He uses me as his torment, his repentance, and it drives me insane.
I don't want to be that for him.
Sometimes, though, it isn't torment. Sometimes he thinks of me, and his mind fills with the sweetest pleasure, a pleasure that makes me gasp and tremble with the aftershocks of it.
But, often, his thoughts are dark, like they are when I lean back and close my eyes.
The link is strange, vapid, yet clear. I feel him as if we share the same body. Then, at times, it’s as if looking through a shroud, all shadows.
However, what I feel now when I sync with his thoughts is not vapid. It’s not vague or unclear.
He’s looking at his blade, and he’s looking at it like I used to look at a pint of choco-fudge-brownie when I was in a slump back on Earth, like it was the answer to all of my problems.
The air rushes from my lungs, and I cut the link and stand, dashing to the place where my private pod sits and climbing in.
My feet are bare, but I don't take the time to put on my shoes. I fit myself into the single person space and give the command.
“Take me to Nial.”