Flow of Time

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Warning: stalking and slightly disturbing sexual related themes ahead. If it makes you uncomfortable, don't read.

It's one of those nights in which everything seems to stop.

There is nothing besides you and your mind. The real world doesn't exist and you fall and dance in that vortex of projections your mind creates for you. Strangers, music, colors, rotten figures are all combined in you brain in order to let you see your deepest desires and hidden fears.

This is what dreams are. Open windows in the flow of time.

In the darkness of the night, Millie is hugging her pillow close, legs squeezing as her head shakes and her toes curl. What she sees isn't real, but her heart wishes it was.

His lips smashes on hers, catching all of her breathe away.

He cups her cheeks as if he owned them, and there's absolutely nothing pure in his tongue swirling between her lips. Sloppy, hot sounds vibrates outside and inside of her head, and she doesn't want to let them stop.

"Take that off."
It's an order, more like a beg she is happy to accomplish.

One thing leads to another, and she's standing beneath him, her arms locked around his neck as he flavors that rich vanilla taste of her skin, the nook of her neck, his fingers caressing her hips as he was creating the most refined pottery sculpture.

Fingers buried in his hair, she presses his face on her neck, and her mouth calls for his name like a cry for help.

"Finn, I need you."

God, she needs him. He pecks her lips once, twice, dozen of times until her legs wraps around his hips and their hands lock, filling the empty spaces.

It's always about the empty spaces they left behind when she went to London.

Her throat sucks the air, chocking loudly as she jerks up from her mattress. There's a pool of hot sweat on the satin sheet.

Her body is drenched in sultry thoughts that run up and down her back. The blankets are tangled all over her legs, forehead burning and her lungs exhaling shallow breaths.

She passes two hands on her flushed and sweaty cheeks, trying to stabilize her breathing pattern, "It's okay, Millie. It's okay. Just a dream."

Just a dream, sure. But she won't forget it for a while.

She checks the hour on the phone: four am in the morning. It's the middle of the night in Beverly Hills; too early to text someone, and too late to call people. She has to deal with herself and all of her problems alone.

She groans, getting up clumsy and pouring herself a glass of cold water to quench the fire popping in her throat.

Believe it or not, Millie is still in the phase of denial. Too much happened and in a short amount of time.

It's been a week since that afternoon at Six Flags and she keeps thinking about Finn's heartbreaking sentence and that kiss with Louis.

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