Page 47 of Monster
Essa
One month ago
This last monthhas been fucking… weird. Yeah, straight up weird. Every week, I get little gifts left for me at the front desk. So far, I got the box at Christmas and then almost every week after, I’ve gotten a CD. Nothing is written on them, but each CD only has one song on it and each one I’ve had to look up because I didn’t know them.
I now know the first CD has the song “Near” by Bilmuri on it and the second I heard the song play on the CD player the nurse let me borrow, I bawled my fucking eyes out for two hours. Every single lyric to that song reminded me of Vincent and me and I fucking lost it. I listened to it a hundred times over before the nurse came in to tell me I had to give them the player back.
The second CD has the song “Honestly” by Lil Peep and again, Vincent came to mind. A part of me wonders if it’s him leaving these, but then I quickly dismiss the idea. Vincent is fucking dead. I killed him. But the moment I remember, I fucking lose it all over again becauseI fucking killedhim.
The thought of him actually being dead is hard to fucking process. It seems like such an impossible idea, but there is no way he survived. It’s been months now. If he did survive, I know for a fact I still wouldn’t be here right now—which makes my gifts all the more confusing. I should be scared some random person is leaving them for me, but I’m not. I’ve been through truly terrifying things before, and this doesn’t even come close.
The third CD had the song “Animals” by Architects. It had such an aggressive but fucking depressing tone and like the last two, I fucking cried. Whoever is giving me these CD’s really fucking wants me to hurt.Every single song makes me think of Vincent and I don’t know if that’s deliberate or if it’s because he’s the only fucking thing on my mind anymore.
Today is the day I’m getting the fourth—or at least I think it is. I’ve noticed every time I get one, Dominik isn’t here, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s him. I mean, he knows how much music means to me and I know how much music means to him, so that would make sense, right? I try to convince myself it’s him because it’s the only reasonable explanation. But then I think about the box I received on Christmas. The one with the note and the papers about Dom himself and I don’t think he would give me somethinglike thatabout himself.
But then again, he could’ve done it because he couldn’t bring himself to tell me face to face. The truth of the matter is, I don’t fucking know who’s leaving me these things, but I also know I don’t want it to stop. As terrifying as it is not knowing who’s leaving them, I kind of like it.It gives me something to focus on other than the dwindling feeling of hopelessness creeping inside of me.
I sigh deeply as I lie back on my bed and let my head smack against the wall. I don’t fucking know what to do about anything. The doctors say I’m getting out of here next week, and while that’s great and everything, I’m fucking terrified to be back out in the real world. The real world is what caused my sister to die, my fucking baby to die. And I really don’t want to go back to it. Being in this place feels like I’m living in a fucking bubble where nothing or no one can get to me.
It feels safe and I don’t want to burst that fucking bubble, but I know it’s going to happen anyway. When I do leave, I don’t even know where the fuck I’m going. I have no money, no car, no job, nothing.Only a bag full of clothes and papers, and that’s it.
The car Holley drove to pick me up in was a rental and the insurance from the rental agency covered the cost of it being totaled. My plan was to go back with her, but obviously that isn’t happening now. Because she’s dead.
I huff out a breath at my train of thought. I guess I’ll have to live on the streets until I can find a job and save up enough for a place… fuck. Living is so fucking exhausting. I haven’t even left yet and the bubble I’ve been living in is about to burst and fucking destroy everything I’ve been working to fix.
A knock on my door distracts me from my thoughts and I hear myself call out, “Come in!” though my voice sounds strained, even to me.
“Hey, baby girl. How are you doin’ today?” Dominik walks in with a smile, and I can’t help but to smile back. Every depressing, stressful thought I have slowly dissipates into white noise when he’s around. It doesn’t go away, but he sure as fuck quiets it.
“I’m good. Doc said I can leave next week.” The smile I was wearing falters before I realize it. I try to fake another one, but Dom doesn’t buy it.
“What’s wrong?” He rushes up to me and runs his thumb across my cheekbone.
“I—I don’t fucking know what I’m going to do or where I’m going to go. I have no money, nothing but the—” my words are cut off my Dominik’s finger moving to my lips to shush me. The action confuses me, so I remain silent, waiting for him to say something.
“Stop worrying about all of that, please. You can come home with me.”
“Dom…”My heart thumps painfully, guiltily.
“Essa.Pleasecome home with me? I don’t want you to have to worry about such trivial things when you’re still healing. It’s no big deal at all and I would be happy to have you.” He smiles at me, his bright white teeth almost shining.
“‘Trivial things’,” I mimic him. “You mean fucking surviving? Those things aren’t trivial, Dom.”
“Yes, they are. Especially when they are things you don’t have to worry about. So, can you please stop arguing with me and just agree?”
“Fine.” I concede, only because I really don’t have any other options at this point in time. Not only that, but I don’t want to be alone. “I’ll come home with you, but please don’t treat me any differently than you do now. Nothing has changed, got it?” I quirk my brow at him and his stupid, beautiful fucking grin.
“Got it.”
“Good. So, what’s up?” I ask him, changing the subject.I turn around and when the card from Christmas catches my eye, I dart over to it to shove it back under my pillow, out of sight.
“I, uh, actually came here because I had a question for you.”
“And?” I ask, moving my hand around as to indicate for him to continue.
“It’s about Holley’s ashes…” he trails off as he bows his head to stare at the floor. He shuffles his feet back and forth and shoves his hands in his pockets. He does this every single time Holley, or my baby, gets brought up and it’s why I always avoid conversations about them. I know it makes him uncomfortable, but at least he’s not the one who lost his fucking sister and his baby all at once.
No, but he lost his mother and father.
