Page 8 of Dirty Monsters

“We flew in this morning. How would we know?” She sighed.

“Wait, you’re just now getting here? They said I had been here for two days.”

My father tsked. “We couldn’t simply drop our lives on a whim to see what dramatics you were up to. We had things to tend to and arrangements to make.”

“Dramatics?” I scoffed.

“Yes, something else to get our attention.”

“Then why even come if I’m only here to get your attention?”

He sighed like I was off-putting. “You’re still our daughter, and we don’t need this getting out in the news. The last thing this family needs is a scandal.”

Ah yes, the scare of a scandal. The only reason my monsters were sent away. Not because they hurt me, but because of how it wouldlookif word spread about what happened.

I crossed my arms over my chest. “You’re not taking me home. I’ll be fine on my own.”

My mother glanced over at my father with a weird expression. One I couldn’t quite place. “Actually, we’ll be sending you away to rehab.”

“Excuse me? I am fuckingwhatnow?”

“Language,” my mother said quietly, her eyes darting around to make sure no one heard my use of such an obscene word.

I glared at her straight in the eyes. “Damn, fuck, shit, ass.”

“Enough! Your behavior is unacceptable and childish,” my father admonished me.

“What makes you think I’ll waste my time at rehab? I’m an adult. You can’t force me.”

He cocked an eyebrow as if to sayreally.

“It’s either rehab or jail. With the amount of drugs found in your apartment, it’s only our money keeping the cops away.”

“Jail is a scandal,” I seethed, knowing they wouldn’t risk me going to jail.

But something on their faces made me balk.

They were being serious.

* * *

Two days later, I was seated next to the window aboard a 747, waiting for takeoff to my beachside destination. Of course, it was believed my ass would never make it onto the plane, so I’d acquired a babysitter of sorts. My father’s prize possession in security sat in the seat next to me, watching me like a hawk. The speaker over my seat came on unexpectedly, and I jumped.

“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome aboard flight 6C9 to Treasure Coast International. The captain has informed me we are currently next in line for takeoff and are expected to be in the air within the next five minutes. Please turn off all personal electronic devices, including laptops and cell phones. Smoking is prohibited for the duration of the flight. Thank you for choosing Eastern Airlines. Enjoy your flight.”

I watched as the plane in front of us took off and realized our time was coming next. My ears picked up the slight acceleration of the plane as we started taxiing down the runway in preparation.

I white-knuckled the arms of my seat, awaiting liftoff. I’d always hated planes. The idea of being so far up in the sky without a guaranteed way to get down terrified the shit out of me. There was no salvation if one wrong thing happened. If this plane went down, I only had a 95.7 percent chance of walking away alive. Apparently, these flying machines were more stable than being in a car crash, yet I recently read a report stating Americans are more likely to die of an opioid overdose than a car crash. So really, nothing is safe. At any moment, you could be removed from this world without your consent. Without any warning. Poof, gone.

For the amount of time I pondered death, you’d think I was attracted to it. The urge to know all the possible outcomes of how I might die outweighed all other cognitive thoughts. I was consumed by it almost as much as I was consumed with my little white powdery friend. It’d been less than a week since my last hit, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

My eyes felt heavy, like tiny weights were attached to the lids as I watched the scenery fly by outside the window. The objects appeared smaller as we ascended into the air on this thing that might inevitably kill us.

Leaning back against the headrest, I allowed my eyes to slide closed as the exhaustion took over. The nurse told me this was normal. My body would feel exhaustion, along with other factors such as restlessness, depression, anxiety, or unpleasant nightmares. I’d laughed when she mentioned the last one. I was all too familiar with unpleasant things going bump in the night.

It was pitch-black out, and the woods were surprisingly quiet as I followed the trail laid out before me. Something had called to me, although I couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was. A beckoning unlike anything I’d ever felt. I walked, but the farther in I stepped, the more my anxiety ticked up.

It was eerily quiet.

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