It's that damned dream again, that fucking nightmare that haunts my rest now is threatening me to take away any solace I could find in my daily life.

It all started a few years back, as my puberty hit the dreams began, it was so very sweet at the beginning, a few whispers and some resemblance of a caress, all too hazy to really get it or remember after waking up.

Hardly any nights passed before I woke up to dampness on my crotch and soiled sheets, followed by the most awkward and cringiest talk with my family, at least to that day. "A spring dream" they called it, "it's normal, a thing of your age" they said.

Since I believed it was normal and it felt good, way too good to be true, drug like good, I longed for the night, for them to be dreamful, for him to be in them. I fully welcomed it. Gods above, was I wrong.

Zarte, he calls himself, if both of us being men wasn't a red flag, him taking the name of the God of life should have been. I did not knew back then that it wasn't normal for the companion of a spring dream to be of the same sex, or that such dreams don't "continue where you left off " the next time you dream, nor how unusual it was to continually dream with someone you haven't ever seen.

My life embarked in a point of no return when in a folly of youth I trusted my peers, who I used to call my friends, it began with a silly talk, which girl is pretty, which would made a good wife, it became a bragging contest about our sexual conquers so gradually and smoothly that I guess none of us really realized it.

Being the total noob that I still am, the only story I had to share where my dreams, which I regarded as common, normal and above all, I believed I was safe, this were my friends, my brothers of other parents, the people I grew up with, the ones I trusted the most, knew the most and loved.

Their first reaction was to laugh loudly and mock me for my inexperience. In the little village we all grew up in, the age for marriage was even lower than the coming of age one, so technically one could be legally married and have kids but still be dependent on parents and unable to fully join any guild. Apprenticeships and legal schooling started at 12, one could be married at 15 and be considered a fully fledged adult at 18. The harsh environment made it normal, encouraged even, to breed young and plenty. So me being so "innocent" at 16 was really a rarity there, thinking back on it, my physiological needs were being met while dreaming so I didn't felt the need to look elsewhere for release, dating was time consuming and my internship at the local blacksmith leaved me completely spend, both physically and time wise.

The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

The problem started when they realized which gender my dream partner was.

The face one of them made is something I am not likely to forget, a mixture of disappointment, fear and pure raw disgust. Faggot was the tamest word I got called that day.

Word of it spread like fire in our little village. I believe it's almost obvious but I lost my internship, any semblance of friendship and sadly the safe heaven that I believed my hometown could be. I had become a pariah.

It was only when I lost it that I realized how important those daily and simple interactions were.

"You don’t entertain feelings like that. You label them as sinful, a sign that a devil is trying to worm his way into your life, and you push them away and far out of sight" my mother's advice came much too late.

My father tried to punch the demons out of me, repeatedly, I'm quite sure that he would try again next time our paths cross. I would like to say that I took it well and could cope with the daily violence, the looks and being isolated from everything but really, it nearly broke me. Honestly some days, like today, I hope it had.

The involvement of the temple didn't make it any better. That this entity had the daring to take the name of a god, even one that had abandoned humans, is not something that can be overlooked, there where even talks of me being considered a vessel of evil and deserving to burn for it, luckily all the holy relics shined white, so I was acquitted, at least from that.

I didn't last even two months of this before trying to kill myself. I felt empty, a void inside and no one to confide in, not a single person around me that would give a kind word or at least a look that wasn't full of disgust. I just wanted it all to end. He wouldn't let it.

The tales made it so easy, the pretty princess that just dies of loneliness closing her eyes, the little Shepherd that drinks the poisoned vial, the knight that jumps from the bridge and the groom that takes a dagger to the heart. They all made it seem so easy, loneliness doesn't just kill, the poison just hurts as if you're set on fire from inside out, the fall just breaks some bones because it slows down bit by bit before hitting the ground and the knife gets pulled out and the wound closed by magic.

By fucking friggin healing magic! Magic that doesn't exist anymore! magic that no one can conjure! He just willed the wound to recover and my body listened! But not the pain, o no, that one he willed it to linger, so I wouldn't forget, so I wouldn't dare to try again. Sadly it works. I'm scared to try. Living hurts my mind, trying to die just makes everything else hurt.

To add insult to injury the dreams never stop, he just comes at night, every single night Zarte haunts my rest and my body welcomes it, all the anxiety that plagues my mind it's nothing of relevance to him or my body for that matter.

Why me? I can't even recall how many times I have asked that question, he never answered before. Now the nightmare is encroaching on my life. Zarte is standing by my bed and I'm as sure as I could ever be that I'm awake.