Some nights are so violent, so rough that he feels there is no place for hope. His whole body, his mind, his soul, they all stop looking for redemption. They stare at the void and their only wish is to jump in.
There are better nights, nights when he gets home to stare at her with his blind eyes, to focus on the melody of her heart and that sweet smell of her. Because she is there, lying asleep in his bed. Her hair is sprayed on his pillow, painting a sun with its strands. The cold darkness vanishes because of her.
But sometimes it gets harder. He feels unworthy and can’t face being next to her. She is too good for him. So he closes the door behind him, lies down on the sofa and considers an easier life for her. He wakes up not much later feeling the weight of her body as she makes herself comfortable lying on top of him.
And then there are nights like this, nights when he feels he’s already condemned, walking on fire, fighting a living hell. All he can see is darkness and he can’t find his way out of it. Those nights there is no place for sweet touches or kind words. He needs to go to her and to feel her close to him once he has taken her clothes off.
She wakes up feeling his hands on her body. And she knows it. She’s the only one who can bring him back from the pitch darkness that surrounds him. So she holds on to him.
Her hands get lost in his hair as he fights his demons using tongue and fingers to worship her. And she helps him fight them using her moans as swords to defeat them. Her aftershocks claim the victory he desperately needs.
Then his mouth goes to hers. And there are lips, and tongue and teeth. They can hardly breathe. Breathing is a luxury they can’t afford on nights like this.
Without breaking the kiss, she wraps him with her legs and helps him on his way inside of her, sheltering him from the void that is lurking and tempting him.
He feels how she bites her lip and he hides from his fears inside of her, repeatedly. He tries to find the way towards his sanity in the warm darkness she is offering him.
She walks that path with him, following his intense rhythm, scratching his back, leaving marks of her teeth on his shoulders, hickeys on his neck. Tattooing his body with signs of a love that is the only thing that can truly save him. She is all there is to be.
She is. So he breathes her in. And he focuses on the only sounds that really matter: her moans and gasps and her whispers saying his name. His lips taste her skin. His hands go everywhere, fingers squeezing all over her. He needs to make sure she is there. She is real.
And just like her, he leaves his mark when he touches her. His fingers draw red paths on her pale skin. The devil in him claiming her as his, even if he hardly believes it.
But he fights hard to convince himself that he is worth it, that, despite his demons, he can get home to her. And every time, she welcomes him and holds him close to her. He can’t but succumb to her. Karen. His true love. The warmest shelter in his cold world of darkness.