Page 32 of Hollyhocks

Morning dew sticks to the blades of grass. The green is slowly fading to brown from the chill swooping in and preparing for winter.

I press my forehead against the window of my truck. It’s cool and a bit slick from condensation but it feels good. I take big deep breaths. I’m blowing this out of proportion. Everything is fine. I’m acting like this for no reason other than the fact it’s morning and the mark caught me by surprise.

Other than that, I had a great night. Hell, I had the best night of sleep I have ever had. If I think about Holly scraping her nails down my chest, the light purple hue of her skin, and her horns protruding out of her forehead, the panic is gone and replaced with desire.

Holy shit.

I’ve made up a monster in my head because I want her so badly.

“Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.” I thud my forehead against the window, unlock the door, and jump in the driver’s seat.

It only takes a second for me to peel out of the driveway, take a peek at Holly’s house, and drive away. The further I get from home, the more my stomach twists. My mind is consumed by this image of Holly that I’ve created. It isn’t fair to her. I’m completely changing her image to suit what I crave.

I have to stay away from her. It’s the only way these thoughts will end. Damn it, I love all the thoughts, though. She’s so fucking beautiful. She is prettier than a sunset by the lake. Allthe shades of red, oranges, yellows, and purples hold no flame to her.

The monster, that is. I don’t have feelings for human Holly.

“You’re a damn wreck, Fitz.” I peek in the rearview mirror and point at myself. “Get your shit together.” I slap my cheek to give me a sharp wake-up call.

What’s sad is I can’t even say this isn’t like me. I’ve always liked the unusual. I’ve always appreciated someone’s quirks. The little gestures and odd things that make them, them.

I know I say the word ‘wild’ too much, but it’s such a perfect thing to say to pretty much anything.

Someone had a baby? That’s wild.

Someone die? That’s wild.

Someone dreams of a monster fucking them with tentacles? Also, wild.

I pass the gorgeous mountains as I drive down Main Street. The town looks deserted. There isn’t a person in sight. The fog creeping gives an eerie appearance as if the entire town has been abandoned.

I pass Demi’s Diner. The bright pink neon sign is on. It’s the one place anyone can go any time of day for peace and a nice cup of coffee. Maybe I’ll go there after I see the doctor.

If I’m feeling lucky, maybe Demi can add a little something extra to the cup to help my mind ease.

A few minutes longer of following the same road, the urgent care comes up on the right. Putting on my blinker, I turn into the empty parking lot, but I know they are open. They always open at six in the morning.

I grip the steering wheel before pressing my forehead against it, trying to calm my racing heart. I’m trying to think about what happened last night. Did I have too much to drink? I don’t think I drank but it’s the only explanation I have for not remembering a damn thing that could explain this mark.

Unless…

I pinch the bridge of my nose, knowing the thought that just entered my mind is impossible.

What if I do have my own monster?

“You’re losing your fucking mind. That’stoowild of a thought. Rhett and Creed would know if there’s a monster in town. Think logically, Fitz.” Blowing out a breath, I turn off the truck, grab the door handle, and open it. “You can do this.” I step out onto the empty parking lot, and there it is again, that fucking feeling I have of someone watching me.

I rub my temples, wondering if I just need some sleep. My thoughts keep spiraling. Do I need therapy? Is something actuallywrongwith me?

My boots thud against the pavement with every determined stride. The undone laces drag on the pavement, tempting me to trip over myself. If I do, fuck it, I’m already at urgent care.

What’s a blow to the face after noticing an odd mark on my dick? This day couldn’t possibly get any worse.

I run smack into the automatic sliding glass doors.

That is the second time I’ve hit my face in a thirty-minute period and I’m starting to get annoyed at doors.

Stepping away, I rub the side of my cheek, and then the doors open. I clench my fists, wanting nothing more than to punch the glass but knowing my luck today, I’d break my hand.

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