Page 26 of Monster
Whenever the silence would become too much—which was always—I would listen to my music. I don’t know where my iPod is. I haven’t seen it since the accident. I drop my gaze from the TV after I find some cooking show to put on and my eyes lock on the bag again.Fuck it.
After taking a deep, shaky breath, I rip it open and flip it upside down to dump the contents onto the bed before I can talk myself out of it. My Bring Me The Horizon hoodie drops out first, somewhat bloody. I squeeze my eyes shut for a brief second to block out the pain barreling forth before forcing them back open.
Next is my phone, my iPod, and my earbuds. I toss the hoodie to the floor, not wanting to see it for a second longer and pick up my phone. The screen is cracked, and it doesn’t turn on. I toss it to the side with a shrug. There was nothing in it I needed anyway.
Next, I grab my iPod. My fucking savior for so damn long. There is a big chunk missing from the bottom right corner of the glass screen, but when I hold down the button, it still turns on—much to my surprise. The screen lights up, albeit a little glitchy, but it still works and that is all that matters to me. I shove the plug for the earbuds in the port and turn on my song.
I crank the volume to high and lean back, resting my head against the bed while I let the music flow through my veins, doing what it does best—healing me. Or at least giving me a dose of much needed medicine.
Medicine for my fucking soul.
When “Creep” replays for the third time, Dominik walks back into the room, my bag in hand. He drops it in front of me and gives me a small smile when he sees me listening to my music. I pull one earbud out as he says, “I knew you would want what was in there.” He nods and then goes to sit in his chair, pulling out his own earbuds and leaving me to go through my bag alone.
I appreciate his gesture as I unzip the bag. I need to do this alone. The first thing I search for is those fucking papers. I’m not sure if they even fucking mean anything or if they would even help me at all, but they make me feel more secure and I need that feeling right now.
My bag is a mess from being tossed around in the accident—don’t think about it—and after a minute, something crinkles beneath my fingers. I hurriedly yank them out and when I see the very first page, my heart stops. From happiness or guilt, I’m not sure, but I force myself not to dive deeper into it. Not right now anyway.
I guess if he’s still alive, I still have a way to keep myself safe.
Maybe.
