Page 21 of Grotesque Love

When I woke up yesterday, my pills were on my dressing table, alongside a plate of sandwiches and a fresh jar of wildflowers. I’d dropped the pills into the jar without hesitation, watching as they turned the water murky.

Today, I want to explore. If Carver is gone and the groundsman is only here to check on me sporadically, getting out of this room and stretching my legs a little sounds wonderful.

Stealing snatched opportunities like this feels wrong. It’s not like I’m a prisoner. This is my home now.

Carver is away, and the groundskeeper hasn’t locked me in – I already checked. Maybe it’s an oversight on their part, but until it’s corrected, I’m going to make the most of it. I’m going to explore more than just the solarium.

Climbing out of bed, I cross to the dresser but all that’s inside is more flimsy damsel nightdresses. I don’t even remember when I started wearing them, they’re not something I would choose for myself. Checking each of the drawers I find more of the same, muslin fabrics, soft lace, dainty ribbons. They’re giving very virginal-princess-trapped-in-a-tower vibes.

Huffing, I slam the last one shut with a little too much force and stride over to the antique carved armoire. Dresses hang within, similar to the nightgowns…all very feminine and old fashioned.

At least they’re not as revealing as the nightwear, I think as I slide the closest dress off the hanger and hold it up against me, grimacing. It’s a smock dress, the duck egg blue fabric is shirred across the bust and stops just before my wrist with a puffed sleeve.

Where are my clothes? My jeans? My baggy T-shirts? My trainers? That’s when it hits me that all of my clothes from before the accident are gone. Including my underwear.

I need a shower, not just to wash away the grime of the last few days, but also the thought of Carver taking care of me.

When I enter the bathroom, I ignore the shower instead moving towards the large roll top bath that’s calling my name. I used to love having long, hot baths before we came here, back when we lived in London.

Knowing that Carver is away makes me feel…not relaxed…but comfortable enough to know I can bathe in peace without his intense ministrations. I don’t linger on the thoughts of what taking care of me has entailed, how much he’s seen…or done. I’m not ready to face those facts yet as I ignore my neatly trimmed nails, shaved legs and glossy if slightly greasy hair.

Discarding the dress on the counter, I flip the lock on the bathroom door, and slide the plug into the tub before turning on the taps. While the bath is filling I brush my teeth, spitting in the sink and screaming when I look up and catch sight of eyes in the mirror.

Heart in my throat, I spin, clutching my racing chest. It takes a moment for the fear cloud to disperse enough for my brain to work out what I’m seeing.

Outside the bathroom window, a demonic gargoyle sits on a pedestal opposite, its face imprisoned in a taunting, snarling grin. Stepping closer to the window, I realise the gargoyle isn’t just an ordinary stone statue; there’s something about the deep carved lines on its face, the eyes seeming to gleam. Intricate carvings run along its wings, each one sharp and detailed. Its horns are long and smooth, its wide grin displaying lethal-looking fangs.

Fear grips me, sending a shiver down my spine, but curiosity propels me closer to the window, my breath fogging up the glass.

The gargoyle’s grin seems to widen, and I swear I see a flash of movement behind it. A shadow flitting just out of sight leaving a sense of foreboding behind. Goosebumps rise on my skin. I should run, call for help, but something pins me in place.

The groundsman’s voice downstairs breaks the spell. Trembling, I step back away from the window, my mind racing a hundred miles and hour. What is going on? Has my paranoia reached new heights?

I quickly finish drawing the bath and sink into the warm water, trying to calm my shaky breathing.

I’m going insane.Gargoyles are just stone statues, decorations for creepy old manor houses. They don’t move. Don’t grin. Don’t come to life. The medicine is clearly making me crazy.

Only…I didn’t take the medicine…did I?

M

The girl’s fear was palpable, a heady scent that wafted through the cracks of the old house. I watched her retreat from the window, the fragile beat of her heart a symphony to my ears.

How delightful it is to play with mortals, to sow the seeds of uncertainty in their minds. As she sunk into the bath, trying in vain to wash away her unease, I revelled in the power I still held in this world. Humans were fragile, like flowers.

It’s been so long since I last interacted with a real living soul and the sensation of causing terror was exhilarating. I don’t want to frighten her, not really, but there’s no denying the rush her reaction gave me.

I wait in silence as she soaks in the water, the steam rising around her like a shroud. With my brothers standing guard over her bedroom, I allow myself to relax and enjoy as she washes that long silvery hair of hers.

Jas is like a pup, a sucker for a lady in need, eager to please. Sax on the other hand is protective, he takes his role as our leader very seriously. Probably too seriously, with the way he likes to dole out punishments and remind us who we belong to.

But me? I’m the odd one out. I don’t fit. Jas and Sax complementone another, but I’m the dark one. I know they think I’m going feral…that I’m becoming a monster.

I try to tell myself that I don’t care about her as anything more than a warm body to sink into, but I already know that I’m lying.

I want her. Want to protect and watch over her.

Want to make her mine…ours.

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