Page 62 of Monster
Essa
Present
I wakeup in my room. It’s dark outside, which I can plainly see through the glass, but as for the time? I have no fucking clue. I don’t even remember what happened after I slapped Vincent.
Speaking of Vincent… I cannot fucking believe him. He had some fucking bitch suck his dick right the fuck in front of me like it was nothing. And the look on his face. He was fucking enjoying it too. Not only the blow job itself, but what it did to me. I tried like hell to hide my emotions, but I didn’t think it would crush as brutally as it did.
Fuck did it hurt. Seeing that video was despicable enough. Then seeing the actual fucking thing in person wrecked me. Right now, I want nothing more than to cut. I haven’t hurt myself in months—not since I actually tried to kill myself almost six months ago. Dom kept me sane. He kept me centered and distracted, but now I’m back in the devil’s glass dungeon, the urge is back and stronger than ever, even with the cuts Vincent gave me.
This place reminds me of too many bad things. It reminds me of the hope I had. It reminds me of all of the pain I endured. And worst of all, it reminds me of how I felt about Vincent. With Dom, it was so easy to forget, or at least hide. He knew nothing about me except what I chose to divulge with him. It was all on my own terms. But here, it’s fucking impossible to pretend. Especially with him being worse than ever before.
He’s different now. Angier, but broken… I think I truly fucking broke him and that hurts worst of all. The Vincent I met nine months ago was detached, yet still hot. He was so quick to anger with me and he never hesitated to show me. But it didn’t take long for that anger of his to morph into something so much fucking stronger—lust.
The lust we had for one another was undeniable and even right now, right this fucking second, I can’t deny I want him. That I want him inside of me again. I want him to cut me up, make me bleed, and fuck me like the monster he truly is. But I can’t let that happen. He is different now and this version of him terrifies me. I thought he was detached before, but this version… I don’t know.
I sit up in my bed and my eyes automatically dart to the chair in the corner of the room. When I notice it’s empty, I heave out a breath of relief. For some reason, I had a feeling Vincent was sitting in it—like he has so many times before—but thankfully I am alone, for now.
I pull the thick, white comforter off of my legs and sit on the edge of the bed for a moment before standing. I walk to the giant glass wall and peer outside. There are clouds covering most of the night sky, but not fully, so stars still peek through, taunting me.
“So, this is what you have planned for me now, huh, stars?” I speak out loud, to no one because I know it is utter bullshit to speak to seemingly little balls of gas. I know there is no higher “being” who is going to help but, but goddamn. I merely need someone to blame, somethingto blame. And what better to blame than the very thing that has disappointed me from the beginning.
The moon is still vibrant behind the wall of clouds shifting to cover it and right before the clouds cover it completely, I feel like it shines even brighter—only for a split second. And in that split second, my gaze drops to a tree.Thetree. The one where I saw Vincent do things I never thought I would fucking see.
I have seen some fucked up shit in my days. From my parents shooting up, to someone dying from an overdose in our own fucking house when I was only eleven years old, but what I saw that night still fucking haunts me. Vincent looked… calm. Collected. Fuckingelated.Who the fuck is happy when they are murdering someone? A fucking psychopath, a fuckingmonster,that’s who.
I shiver and quickly turn away from the view outside, not wanting to keep my thoughts going in that direction for a second longer. Instead, I gaze across my room. Everything is still white, from the curtains pushed in the corners and the bed set. Something that isn’t white stands out amongst the rest and catches my attention. Next to my bed, on the side closest to the door, is my fucking duffle bag.
Fuck! Maybe they are still in there?
I dash to the bed and jump on it. Leaning down, I grip my duffle bag and fling it up onto the bed. My hand shakes as I pull the zipper. Adrenaline is coursing through my body as I think about him finding those papers.
Please let them be in here. Please let them be in here.I chant to myself as I finally pull the zipper across and open the top. I see all of the things I kept in here. My clothes, iPod and ear buds, shoes, panties, but when I finally reach the bottom of the bag… nothing. There is nothing else inside of it.
“Fuck!” I whisper yell as I grip the bottom of the bag and dump out the contents onto my bed. I toss the bag aside and begin rummaging through the contents of the bag. It takes me all of twenty seconds to know for a fucking fact they are not in here—which means he went through my things, and he found them. He found the papers I had on him. He knows I went through his things, and now he probably came to the conclusion I planned to use them on him. Which, I guess, if I had to, I think I would have to keep my freedom, but I didn’twantto.
I only wanted to have some sense of security. I needed to know if I had to use them, I could. But now it’s too late because he knows and my already fucked up life is about to get even worse.
Vincent seemed to be on the edge as it was and this is going to fucking shove him right off it. I’m going to be the fucking reason I die, and not even by my own hand this time. No, Vincent is going to fucking torture me. He is going to take every scream, every pleading beg which falls from my lips and swallow them up with that evil smirk of his before he plunges his knife into my fucking heart.
He will want to be close and personal when he kills me. And he will want to make it hurt as much as possible. I suppose if Ihadto choose a way to go, I would definitely choose the most painful option. We only die once, so why not feel it all when we go?One last hurrah.
I crumple to the floor in defeat when I realize this is it. I truly have nothing anymore. I had Dom to keep me going, but Vincent ripped me away from him. I can only fucking hope with everything in me Vincent was being truthful when he said he didn’t hurt Dominik. I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to him because of me.
He was, truthfully, as broken as I was. He had endured so much fucking pain in his life, and he had witnessed so much, and I need to believe he will be okay without me. That my sudden departure from his life doesn’t fuck him up too bad. I don’t want him to worry, or to miss me, but I know right now, he is probably freaking the fuck out and doing everything he can to find me.
I wonder if I ask Vincent if he would let me call Dom. Or at least write him a letter explaining I am okay, and he doesn’t need to worry about me. It might get me in more trouble with Vincent, but I have to fucking try. I can’t let Dom worry about me when he doesn’t need to—okay, that’s a lie. Him worrying about me is warranted, especially becauseI’mworried about me, but that’s beside the point.
Taking a much needed deep breath, I push myself up from the floor. I’m wearing my black Nirvana T-shirt, which has definitely seen better days, but it is still my favorite, and simple black cotton sleep shorts.
At least I’m not fucking naked.
I tiptoe to my door and hold my breath as I try the handle. Surprising the hell out of me, it turns, and the door pulls open. My brow arches in surprise as I quickly exit the room and shut the door behind me as quietly as I can. I have no fucking clue what time it is, but I don’t want to alert Vincent I am awake and wandering the house, so I keep as quiet as I can.
I hear the bang of a cupboard door shutting as I walk down the hall. I almost screech from surprise, but I manage to throw my hand in front of my mouth just in time. My heart pounds against my ribs and I break out in a cold sweat as I shuffle to the stairs, closer to the noise.
I don’t know why I’m acting like such a fucking baby right now, but I’m scared. I feel like an escaped prisoner on the run and my body is sure as hell feeling the same way. My legs tremble as I take the first step down and I almost collapse as my legs give out on me.
Jesus fucking Christ, Essa. Get your shit together.
