Page 12 of Monster
Essa
Six months ago
Why didhe have to say that?
I don’t think he even realizes how much those words fuck me up and how much they ruin absolutelyeverything.
He can’t say things like that and expect everything to be fine. I realize he doesn’t know I’m awake, but that’s not the point. Who the fuck does he think he is? We don’t even know each other. We know each other’s names and that’s about it, and the fact I feel this deep-seated connection with him is beside the point.
Fuck.
I peel open my eyes and glance down at his sleeping form beside me. He’s snoring lightly and his shoulders move up and down with every breath. I wish I could see his face, but it’s blocked from my sight because he fell asleep with his sweatshirt hood over his head. But since he’s sleeping, I take the time to observe as much as I can about him, mainly to distract myself from my inner turmoil.
He’s slouched over in his chair, but I can see he has on a pair of dark gray sweatpants and white Nike high-tops to go along with his black hoodie. I bring my gaze to his hands which are holding mine and I can feel his rings digging into my skin, but not in a painful way. He has three on his right hand and two on his left. I can’t see exactly what they look like from here, but most of them are silver apart from a couple black ones.
His nails are coated with black nail polish which is almost nonexistent because of how chipped it is, showing me it’s been a long time since they’ve been painted. As in, he hasn’t done it in weeks. And he’s been with me for weeks now.
This is exactly what I didn’t want to happen. I didn’t want to feel a goddamn thing for him. He’s virtually a stranger, but the more I say it, the less it feels true. The fact of the matter now is things have changed as much as I didn’t want them to. I wanted to die and I fucking did it. I took a scalpel to my wrist with no hesitation and yet I’m still fucking here.
Why?! Why can’t I fucking die?!
The nothingness I have always craved was right there for the taking and I was so fucking close, I tasted it. And then I came swirling back into the now. Then Dominik had to go and say what he did, confusing me with words which shouldn’t mean a damn thing to me, yet somehow, they do.
I bring my hand to his hood and slowly pull it off his head. Black curls fall from the hood and land on his forehead with a slight bounce. I freeze, thinking the movement will wake him, but he doesn’t move so I keep going, pushing it the rest of the way off his head. I wish I could see his face, but it’s mostly blocked from his arms he’s resting his head on. All I can see is the sharp line of his jaw, which is covered in stubble from not shaving for a few days.
Without thinking, I drag my finger across his cheekbone and my touch startles him awake. He shoots up in the chair and looks over at me frantically but when his dark green eyes meet mine, he visibly relaxes. His hunched shoulders lower and the crease between his brows disappears. My hand remains suspended in the air before I drop it with a plop on the bed. “Hey,” I mumble weakly.
“Hey, baby girl.” He smiles slightly, exhaustion evident on his face, before moving his chair closer.
“Baby girl…” I ponder. “Why do you keep calling me that? We don’t even know each other.”
“I—” He cuts himself off. He shakes his head and looks down before continuing, “I don’t know. Just feels right to say, I guess. But I can stop if it makes you uncomfortable.” He peeks up at me through his lashes, his curls blocking most of the view. It brings a light smile to my face, surprising me. When he sees, a grin of his own breaks out and it’s almost blinding—his happiness. The fact he’s so happy I smiled does something to me I’m not sure I like.
I don’t want to smile. I don’t want to be happy. I don’t want to fucking be alive, but here I am conversing with a fucking stranger I feel like I’ve known forever.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, almost like he doesn’t want to say it.
“Please don’t,” I demand. “We don’t know each other and you saying things like that isn’t okay.” He looks uncomfortable at my words and glances away.
“Yeah, Essa, I know we don’t know each other, but I’ve been sitting by your side every day for the past two weeks. I watched as you almost died in my arms. Then I sat here, day after day, watching you heal. Then I watched you almost fucking die again. So, no. We don’t technically know each other, but I feel like I know you pretty well by now.” He rushes the words out hurriedly, like he’s afraid if he doesn’t spit them out, he never will.
I don’t know what to say. What can I say to that?Yeah, sorry I almost died twice. My bad.
Yeah, I don’t think he would want to hear it, so I don’t say anything. We both sit in silence for minutes which turn into hours. I stare at the white wall in front of me, watching as the clock slowly ticks, the hours dragging on. My entire fucking existence is dragging on. I mean, seriously, how fucking hard is it to die? People do it all the time. Then there’s people who die that don’t even fucking want to, like Holley. She didn’t deserve it. She deserved to live her life, to be happy. It should have been me.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Dominik putting earbuds in his ears as he chooses a song on his phone. After a minute, he pushes his phone back in his hoodie pocket before leaning back and resting his head against the back of the chair in a slouched posture. His eyes are closed as he taps his ring covered fingers along to the beat of whatever song he’s listening to.
“What song?” I ask as I fiddle with the blanket covering me.
He gazes over to me and pulls one from his ear. “What?”
“I said, what song?”
“Oh. It’s called “Hate/Love” by Eskimo Callboy. Wanna listen?” He holds the earbud he took out of his ear over to me and I go to shift myself into a better sitting position before he jumps up and brings it to me. “Mind if I sit next to you? I don’t want you to move if you don’t have to.”
“Sure.” I nod, and he sits next to me, his thigh pushed against mine from hip to knee. My heart thuds lightly in my chest from the contact. It’s innocent enough, but I can’t help the nerves which swarm my body. The last man to ever touch me was Vincent and for some reason, as good as this feels, it also feels wrong. I feel guilty and I fucking hate it.
I shot him and ran because I had to be free. Ineededto be free. I’ve thought about him a lot since I woke up and I really can’t bring myself to think about him being dead. Vincent’s strong. Which means he survived. But if he survived… He’s going to be the angriest he’s ever been and he’s going to come searching for me. But then again, he could be dead and that would mean I fucking murdered him.
