all. April knows that. She snaps her hand away."Stop. Don't you have work?"
April looks confused for a moment, blinking her big brown eyes and long eyelashes Sam is secretly jealous of, and then she fishes for her cellphone."Fuck," she says."I better call in sick, because I am so freaking late already."
Sam risks a glance at the alarm clock. 12. Well, yeah roughly four hours, Sam thinks. She didn't realise how late it was already, April didn't either. April gets out of bed to call her boss (she never talks to people on the phone with others in the room if she can help it) and Sam takes advantage of that to get dressed and leave before April comes back and devours what's left of her.
She leaves a note that she'll call April soon before she closes the door on her way out softly.
Sam doesn't call April or anyone else for that matter. She doesn't pick up her phone either. It's not like many people try to talk to her these days anymore. She doesn't want to be with people anyway. She doesn't need to be with people, not as long as she can open the door and watch her being shine bright and happy upon seeing her. She has no clue how she can even tell that it's happy, but she can. It seems to her like it's waiting for her, because as soon as she opens the door it's there, reaching out to her and she drags it closer, wants to feel it on her skin, wants to feel it inside her too. Wants to consume it any way she can, any way it lets her.
She loses time and she doesn't care. As soon as it touches her, she feels like she's full to the brim with happiness and nothing else matters, because nothing else could ever compare to that feeling of peace and warmth and rightness with the being touching her so delicately, but strongly. Shaking her insides to the core.
On a warm spring evening when she's sitting on the floor, her body aching she feels like she needs to do something.
And for the first time she wants more and she reaches out with her other hand to stroke one of the vaguely wing-shaped things. As she touches it the being shudders and she can feel it like electricity inside her. Like the best kind of orgasm.
So she does it again.
She's fading away, her body is fading away, in the dusty room and it's fading away too. Glowing bright and hot and scorching her skin in ways no human being could. She touches it and it touches her and she feels like she's floating. Weightlessly in the air, in space and time. Encompassing the world and what's under it, beneath it, behind it, feeling the universe expend and shiver at her touch. She can never ever let it go. Can never let it leave her.
Her hold tightens around its tentacle of soft light and warmth and she strokes the crippled wing-shaped part of it harder until it glows brightly. She can feel herself throbbing with the rhythm, but she doesn't give in, denying herself the relief of an amazing orgasm, keeping her mind away from her body so she can think.
And then she kicks the door shut. It makes a loud sound of finality and the being shudders, the glow fades and it screams. Not a scream Sam's ever heard before, not a scream that can be heard with ears, but she can hear it with her heart and it hurts, makes her bleed. The being lets go, floods away and curls as close to the door as it is possible.
She feels horrible. Her body is in pain and she presses her hands against her ears to make the screaming stop. It doesn't.
She reaches for the being but it shies away from her touch. Like it's tainted, like she is, like she betrayed it, betrayed its trust.
Which is exactly what she did.
She leaves it there in the room and doesn't know what to do with herself or it. She can't concentrate on anything, but it doesn't matter. What matters is the crippled being in crazy Barb's room full of dust and shadows.
She realises that she's addicted to whatever the being is made of. To the dust it leaves on her skin when it touches her, the dust her body absorbs to make her feel so good. The dust April licks away like an addict would lick coke from a stripper's ass.
That's why she shut the door, instead of leaving it open like she used to, like she knew she needed to. On some unspoken level the being made her know that and she betrayed it and now it's here.
She doesn't go back to the room for three days. By the fourth day she can't take the screaming inside her head anymore, can't take the agony and pain.
When she opens the door to old crazy Barb's room she can't see it. The room is dark and gloomy. The wallpaper peeling away, the brick showing, the wood-floors starting to rot in the corners. Long shadows creeping like thin skeletal cats up the walls. It looks and feels like it's decaying right in front of her. She can see it come apart, becoming dust as she watches. Sam nearly backs away and shuts the freaking door for ever and throws the key away. Maybe brick it up to be on the save side too.
She steps inside carefully, the boards making squishy sounds under her feet like she's stepping on something soft and vulnerable and alive, and makes her way to the rotting door and turns the knob. She pulls the door open with a harsh and fast gesture. A million small beings like hers are on the other side, she can feel their anger, their resentment and she's so sorry, but they let her know it's not enough. She feels her being slip past her legs, brushing her ankle, making it hurt with a hot, scorching pain before it merges with the light. A blinding light that hurts to look at. She shields her eyes with her arms to protect them.
The door falls shut and when she tries the knob again it won't move. It's just an old forgotten door again. Not a magical portal to another world, a soft, warm world with beautiful beings made of light. Glittering, dancing with crippled wings without feathers. And she wants to cry because she had just found heaven and she lost it in the span of a heartbeat.
There is a burn on Sam's ankle in the shape of a star, a sharp-edged, jaded star, like it was carved with a blunt knife in the dark, with shaking hands, crippled fingers.
She touches it sometimes with cold, stiff fingers to soothe the pain that is always there.
It never works to calm the feral hurt, the agony that is spreading from that point through her body, especially on starless nights.