Ersatz

    The trip to my dorm must be like an hour long trek through the wilderness for you, only there is no wildlife. What is it like for you, seeing weathered rock walls and feeling the cold floor below your warm toes? I can only imagine. It must be hell for you, to travel from the warmth of your high throne of a tower to the silver-clad chill miles below the school. It must be hell, but you go through it and back again willingly.

    Perhaps it is not that terrible after all. Or, more likely, you have fed off of me for so long now that you cannot even begin to understand what possesses your bare feet to, one after the other, step towards my dorm, your hell. You have long forgotten what it is like to be free, though you do not even realize that you are incarcerated. My kiss intoxicates you, to the point you cannot breathe any air save for mine. Do you ever miss me? Always, always you miss me. For in every glimpse you catch of me, my hair, eyes, you must remember the night before, and the hundreds of never-ending nights before that one, that had to come to an end.

    You taste me at all ours of the day. For even my tongue reminds you of opulence and power; I taste metallic, sweet in a false way, and at night you call me pseudo, your ersatz, and I have to smile to myself because my father would be proud.

    Do I really smell like rain water, I wonder? For you have mentioned more than once the relation of my skin to pounding water on the roof, slippery against my skin, sliding through my hair like water. You say that sometimes I am different, though.    

    Sometimes I taste like mangoes, pungent and robust. At these times, I smell like flowers, hundreds of white dogwood flowers, orchids, and roses, and I cannot help but look away. These are the days when moments before you I have been caught under Pansy, soaking in her syrupy taste and fresh scent, and it kills me to see your face.

    I love the feeling of control, and I manage to ignore your questioning eyes. Sometimes, too, you say I taste like coffee, strong coffee without much sugar, and cocoa. My skin smells of warm vanilla and white chocolate, and I wonder why you have not caught on. These moments are the ones that I have spent in uncomfortable relation with Blaise, but if you had to guess who, it would not be him.

    Sometimes, however, I am what you expect, tasting harsh and tinny, a touch of fine wine on my breath, and I smell like you have come to expect, like spring rains, and somehow it makes me happy that you don’t have to understand. In these moments, I have to frown to myself, because my father would be dismayed at my emotions.    

    As a joke, at night, you call me pseudo, your ersatz, but you do not even fully understand this name. It is but a joke to you, but to me, it is reality.

    Your ersatz.