Page 44 of Monster
“Yeah.” I nod. He tilts my head back and before I know what’s happening, his lips are brushing mine. They aren’t demanding or brutal, instead soft and unsure. I melt into his touch and press my lips more firmly against his, but he pulls back with a smile. His very slight dimples coming out.
* * *
“So,do you know who that box came from?” Dom asks as we sit on my bed later that night listening to music together—our daily routine.
“No.” I answer. I still have that card. I tucked it into my pocket earlier and whenever Dom isn’t looking, I pull it out and stare at it, hoping it will give me answers. Every time my irritation grows when I can’t figure it out, but I’m trying to forget about it. I’m not going to allow it to let me spiral again. I… I can’t let it.
“Do you wanna talk about what was in there?” he asks, and I can hear the hesitancy in his voice.
“Do you?” I turn my head to the left to glance at him. He’s wearing his white baseball cap with his hood over it—an everyday occurrence—and jeans. His green eyes meet mine, but they’re sad. I can see the pain he is holding inside, and it makes me drop my iPod and reach over and interlock our fingers.
“If you want to talk about it, I’m here. And if you don’t, I’m still here.” I reassure him with a squeeze, and he gives me a small smile in return.
“Thanks, baby girl. I’m good for now.” I nod.
* * *
I wake with a start.I shoot up in bed and drag my eyes across the entirety of my room and heave out a sigh of relief when I don’t see anyone. My heart is pounding, and my hair is matted to my forehead from sweat which now feels uncomfortably cold across my skin. I place my hand over my chest as I lean back against the wall, attempting to regulate my breathing.
Dominik went home tonight. After I received the box, things got way too fucking weird, and I think we both needed some space. But now I’m wishing he would have stayed because my fucking nightmare was way too real—but that’s the thing. It wasn’tjusta nightmare, it was real. It happened. I dreamt of Vincent and that goddamn tree. Except I dreamt I was the one tied to that fucking tree and he was slicing me into pieces. No matter what, I couldn’t move, couldn’t scream, couldn’t fucking pass out. I was frozen. As soon as he sunk the blade of his blood covered knife into my throat, my eyes snapped open.
My heart rate hasn’t slowed since I woke up. If anything, it’s sped up because now I’m awake, I realize I’m fuckingaroused.My nipples are pebbled beneath the thin black T-shirt I’m wearing and when I shift my hips, I realize my panties are damp as well.
What. The. Fuck.
I close my eyes and almost groan in frustration but that was the first time I have dreamed of Vincent so vividly. Every night, I usually dream of Holley and older memories between the two of us, or if my subconscious is being extra deviant, I’ll dream of my little baby and what could have been.
In my dreams, I’m always holding a little baby boy who looks too much like Vincent. Those dreams are bitter-fucking-sweet. They hurt as bad as they feel good and those are the days I wake up and my entire day is trash. Reality can’t compare to the happiness my dreams bring me.
But now, I’m apparently dreaming about Vincent. The first time was a few nights ago, but tonight was so fucking different. Real. Fucking graphic. Like I was actually there, and his hands were all over me, cutting me like he used to. I cross my legs to help dull the ache between my thighs, but it’s useless. Thinking about Vincent using his knife on me again brings feelings I wish I could forget.Or do I?
With my eyes closed and thoughts of Vincent stuck in my head, I trail my hand down my chest and skate my fingers across the fabric of my T-shirt. I cup my breasts with both hands and moan from the pressure, eliciting the desire to squeeze tighter. I want the pain with pleasure Vincent was so good at giving me.
Dominik and I do things, sometimes, but he’s always so fucking gentle and while I love it, I really fucking need that pain. I pinch my nipples brutally and groan as I release them and blood flows back into them, creating the most explicit stinging. I release my breasts and move down my stomach.
Once I reach my hips—where my T-shirt ends—I push it up to my belly button and trail the tips of my fingers along the edge of my underwear. I’m hesitant about what I’m about to do and I don’t know why. I have no reason to be. No one is here but me and though there are nurses who are supposed to come and check on me throughout the night, they never do. I know it’s because they aren’t worried about me anymore and because the doctor is probably releasing me soon.
I’m “all better” now.
If I was all better, I wouldn’t be shoving my hand inside of my underwear to the memory of a dead man right now. When my fingers brush over my clit, I shudder. I haven’t touched myself in so long and it almost feels like the very first time. I’m hurried with my movements, my desperation taking over.
My dream already has me ready to go, so I shove two fingers inside of myself and gasp. I squeeze my eyes even tighter, conjuring up memories of Vincent doing the same. He was always so fucking brutal, yet, somehow, my body was always ready for him. Andfuck.What he did to me was fucking exquisite. He knew exactly what I liked, and he played my body like a fucking fiddle.
I miss it.
I misshim.
Goddamnit, Essa. Now is not the time. It’s too little too late. And besides, now I have Dom and that’s good enough… Right?
I growl at myself and shove all of those thoughts to the side. With one hand, I move two of my fingers in and out and with the other, I use my index and middle fingers to rub at my clit harshly. I feel my walls tighten around my fingers and a steady pulse in my core. My orgasm is so fucking close. I curl my fingers up like I remember Vincent doing andholy fucking shit.
Without warning, my orgasm hits me, and I turn my head and bury it into my shoulder to stifle my scream as it hits me. A wet warmness coats my fingers and I slow their movement inside of me, but don’t let up on my abuse of my clit. After a few moments, the pulsing has slowed and every brush of my fingers on my clit is too much, so I begin to jerk. I drop both of my hands by my side and lie on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
Why do I still feel this way about a dead man? It’s not right. Not only because I’m clearly fucked in the head, but because of Dominik. And now that the high of my orgasm has subsided, I’m honestly feeling a little guilty and I fucking hate it. It’s not like we are “together.” But at the same time, I feel like I need to be loyal to him—which is kinda fucked now. I literally came all over my fingers to the memories of my… ex? No, ex isn’t the right word. Captor? Fuck, I don’t know. What Vincent and I had was unlike anything else. There aren’t any words to describe what we had and what we were to each other.
I may not know a lot about him, but sometimes you don’t need to know someone’s history in order to really fucking know them. Sometimes, souls meet, and they decide for you. And when I was with Vincent, I had no fucking control over my feelings for him and when something between two people is so fucking intense, the trivial shit doesn’t cross your mind. And our situation wasn’t exactly ideal. We were never a couple, so therefore, we never did that couple shit. Our relationship consisted of him hurting me and me hurting him right back.
Now, it’s too fucking late. He’s dead and I’m, notwithDominik, but with Dominik—and I think I’m okay with that. He’s good for me, unlike Vincent. He doesn’t want to hurt me, and he takes good care of me.
But…What if I want to hurt?
