Page 33 of Bound to a Monster

How can I look myself in the mirror knowing that I’m about to become a dad while planning to murder my own father?

Sunlight streamsin through the windows as I make coffee. I got a few hours of sleep on the couch at most. A hangover gnaws at my head.

I welcome the pain. I’m in a black mood, and no amount of caffeine’s going to cure the demons stirring in my chest. It’s around seven in the morning when I hear her footsteps on the stairs, and Carmie appears.

Her dark hair’s messy and pulled back in a bun. The clothes I gave her are rolled at the ankles and wrists and fit her curvy body like a bag, but my heart still leaps when she comes into the kitchen. Her eyes are bleary, and she looks almost as tired as I feel.

“Want some of this?” I grunt at her and pour a mug of coffee.

She hesitates before accepting it. “If I drink this stuff, will I be trapped here forever?”

I blink at her and frown. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“You know, like faeries? You eat and drink in their world, and then you can’t escape? Never mind, my brain isn’t working yet.” She groans as she sits down on my couch. “You know what’s really messed up? I’m not even supposed to have much of this.”

“Caffeine’s bad for the baby,” I say, remembering one of the very few things I know about pregnancy. No alcohol, no caffeine, and no raw fish. Beyond that, it’s a mystery.

“Just like everything fun, basically.” She stares longingly at the mug. “I love this stuff. I’ve been deeply addicted since I was a teenager.”

“Sounds healthy.”

“Definitely isn’t. And now here I am, thinking about another stupid thing I’ll have to give up.” She closes her eyes and drinks.

I stare, unable to look away. Those lips, the sigh she makes. It stirs something in me.

I want to grab her by the hair and crush her mouth with my own. I want to kiss her until she bleeds.

But no, that’s the fucked-up talking.

She’s the mother of my child and nothing more.

“We should talk about how this is going to work.” I lean against the kitchen island and watch her.

She shakes her head. “I’d really rather not.”

“We’re married. You don’t think we should talk about it?”

“I know what you’re going to say.” She gives me a mocking glare like she’s pretending to be me. “Sleep in my bed, woman. Cook my dinners and clean my bathroom.Is that about it?”

“I don’t want you cooking or cleaning, but the bed part sounds right.”

She rolls her eyes. “I don’t know where that’s coming from, but you can stop. If you think you owe me something, here I am, absolving you.” She waves a hand in the air like she’s flicking a wand in my direction. “Bippity-boppity-boo, no more guilt for you. All better?”

I put down my coffee. “This isn’t about guilt. It’s about making sure you’re taken care of. Because if I’m going to be a father, I’m going to be the best father possible, which means making sure my wife is looked after.”

Her lips press together. She doesn’t speak as she processes that, and I let her. We’re deep in uncharted territory right now. I don’t know what the right thing to say or do is anymore.

All I want is to get through this without killing anyone.

But knowing me, that’s not likely.

“That’s it then? I’m just the baby oven to you?”

“And I’m just the sperm donor. Don’t pretend like we have some deep, meaningful relationship.”

“I didn’t say that, it’s just—” She takes another sip of coffee, curses quietly, and puts the mug down on the end table. “Did you stop and think about what I want in all this? Maybe I’m not interested in playing house with you. Maybe I don’t want you involved in this baby’s life at all.”

I try not to let my anger show. It takes a lot of well-trained effort to hide the violent rage that shivers down my spine.

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