Buried in Sunshine Read Online Free Page B

down between my legs and begin to
stimulate myself. I bite my lip to keep all the noises that want to
quip out at bay. I begin to rub my wet fingers more roughly against
my body. I can feel a bead of sweat dripping down from my neck; it
both tickles and excites me further. I let out a short whimper as a
hot, pulsating feeling of pleasure overwhelms me as I come. I let
out a contented sigh as my damp hand drops down to the floor. I
curl up into a ball and bury my face against the side of the couch.
The side of my naked body is warmed in the sunlight. I fall asleep
in the ambit of its comforting glow.
    That afternoon I have a nightmare. It is not the
first time. In my dream, the sun descends to earth and comes for
me. A massive glowing ball of white, it blinds me. It does not
blind me with darkness—instead, a forever endless brilliant white.
I can feel hands all over my naked body. They are not here to
comfort; instead they pull me into the flames. I scream out as I
burn alive. Then, after I burn away to nothing, there is finally
peace. However, that peace does not last long as I find myself
blindly trying to make my way down a dark hallway that extends
seemingly forever. Behind me a terrible sound of scratching—like a
thousand nails on chalkboard—chases me. I begin to run, but
constantly stumble. I cannot outrun the strange grinding noises. I
am thrown to the ground as my chin strikes against the floor. I
feel a crushing sensation, like a thousand hands against me
squeezing all of the air out of my body. Eventually I die. I always
die in my dreams.
    My heart races as I awaken. My body is covered
in a heavy sweat. My chest rises and falls quickly as I attempt to
regain a sense of calmness. My body feels hot. I look to my side
and see that my skin has turned slightly red from the sun. I turn
to my other side. Despite the nightmares, I still feel comforted by
the sunlight. I suppose, in a way—I am disturbed. I suppose if I
weren’t, I would not be seeing a therapist. The same sun that
terrifies and haunts me—allows me to remove myself from my
situation in life and give myself some small amount of physical
pleasure and peace. I do not know why I also allow it to bring me
pain as I constantly burn from staying too long in its sanctuary. I
suppose I have a kind of skewered relationship with the light.
Almost an abusive relationship—even I know how messed up that
sounds. This is the one secret that I have kept from my therapist.
My one strange pleasure that I feel would make her think less of me
in some way. I cannot explain it. Perhaps, in a way, I am crazy. I
certainly feel that way sometimes… both crazy and depressed.
    I hear the phone ring from downstairs. With a
healthy amount of hesitation, I get up to my feet and walk naked
down the spiral staircase. By the time I reach the phone and pick
up the old corded speaker, all I hear is the constant high pitch of
the dial-tone. I replace the phone onto the cradle against the wall
and allow myself to slink down to the ground as I wait. No one
calls me these days unless I’ve either missed an appointment or my
prescription is ready. The phone rings once more, I get to my feet
and pick it up.
    “Hello?” I ask.
    Breathing can be heard over the line but no
response is offered.
    “Hello…” I impatiently repeat. “I can hear
you.”
    The sound of some kind of sharp feedback forces
the phone away from my ear which begins to ring in response to the
high pitched noise.
    “Yeah fuck you asshole!” I shout into the
receiver as I slam the phone down.
    “Fucking people…” I mutter as I begin to ascend
the staircase. As I reach the second floor I notice that the
bathroom door is slightly ajar— a yellow glow from the fluorescent
lights escapes past the small opening. I do not remember leaving
the light on. I pause for a moment. Cautiously I creep over to the
bathroom and place a hand against the rufous colored door and
gently nudge it open. I take a step into the room.