I'm not exactly sure what time it is. It's late, I know that much. It's late and I'm tired, but I can't sleep. Just one of those nights, I guess.

     Part of me thinks that maybe I should get up and take one of my dad's sleeping pills, but another part of me refuses to leave the warmth of my covers. It's currently mid December- freezing cold outside. My room alone must be about 40 Degrees, thanks to my stingy parents and their belief of less is more. Even with four blankets, a long flannel nightgown and socks, I'm shivering.

     I keep trying to force myself to fall back to sleep, but everytime I close my eyes my body jerks back to consciousness. Ugh. It's so annoying when that happens.

     Slowly I open one eyelid to check the clock on my nightstand. 2:47. Great, and I have to be up at five to get ready for school. I'm going to completely bomb that Geometry test if I don't get any sleep tonight.

     Groaning, I roll over in bed and face the wall, my back to the nightstand. Staring at it won't help me fall asleep any faster. During the transition, however, air seeps under the covers and rushes over my ankles, sending more shivers down my spine. It's so effing cold in here.

     Then I feel it. No, I sense it then I feel it. I don't dare move or make a sound. I don't want to believe it's there, and so I try to block my mind, think of nothing but sleep. But I can't. It just won't come. My thoughts begin to race.

     I can feel his eyes watching me, but still I try to show no sense of recognition. He knows I know, though. He always does. There's no point in pretending otherwise, really. Yet just like all the other times, I feebly try to think he's not there. This amuses him apparantly, as his laughter fills the room.

     The familiar sense of foreboding floods over me as I finally open my eyes and look towards the foot of my bed. And again, that same familiar wave of head spreads through my lower body as I gaze at the image that stands before me.

     This time his appearance is different, and I hate him more than ever. Apparantly in his mind mere mental suffering isn't enough, now he's decided to toy with my emotions as well. Try to make me want him. Test my will power or something.

     Instantly I close my eyes and once more make the attempt to empty my head and fall back asleep, to block him out. And once again, I fail. I can feel the strength leaving me as he approaches the bed, I hear his voicie whispering. And I know that once again, he's going to have what he wants.

     Defeated, powerless to do anything but stare, I open my eyes again to gaze bitterly at the long black curls, the round, icy blue eyes. That beautifully milky skin. He grins, and I feel myself sink even further into submission. He's cruel, he knows it, and he doesn't care.

     And suddenly I realize- nor do I.

     The dark velvet robe sways as he walks towards me, that smug, expectant smirk across his lips. Those glossy, perfect lips. I look away, desperate not to give him any sort of acknowledgement of my thoughts. Let him do his thing and be done with it, like always. Feel no pleasure.

     With one swift movement he pulls all four blankets off of the bed and straddles me, and I gasp as my legs are suddenly exposed to the freezing cold air. An experienced hand unbottons the top of my nightgown, the other running up my knee.

     I hate myself for admiring the warmth, the softness of those hands. Against my better judgement I look again at the face above me and try to see past the face of the man I admire, that I long for. To see some trace of the lies, of the deceit I know is there. He disguises it well, however, for I see only the man that haunts my fantasies and dreams. My resolve is failing me, and my apprehension slowly melting. He's smiling at me... such a beautiful smile...

     It's not true, it's a mirage, my mind yells. Don't fall for it, this is a trick!

     He leans over me and those luxurious black curls fall gently onto my face. So soft, so thick. What is that scent? It's wonderful, whatever it is. I just want to run my fingers through these beautiful locks, but I dare not show it. My fingers twitch.

     Yes, his eyes tell me. Touch it. Touch it.

     My mind screaming at me that this is wrong, that I should be strong, I slowly lift a shaky hand.

     No, no!

     Yes, yes.

     A soft sigh escapes my lips as my fingers wrap around the curls. How long have I dreamt of touching this very hair? Of gazing up into these eyes? So long, too long have I waited for this moment.

     He lowers his face and kisses me with surprising gentleness. Goosebumps form on my arms and legs, and a shudder runs down my spine. His lips form a burning trail down my chin and onto my neck, pausing momentarily at the top of my half-unbottoned nightgown. He gazes at me from the top of his eyes, a half smirk showing the darker side to his face.

     All I can do is close my eyes and try not to look at him. Something is telling me that I shouldn't enjoy this, that I need to scream for help, that this is wrong.

     But I can't even open my mouth. His lips are on mine again with a bit more ferocity than before, and I realize with a shock that my nightgown is now completely off, lying in a pile somewhere on the floor. The freezing cold air feels like a billion knives penetrating my skin simultaneously and I begin to shiver uncontrollably. I'm not sure if it's from the cold or the fear of what's coming.

     I hate being exposed like this, and yet for some reason I can't even lift my arms, can't move my legs to try and get a covering of some sort. It's as if all the muscles in my body have gone numb. My mouth goes dry, and I try to swallow my sudden surge of panic down.

     His fingers slide under my back to the clasp of my bra and, with the ease of an expert, unsnaps it and slides it over my arms. The sudden exposure to the freezing air has an obvious effect on me, and he grins. His perfect white teeth gleam in the moonlight.

     So beautiful.

     Next his hands move down my stomach to my hips, and he wraps two fingers around the sides of my underwear. For a moment he just watches me, examining my face. And I know that he's thoroughly enjoying my humiliation. He slides the pantieis down my legs and tosses them to the side.

     By this time I'm only too fully aware that I am completely naked, and shivering so hard that my teeth chatter. There are little bumps all over my skin and the hair on my arms and neck is standing up straight. My mind is racing and so is my adrenaline.

     Why can't I cover myself? Why won't my arms move? I don't like the look in his eyes, I want to cover myself so he can't look at me like that!

     But I can't, and he wants it that way. No fighting back.

     Now it's his turn. He sits upright, knees still against my thighs to keep me in place- as if I could move- and I see his right hand reach up, pulling at the clasp of his robe. It falls to the bed to reveal a black turtleneck sweater and black pants. He then crosses his arms over his stomach and pulls the sweater over his head.

     My eyes widen at the sight of his chest and arms, and a sudden urge to run my hands over his skin and feel the muscles strikes me with such force that it startles me. I say or do nothing, but I can't look away either.

     His fingers move to his belt, his gaze never moving from my face. It unbuckles and he pulls it free of the beltloops, tossing it on the growing pile of clothes. Next his shoes and socks.

     And then he reaches for his pants.

     Alarmed and wide-eyed, I try desperately to get my limbs to work, or my vocal chords so that I can scream, but I can only move my head from side to side, and that barely at all. Panic rushes from my stomach to my throat and I begin to whimper. Not daring to look at him, I try instead to think of a way to get him as far away from me as possible.

     When I feel him crawl on top of me, a burning sensation erupts in my fingers- why won't my arms move! I scream inwardly, as not even my lips will move. Beads of sweat are forming on my forehead and hysteria begins to take over- he's now directly above me and I now realize what's coming and I'm afraid but I'm not really sure if I even want to stop him.

     Then it happens- a burning numbess shoots through my body, a feeling not unsimilar to being split in two with an axe I think to myself during a brief moment of clarity. I scream aloud in agony, but no sound leaves my mouth. He's moving rhythmically into me, every motion sending a fresh wave of searing heat through my abdomen and thighs. A horrible ripping sensation follows each thrust. Silent sobs rack my body as a sort of delirium begins to form, distorting everything around me.

     My eyes roll back into my head and I only vaguely feel my skin rubbing against the sheets, only remotely notice the blood between my legs. There is no sound, only the muffled beating of my heart which, for some reason, I can hear. Like I'm underwater or something.

     More ripping sensations in my pelvis as the rythym increases, and my body begins to constrict. The heat spreads to my face and arms, and my breath becomes shallow. I know what's happening, but I can feel no pleasure. Only pain and fear and sadness.

     And then with the intensity of a bomb going off, a huge resounding shudder runs through my body, followed closely by the same reaction in his. I gasp for air and grip the sheets, turning my head to the side and blushing with shame- I can feel his warm liquid filling me.

     And then he raises himself from the bed and puts on his clothes once more, turning to gaze at me for a moment when finished. I refuse to look him in the eye for fear of crying, but somehow he makes me and my eyes meet his. There is nothing of love, nothing of emotion in those blue eyes of his. Only a glazed expression of satisfaction, and of warning.

     When I close my eyes again I know that he is gone. Gingerly I reach between my legs and see the blood on my fingers and the sheets. He'd re-opened the wounds from last time. My eyes burn from the tears I force myself not to shed, and I slowly lift myself up off of the bed to get my nightgown and blankets.

     At first my legs give way and I have to hold on to the bedpost to keep from falling, but then I manage to get my clothes on and lay the blankets back on the bed. Putting a pad on my underwear to absorb the bleeding and pulling the nightgown over my head, I lay down gently and wrap myself in the covers.

     Exhausted, my eyes drift to the clock on the nightstand. 3:52.

     For awhile I just lay there and think, careful not to move for fear of intensifying the already throbbing pain in my groin. I feel his presence still in the room, smothering me. For a moment I think I can still feel his warmth inside of me, but I immediately push that thought to the back of my mind. Instead my thoughts drift back to the curls, the blue eyes, the flawless skin and face.

     None of it was real, I know this. The real thing was miles away, completely oblivious to my existance. The real man would never have done such a horrible act. But this is all I have to cling to, the only way I will probably ever feel the sensation of being loved by him, even if it's only for a brief, terrifying moment.

     Burying my face in the pillow, I weep. Vaguely I think that I'm going to fail the Geometry exam tomorrow, and that doesn't help. Suddenly it feels like the walls are closing in around me, that it's as if nothing is ever going to go right for me again. There is no one I can confide in, no one I can run to for help. I'm alone, and more afraid than ever.

     And silently, guiltily, I wonder when he will return to me once more, my black knight in shining armor. I'm his, he knows it, and he doesn't care.

     My incubus.