Insomnia Part Four: Wufei

by Angela

 

 

I was making love.  To a woman.  She was amazing. 

 

I looked down at her—her long dark hair tangled on the pillow and her pink lips bitten red with passion.  She was totally new to me—I couldn’t even remember how I’d met her, how we came to be here this night.  I didn’t care.  She was incredible.  She was Chinese.  I couldn’t remember how long it’d been since I’d seen a Chinese woman—not like Sally, but entirely Chinese, with black hair and dark eyes.  It made me crazy.  I pressed myself closer to her.

 

“Wufei,” she whispered hoarsely.  “Wufei, I need—”  She flung back her head and closed her eyes.  Heaven.  Her neck was pale and delicious.  I had to taste it.  I buried my face against her skin, savoring the sweet scent of lotus that reminded me of home.

 

She pulled my hair, twisting its length around her fingers.  “Kiss me!” she demanded, yanking me close.  I did.  She tasted like sugar and rum and sex. 

 

Wrapping my hands around her wrists, I pulled her fingers from my hair and pinned her hands over her head.  She whimpered quietly, her white teeth gnawing on her full bottom lip.  I bit my own, drawing blood.  God, she was hot.  Holding her with one hand, I let the other tour her naked body.  She was so smooth.  I was fighting for control.

 

“Shhh,” I whispered, as much to my own body as to her.  “Just wait, my Nataku.”  I nipped at her earlobe, then traced my tongue down her neck. 

 

As soon as I released her wrists, she grasped my shoulders, arching her body against mine.  I slid lower, tasting her neck, her collarbone, the cleft between her breasts.  Her breasts.  I was undone. 

 

I devoured her.    Hands and tongue and teeth—and she was thrashing beneath me, my name on her lips.  Power moved me and I pushed her against the soft mattress, stilling her movements.  Her eyes widened.  She smiled.  Savoring every movement, I traced a trail down her stomach and beyond.  She gasped, squealing for me to stop even as her hands pushed me lower. 

 

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt this good.  Her body responded to my every move, my every desire.  From her sultry eyes to her long, long legs, she was completely mine, waiting—begging—for my attention.

 

I gave it to her.  I couldn’t control my breath—I exhaled harshly, blowing my hair from my face.  She pushed it back, clutching a makeshift ponytail to the back of my head as we moved together.  She cried out, wrapping her legs more firmly around my waist.  My fists clenched the sheets on either side of her head.  This was driving me mad.  I wanted more.  I didn’t know how there could be any more.

 

“Wufei!”

 

Yeah, I understood.  I wanted to scream.  I might have.

 

Breathless, I collapsed onto her, rolling slightly so I wouldn’t crush her.  I licked my lips—sweat and blood—and looked down at her.  Her eyes were closed and her face was damp.  Her breath came in short, hot gasps that tickled my face and neck.  Even spent and exhausted, she was exquisite.  I told her.

 

She smoothed my hair, whispering endearments in the language I’d not heard spoken for months.  A woman’s voice could be so soft.  I traced my fingers over her throat so I could feel the tiny vibrations of her words.  It tickled.  It irritated me.

 

She was still talking.   I wanted to sleep.  Her voice changed, in my mind, from light and soothing to husky, grating, and I wanted it stopped.  “Quiet, woman,” I growled. 

 

She laughed.  Just like Meiran, always laughing at me.  A rage washed over me, and I had some trouble controlling it.  I turned away from her, clenching my eyes shut.

 

She laughed again, tugging at my hair.  “Aww, did I make the kid mad?” she teased.  “He’s good in bed, but not much of a fighter, I guess.”

 

I wasn’t going to take any more.  Who was this whore to say whether or not I could fight?  What did any woman understand about war and battle?  With a growl of fury, I turned to her, wrapping my fingers around her narrow throat.  No woman would ever taunt me again, especially this Lucrezia Noin with her arrogant expression.

 

I squeezed, expecting her to struggle, to show terror.  She stared up at me, the haughty glow never leaving her dark eyes.  It frustrated, infuriated me that she wasn’t afraid of me.  She didn’t even panic as the last bit of breath left her lungs—Sally Po was determined to prove that I couldn’t get under her skin, even as I squeezed the life out of her.  Stubborn woman.

 

Suddenly I was confused.  Sally Po?  Noin?  I closed my eyes.  Where was the dark eyed vixen I’d made love to?  What was going on?  I tried to gather my thoughts, to sort out my confusion, but I couldn’t remember.  Had it been Sally the whole time?  I slowly opened my eyes.

 

It wasn’t Sally who lay still and quietly beside me.  My mind recoiled at the horror of what I had done.  Her face was pale and blue, but even in death she was lovely.  Her face wasn’t a woman’s—she was still a child, her hair in pigtails and her mouth sweet and lacking cynicism.  Meiran.  I had killed her again.

 

I jumped from the bed, clenching my eyes shut, willing the image to change back to the stranger, to Noin, even to Sally.  It didn’t change.  I’d been confused.  I’d killed my bride a second time—this time with my own hands.

 

My knees gave out.  I crumpled on the floor, not concerned about the hot tears that streamed down my cheeks.  The horror of what I had done, what my own hands had been capable of, washed over me, drowning me.  I pulled on the sheets, needing to feel something real—but Meiran’s hand fell over the edge of the bed, our wedding ring glinting in the lamplight.

 

I screamed.

 

 

Darkness.  My pulse was racing.  Was I in a battle?  My eyes slowly adjusted, focusing on the still room around me.  I was aboard the Peacemillian.  I was in the lounge, sitting up on one of the stiff couches.  My hell had been a dream.

 

I was slow to digest that fact.  How did I know which was the dream?  How did I know how to trust myself?  I killed her.  Dream or no, I killed her.  What kind of animal had I become?

 

A figure crept toward me, his pale hair gleaming in the faint yellow light.  “Quatre?”  I didn’t even recognize my own voice.  Was Quatre part of this nightmare?  But no, I was awake.  “Quatre, what time is it?”

 

His answer was soft.  3:35.  Real time.  There weren’t any mysterious strangers here.  No bodies.  No Meiran.  I tried to wrap my mind around the idea that it’d all been a dream.  Harmless.  Quatre told me to go back to sleep.

 

Not a chance.

 

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d dreamed of her.  She was the past.  The past was over.  Why did she haunt me tonight?  I closed my eyes, rocking myself slowly as I wrapped my arms around my knees. 

 

Tomorrow might be my day with Treize.  But I didn’t want to kill him.  I didn’t want to kill anyone.