The room is cold and empty. I lay on a barren mattress, devoid of feeling. You won. Did you even know you were playing a game? Can't we do something with these pieces? Some of them are still beating, still warm. I see memories in this one, me laughing with my hand on your neck. You, perilously aware that I have fallen. What is that look in your eye? Disdain? Even then?
You created me. You cast me out coldly from the form you designed. You should have cut the edges closer, shaving off any possible chance of free will.
Maybe then you would still be here, to judge my actions.
As I feel your fading pulse on my tongue, I wonder, did you enjoy tasting me? You were ever the experienced lover. I gave you all I had. You took what wasn't offered. In my shadow here, I question, was I devious enough to impress you, the one who has taken so many lives? Your life's fluid rains from my lips onto my hardened nipples, it is softer than you have ever been. I writhe and come to my own release with your blood dripping hot from my fingertips.
Don't wake up, your reality is far worse than this nightmare.
Harsh footsteps rattle thin walls. Wingtips I believe, surrounded by a hem of crisp dress slacks, pleated strongly, meticulously, straight down the middle.
"What is this?" He murmurs, throwing my words down on the table.
"Just words." I whisper coldly.
"I tried to see innocence for you through these words"
"Yet, all I see is guilt."
"Read them again" I moan, as I push myself back, sitting upright in my chair.
He is walking around me now, stiffly, I trace his shape with an obvious longing. This is formal questioning, but they have nothing binding to hold me here. I will walk out flirtatiously, in the same black dress I was brought here in.
I can't do this much longer.
I feel weak for him.
The script is fading in my memory.