tagNonHumanA Cure for Moonlight Ch. 03

A Cure for Moonlight Ch. 03

byEdenVanEver©

Stella awoke to searing pain in her foot, her head throbbed like her heart had been forced into her skull and her mouth was dry and filmy. The haze of sleep lifted with the surge of adrenaline as she darted up to pull the heavy curtains to. Her foot was blistered and angry red. It burned and itched and seeped clear fluid. She limped to the phone and called the only number her mind could find in the maze of pain and confusion.

"Aimes, can you," she rasped and swallowed, "can you come here please? It's an emergency."

She hung up the phone before she could get a reply and hobbled to the front door. Unlocking it, she sank down against the wall, letting her foot rest on the smooth stone tile. The carpet was like steel wool against her skin. In seconds, she was in a pre-sleep haze. Just as she let her eyes close, the door burst open. Her friend, Amelia rushed in and her eyes darted immediately to the burns. Setting her bag down, she appraised the wounds and shook her head. Stella was glad she only lived across the hall.

"You need to get to a hospital," only just noticing the nudity, "I'll grab you some clothes. Sit tight."

Standing up and taking the rest of the apartment in, she saw the living room curtains parted enough to let sunbeams through. She also noticed the cleanliness of the room before her. She smiled a little and then headed to the bedroom. Pulling out underwear, a bra, some leggings and a blue military style sweater dress, she also thought to grab some black knee high socks. With the clothes in hand, she walked back out towards Stella, still in a heap on the floor.

"Really, Stells, you didn't need to clean up for me, you're in no fit state."

"What?" Stella glanced around and then panic washed over her, "Oh my God. I didn't someone's been in here! I left my clothes all over the place last night. I threw my coat over the back of the sofa, my shoes were over there. Someone has been in here!"

"Are you sure?" Amelia held the panties open so as not to touch the blisters.

"I'm positive," Stella said, standing and limping towards the bathroom, stopping, stunned again.

"What is it?" Amelia asked, pulling out gauze and some tape from her bag.

"The bathwater, I never drain my bathwater. It's a bad habit, and I certainly don't hang the stopper like this. My dirty towels are folded, so is my laundry. My dirty laundry is folded in the hamper. Who does that?" her voice would have nearly been a shriek, had it not been for the salty, papery feeling in her throat.

"Let's just get you out of here for now and get that foot taken care of."

While Amelia wrapped the foot in gauze, Stella sipped a bottle of water. They worked together in silence to get her dressed and ready to go. When Amelia got the call that the car she'd called was outside, Stella wrapped her head and face in a scarf, pulled gloves onto her hands and finally, donned her coat. She put on some large sunglasses and pulled the deep hood forward as Amelia led her quickly to the darkened car. Travelling in the day was always awkward, the sunglasses were hardly enough protection for her sensitive eyes, she kept them closed and lived in those 45 seconds as a blind woman relying on her friend to help her get inside quickly. The whole drive, the girls focused on keeping every inch of her pale skin covered.

The exam and treatment hurt like hell, but the pain meds were glorious, once they kicked in. The headache evaporated and the IV fluids left her feeling much better. The doctors decided to put her on crutches to keep the skin from pulling and flexing while the bulk of the blisters healed. One young, cocky physician tried to lecture her on protecting her skin with her condition. As if she didn't know. As if she wasn't feeling the suns effects keenly enough for one lifetime. She began to feel angry until Amelia spoke up. She knew the Doctor because she worked in this hospital as a nurse. She was grateful for the quick tongue and fiery temper that possessed her dear friend.

After the stressful ride home, Stella was thankful to be in her own place again. Since she was feeling better, she decided she was starving. Surveying the fridge with disappointment, she decided she wanted something spicy.

"Thai for lunch before you head to work?" she asked over the hum of the open refridgerator.

"Oh I'm not going to work. I'm going to stay while you file a police report. I only have a half shift anyway, I'm covering for Nanette."

"Oh, you don't need to do that, I'm not going to call the cops. I don't need anyone traipsing through here. Honestly, this is like midnight to me, I need to eat and crash."

"Stells, I really think you need to call and get this incident documented. If someone had access to your place, you're in danger."

"If he or she wanted to hurt me, they would have done it."

"We JUST left the hospital. You DID get hurt."

"I'll call Henry and get the locks changed," Stella promised to her friend, who simply huffed in response.

They shared red coconut curry and pad Thai, and crunched on spring rolls that were like little bits of heaven. Nothing lifted their spirits like Thai delivery. The mood lightened and they joked about Amelia's horrible taste in men. Her last boyfriend left her, for his male second cousin. If she didn't joke about it, she felt like she would cry.

"He wasn't even good looking, but come ON! His Cousin!" Stella said, swallowing her next pain pill.

"I know. I swear, I know it's not legally incest, but it's a good thing they can't have biological kids together. The nurse in me shudders to think about it."

"I wonder if I have any hot cousins, out there somewhere."

"You're so gross," Amelia said, tossing a bean sprout, hitting Stella right in the face.

"Ugh, I have to go to Louie's tonight. I need to see Joe," Stella groaned, pulling her hair back.

"Oh, goodness. Why?"

"He asked me out last night and I completely blew him off, I feel awful."

"You're too nice. I'm sure he's used to rejection."

"You're evil! I know you don't like him, but he's nothing but nice to me," Stella flopped backwards.

Stella chugged a cold bottle of coffee and began mentally pondering the current story she was reviewing, while Amelia browsed through old movies in the "On Demand" menu on TV. She really hated turning an author down, and this would be the second rejection for him. She found herself avoiding the manuscript like the plague. It was a tedious, disturbing read, and not well written, at all. It gave her the willies when she was alone with it.

"Ohhh Gas light!" Amelia said, breaking Stella's thought process.

"That movie freaks me out, and the one where the woman boils that kid's rabbit? Ugh."

"We had to watch both of them in Psych. I thought they were fascinating."

"I couldn't deal with crazies all day like you do. I just don't get how people can't recognize screwed up behavior. It just makes me angry."

"Awww... Stells," she cooed, "You're dealing with this right now. You chose not to call the police, remember? Talk about dumb behavior."

"Wow! Low blow! Way below the belt, there, Aimes."

"Maybe, but I speak the truth, go on and try to deny it."

"Yeah I guess."

Eventually, Stella didn't even care that Amelia refused to leave. She wrapped up in a blanket and plopped her head in her friend's lap. Enjoying the tingly feeling of fingers running through her hair absentmindedly, she soon drifted off into a dreamless sleep. She woke to a pillow under her head and snoring from her other couch. She smiled at her friend's chainsaw imitation and got up to get a drink. Sitting down with some knitting, and the dreaded book on her laptop, she attempted to get lost in the twisted story. She only had a few chapters left, she hoped to knock them out and get them done so she could go ahead and inform her boss that it just wasn't fit for publication.

Finally done reading, and with the blanket she had been working on, she bound off the edge and then fired an email to her boss, Jones. She felt bad dashing the author's hopes again, but not only was the story horrible, but it was written in such a way that each chapter had to be read over and over to even kind of understand what was being said. Even then, it was like an explosion of warped, sick consciousness haunting her in black and white.

Picking over the pad Thai and curry again, she felt antsy. It was nearly sunset and she had another event this evening she wasn't looking forward to. Dealing with Joe. It wasn't that she didn't like him, she just didn't like him in that way. She couldn't imagine a normal person dating her any way. Her inability to go out in the sun, in her mind, was a universal deal breaker. She tossed her laundry in the washer, did the few dishes left from lunch, and the glared at the pairs of shoes that were mated and lined up against the wall. Suddenly, they enraged her. Who had the right to come into her home and move her things? She thought to sling them across the room, but stopped herself. She didn't want to wake Amelia and she fought to get some control over her sudden rage.

The crutches were cumbersome and annoying. She hated feeling weak, and they made her feel nearly helpless. She couldn't even use her excess energy to do her usual yoga routine because of the skin on her foot and ankle. Sighing, she quietly crept into her bedroom and flipped on her flat iron. She hardly ever straightened her hair, but she just didn't know what else to do with her hands. She worked some smoothing serum along her ends and set to taming her lion's mane. She thought to herself that it didn't hurt to look nice when she went to tell Joe that she was sorry.

He couldn't stop thinking about touching her, her smell, her taste. He smiled to himself when he thought of her taking what he had to give, even in her drugged sleep. She still swallowed the gift of a piece of him. She had part of him inside her right now and that made him feel smug and tingly. His cock twitched in his pants and he closed his eyes and thought of her smooth pink lower lips against his tongue. He gave himself credit for not plunging into her pink depths. He wanted to watch her face when he took her. He wanted her fear, her respect and her pain. Still, the look and feel of her tits as he smashed them against his rod was consolation.

"She's so lucky," he thought to himself, "she is going to be taken care of, without another care in the world. All she has to do is fear me. Respect me. I'm going to break her and make her worship me."

The apartment was nearly ready for her. He had spent hours soundproofing and running tracks on the ceiling for her chains. He put brackets in a closet so she would hang by her wrists with her feet spread and unable to support her weight. He knew she would try to get away. He had to teach her to obey him. He had special leather cuffs ordered, metal would leave bruises and marks. The only marks he wanted on her skin were the ones he put there. He couldn't wait to watch her cry as he forced her to take all of him. The idea made him feel powerful and when he smelled the bathwater he saved from her apartment, his dick hardened even more. He closed his eyes and pulled and tugged on his member and imagined forcing her face over it. Harder and harder, the rougher, the better. He thought about plunging his tongue into her opening, he still wanted more. Last night just wasn't enough.

In his mind, he pictured her in the little lacy night gown, tethered in the closet, legs spread and exposed to his will. He imagined himself opening that door, and seeing her face take a shade of fear. He would run his hand up, starting with her ankles, to her knees. He pictured her squirming as best she could, higher and higher he would go. Pressing his hand against her, he would use a leather strap on the inside of her thighs. It would make them red and raw so that when he finally was between them, the salt on his skin would sting her. Imagining she was bound in front of him, he saw himself putting his face between her legs, biting at the flesh, making her cry out. He would resist the urge to force his fingers into her. He would lick and suck at her and then humiliate her when he body began to moisten itself. He might even cut her down and tie her to the bed. Then he would climb on top of her, just like he had before and force her to take him in her throat. He would make her lay there, with his juice on her face until it dried.

The image in his head of her face covered in his cum brought him over the edge. He came and twitched and pulsed and was spent. But it only served to increase his anticipation of having her. Owning her.

He folded up the dresses and nightgowns he'd bought for her. She wouldn't be needing pants with him around. They would just get in the way. Putting them in a drawer, he closed it slowly and thought about breaking her completely. He imagined fucking her outside, maybe on the roof or the beach, with the sun gleaming through those dark, golden-red waves. Her begging for mercy. Soon, he thought to himself, soon. It was nearly time for her to emerge from her place, making her usual little journey down to get coffee and then meander through the city. So predictable. So sweet and innocent.

He needed to make an appearance at work tonight. It was supposed to be his night off, but he just didn't get many of those anymore. Not since he started running things. He made a mental note to fix the curtains, clever girl had pulled them closed today. That won't last long. As soon as she left, he would fix it, again. If she insisted on keeping things closed, he might have to invest in some of those tiny cameras. Of course, the time investment in the installation would mean greater chance of blowing the plan, but it may make things easier and more pleasurable for him.

He kept a watch out the window, and he saw her leave. On crutches. His mind raced. Why was she on crutches? No, no, no. This wouldn't do. Why on Earth was she hurt? He wasn't going to have damaged goods. He would just have to fuck her and get rid of her if that was the case.

"See?" he thought to himself angrily, "she can't even take care of herself. Stupid girl."

He put on his shoes, locked the door and bounded down the stairs. He was across the narrow street in seconds and his hand paused at the doorknob. His gut told him to stop. He rang the doorbell and then hustled down the stairs. He listened for anything that might indicate that she wasn't alone. Sure enough, he heard her door open and then close. He waited for a moment and then left the building. His heart was racing and he was angry. Who did she have with her? The little whore. She would pay for this. She would pay for having someone else.

He walked quickly, took shortcuts and practically sprinted to the coffee shop. He needed to beat her there. He needed to find out who the little bitch had in her apartment. When he walked in he felt that strange wrong feeling again. His mind reeling, he scanned the patrons. No one looked familiar, but he just knew something wasn't right here. It made him shift nervously and wring his hands. He wasn't sure why, but he just wanted to crawl out of his skin.

Stella pulled on a pair of skinny jeans and a fitted black deep v-neck sweater over her camisole. She fastened a silver metal belt around the narrow part of her waist and pulled a black flat onto her good foot. It blended in with the black socks she wore to hide the dressing on her burned foot. She left a note for Amelia, who was still asleep, pulled on her coat and limped hastily out the door.

Feeling that familiar blast of icy wind, she tried to not gasp, but it took her breath away every time. She was already getting quite good on her crutches, and she made fairly good time to Louie's. Joe was sitting at her usual table and she ordered a caramel white mocha. He looked up at her with concern. Obviously taking in the crutches, he didn't look too happy and seemed as uncomfortable as she felt. Grabbing the coffee, she put both crutches under one arm, and he jumped up to help her. She smiled weakly at him as they sat down.

"I'm sorry about last night, Joe," she wrapped her hands around the mug.

"Hey, don't worry about it, I sort of ambushed you. That wasn't really the plan," his eyes didn't move from her leg and she shifted a little in her seat.

"Still, I could have been a little more... graceful, about it."

"No, really, it's fine. What happened to your leg?" he said, only just looking to her eyes. His own had a fire in them.

"I burned it. I'm on crutches so I don't stretch the skin while it heals," she took a cautious sip.

"You work with books, right? How did you burn your foot?"

"Umm, well, that's a long story, maybe best left for another time," she looked away.

"I have time, but I do have to ask," he was boring into her eyes, "are you seeing someone? Is that why you turned me down?"

"Ahh... no. I'm not seeing anyone," she blushed, "me turning you down is also a long story."

"You don't have to lie," he said harshly, "I mean, it won't hurt my feelings," he spilled out more gently.

"I'm not lying," she said softly, "I just don't really want to talk about it, it's kind of personal."

Stella shifted in her chair, again. She couldn't tell if it was Joe's strange mood tonight, or maybe she just was on edge, but she just felt exposed. Perhaps it was just that she knew someone had been in her place uninvited and she didn't know who. "It could be anyone in this room," she thought anxiously. Taking another sip of her drink, she looked out the window to see snow falling. It made her smile.

"What's so funny?" Joe interrupted her daze.

"Nothing's funny, I just love snow," she said, looking back to the window, "It's so pure and clean."

"Yeah, I guess," he said glancing outside for a second and then back to her.

"I need to get going, my friend Amelia is back at my place and she's going to be worried about me."

"Do you want me to walk you home?" Joe asked hopefully.

"No, I'm going to take the long way and enjoy the sound of the snow falling."

"Snow doesn't have a sound," he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair.

"Yes it does. It sounds like tiny little bits of magic falling."

She pulled her coat close and did up the toggles. He watched as she pulled her gloves on, and wrapped her scarf around her. She looked beautiful tonight. Tiny, angelic and as pure as the snow that was falling outside. Almost like that snow was part of her. It was the same color as her beautiful pearlescent skin. He let her words sink in and got up from his chair hastily. Suddenly, he realized that the wrong feeling had vanished too. Pulling his own coat on, he left, and made sure there was enough distance between her and himself, so that she wouldn't notice him following her.

He still needed to take care of a few things, so he would follow her a few blocks and then get his errand done. He hated to tear himself away from her, but he reminded himself of what his mother said, "Moderation in all things." He needed to be careful, so as not to blow his plan. At least he knew now that the person in her place wasn't her lover. She was still untouched. Still his. He replayed every word that had come out of her mouth in his head. He watched her a half block in front of him, meandering around the city streets and she well and truly seemed to be listening to the snowfall. He closed his eyes and just couldn't understand what she had been talking about.

He stopped in his tracks when the wrongness returned. He was nearly where he needed to stop following her, so he turned off her trail and once he was a few blocks away, the wrongness vanished again. Pulling his coat around himself, he stopped in a corner store and grabbed a few essentials and some film. The TV on the counter blared snow warnings, he planned on spending tomorrow shopping around for a solution to her bad little habit of shutting him out.

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byEdenVanEver© 4 comments/ 12009 views/ 6 favorites

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