nosleep

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The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/Equivalent_Ad_3482 on 2024-11-15 02:22:54+00:00.

Before anyone feels the need to state the obvious, I know I’m not a good person.

I’m a cheater- always have been. I could lie. I could tell you about how my dad wasn’t around or some Freudian bullshit about how every girl I ever dated could never match up to my mother, but it wouldn’t be the truth. I didn’t have a hard life and my relationship with my mother is healthy.

I’m just an asshole. But I didn’t deserve this.

“Brian, you’re the best thing that has ever happened to me, but I need just a little more time,” Blythe whispered, her long blond hair falling over her reddening, gorgeous face.

“Yeah, sorry. It’s only been nine months,” I scoffed, “You’re just—” I bit my lip. I’ve never really handled rejection well. It isn’t that my ego is fragile or anything, pride is just hard. “You’re worth the wait. I have work in the morning.” I brushed her hair out of her face and chastely kissed her soft lips.

I should have just gone home and went to bed, rubbed one out for good measure, but a scorned man goes where his dick and the night will carry him.

On the drive home, I pressed my thumb against my cellphone screen like a worry stone and thought of Shelly. She was a six and a half out of ten on a good day, but she never said no.

The phone rang twice on my end before she picked up. “How soon do you want me over?” Shelly purred. I liked that. No hello, no small talk, and best of all no, ‘I need more time’.

“How about you host tonight? I was in the area. I’m about 5 minutes out.” The thought of Shelly in my bed like old times was a nice one, but I didn’t want to risk anyone seeing her car there. I knew Blythe had no reason to be suspicious, no reason to follow me, but I was careful. I’d always been careful.

Shelly agreed. She always did. I was there right on time. I hesitated just for a second in her driveway. I almost pulled back out, but then I started replaying the shock in Blythe’s eyes when I asked. The way she softened her voice when she told me she wanted to take a little more time. Like she thought my feelings needed sparing. That I’d fall apart and cry or something. Her infantilizing tone was too much.

Pride has a way of really fucking things up and so do I. Less than a half hour later, I wasn’t thinking about that anymore; I was busy getting tangled in the sheets with Shelly.

In the heat of the moment, I felt something sting my back. I tried to swipe it off, not wanting to be distracted from her, but it was starting to burn. As I twisted to get a better smack at my back, I saw Blythe at the window, blond hair floating in the wind and her face pressed hard against the glass.

I scrambled to turn around and claw my way through the tangled sheets. In all my glorious efforts, I only succeeded in falling off of the bed and smacking my cheekbone on the wooden frame on my way down. Shelly squeaked at the sharp smack. Something between a stutter, beatboxing, and a juvenile attempt at profanity fell out of my mouth. I finally untangled myself enough to turn towards the now vacant window. Blythe was gone.

I ran out the front door, stark naked to an empty street. Not even taillights winked in the distance.

“Get back inside! Have you lost your mind? Someone’s going to call the cops!” Shelly’s screams rattled in between my ears. I’m sure they would if she kept it up. I glanced one more time down the empty road and turned back inside.

I didn’t mention Blythe when I tried to explain my sudden interest in streaking, but I did tell her I thought there was someone outside the window. At this point, I was starting to doubt that Blythe had been there at all. Hell, that anyone had been there at all. Maybe it was guilt. Either way, the night was ruined. I didn’t kiss her when I left. I didn’t even look back.

The gravel crunched under my Corolla as it crawled down my street. My heart thumped in time with the rolling tires imagining Blythe waiting in the driveway. Maybe a brick through my window. Something. But there was no sign of Blythe, her car, nor any vandalism. Lost in thought, I smashed the brake with the nose of my car inches from the garage door. The spot on my back started to tingle.

I jingled my keys as I half-skipped to the entryway. I shook my head and grinned. I’d call Blythe in the morning to be sure, but I was confident at this point that I had made a mistake at Shelly’s. I kicked myself internally. But there’d be another night. There always was.

After a fast shower, I checked my back. Except for a small red dot, there was nothing to blame for the burning. Could it have been an asp? Do spider bites burn? A bee sting? My mind wandered, but I didn’t have any solid answer.

Maybe I should be ashamed to admit it, but as soon as my head hit the pillow, I was asleep. Guilt couldn’t override my exhaustion, and I wasn’t all that sure I felt guilty anyway.

My dreams told another story though. My pupils dilated with such ferocity adjusting to the dim lighting of Blythe’s living room I could feel the stretch in my eyes. Although my chest heaved with effort, I could only whisper her name. She responded with laughter- the tinkle of an amused child. My heart battered in my chest. The pain from the bug bite on my back dialed up to 11; sharp appendages caressed the edges from the inside. I choked on the scream trying to throw itself from my lips. I could feel something soft pushing from my stomach, blooming in my esophagus. I gave a forceful cough and felt a thick, squishy lump fly up from my throat and flop onto my tongue. Gagging, I pulled a clump of Shelly’s hair from my mouth. Long strands straggled up my throat as I removed the mass. All the while Blythe laughed.

I woke up a mess- bloodshot eyes and my stomach in knots. I fumbled my phone and called Blythe. The certainty I’d had from last night was fading. The damn nightmare was playing tricks with my head. Or my guilty conscience. Either way, I needed to know. The phone rang. Once, twice, three times – and she finally picked up. She sounded her usual chipper self. My voice cracked as I lied. I told her I’d called out from work, that I cared about her too much to leave things the way we had last night. And she ate it. She ate it well. The cramp in my stomach released. We made dinner plans and hung up.

I tried to lay back down, eager to get some restful sleep, but my body wouldn’t comply. The relief I felt wasn’t enough to appease the burning on my back.

I stumbled to the bathroom. Upon further investigation, what was once a small dot had most definitely spread. The center appeared to have crusted over a bit. No matter how I twisted or contorted, it rested solidly between my shoulder blades just out of reach. The crusted head on the mound taunted and begged for the sensual scratch of my fingernails. But there was a bigger problem. My cheek was swollen where I’d smacked it on Shelly’s bed frame the night before, a light purple shadow licking the apple. Another lie I’d need to invent to cover my tracks. It was never the cheating that bothered me. It was the lying. It was the having to remember. It was an irritating inconvenience.

I pulled out my phone to text an apology to Shelly. Given the giant pain in the ass this all had been, I doubt I’d be seeing her for a while, but I believed in keeping all my bridges intact for the crossing. As an afterthought, I asked if she’d been bitten by anything lately.

As I rotted in bed waiting for a reply, soft dreamless sleep found me.

My eyes thrust open as the lump on my back radiated pain. Both cheeks boasted that just-smacked tingle that teased of a fever. I started to think about the time I’d been playing in a brush pile as a child. A black widow had bitten me and I’d been dog shit sick for a few days. But did it burn?

I checked the time and nearly tripped over myself throwing clothes on to meet Blythe. No word still from Shelly. Maybe my odd behavior had spooked her, but no response at all? Weird. No time to think on it now. I hastily deleted the text thread and shot one to Blythe telling her I was on my way. I wouldn’t normally go to dinner sick, but I needed to see Blythe. I just couldn’t shake that something was off and I needed my mind at ease. I popped a couple of ibuprofen and headed out the door.

For the first time in 9 months of seeing her, Blythe was late. This shit day was turning out to have plenty of firsts. It had only been five minutes at this point, no big deal. I tried to tell myself that maybe there was traffic. A flat tire. She couldn’t find her keys. Anything other than her standing me up. The next five I started to feel a twinge of rot in the bottom of my stomach. She was outside the window, saw everything, and was standing me up as punishment. My armpits leaked fever-sweat. I was angry. Just as I scooted my seat back to leave, she walked in.

“Sorry! Couldn’t decide on shoes!” She struck a pose with her heel lifted before gliding into her seat. I couldn’t help but chuckle; I was about to lose it over a woman and her shoes.

Blythe was completely herself. Smiling and beautiful. I was trying to keep things light, but I’d started to sweat all over now. The thick kind. The kind that refuses to drip. The kind that reminds you of that kid in third grade who spat on you on the bus and it globbed on your cheek. Oh, the kids sucked air and one dared you to do something, but you wore that glob like a coward’s badge and did nothing. You sat there with your head down until you...

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