Page 66 of Monster
After what feels like an hour of silence with him staring at me and me staring at the ceiling, I turn my head back to glance at him. Sure enough, his eyes are still locked on my face like they haven’t moved the entire time.
“You really think what you did was different, don’t you?” I ask, my tone soft, yet pained.
Vincent doesn’t say anything, or even react to what I asked at all. He stares at me, and I grow uncomfortable. I forgot I was naked, but the realization comes barreling forth. I move my arms, attempting to cover myself, but the chains they are bound by clank against the bed frame. I huff out a breath of frustration. I fucking forgot I was chained to the bed too. Ironic, because how does one forget something like that? But I suppose with the way Vincent and I’s relationship has always been, it just feels normal.
It’s our normal.
I’m so fucked.
Vincent’s eyes darken the longer he stares at me, desire swirling in his dark brown eyes. My blood slowly begins to heat from his gaze alone and I find myself squirming on the bed while also rubbing my thighs together.
“Yeah, it most definitely was different, baby doll. Wanna know why?” he asks. I jump at the sound of his deep voice shattering the silence which surrounded us. I don’t say anything, only nodding my head in response. I don’t trust myself to speak. I’m afraid the things that will come out of my mouth will be words I don’t want him to hear. Words which will complicate this fucked up situation even more.
Vincent stands to his full height, and I find myself arching my neck to look up at him as he shifts to the left—closer to where my head lies on the bed. He glares down at me and a ball forms in my throat as I peer at him. His expression is completely unmasked and all I fucking see is pain. Utter, brutal fucking pain and it kills me. Because I did that to him. I caused him to feel this way.
The worst part of it all, is if I had to do it all over again, I wouldn’t. I fucking wouldn’t. But not because of me shooting him, no, but because Holley died. Holley died because of me. Because I decided I finally wanted to be free, and I needed her fucking help. My selfishness is the reason she’s dead. I have nothing.
That’s why I wouldn’t do it over—and I feel all the more guilty Holley is the reason why. I know I shouldn’t feel guilty about her being the reason. It’s logical and it makes sense. So, why the fuck do I feel so guilty that me hurting Vincent isn’t the bigger part of the reason.
Losing my baby and Holley because of my selfishness will forever haunt me. Every fucking day for the rest of my life.
“I didn’t feel anything for her.” Vincent’s voice snaps me out of my daze, and I realize I’m shaking. My entire body is trembling on the bed, but Vincent doesn’t seem to notice. That, or he doesn’t care.
“I didn’t feel a fucking thing for her,” he reiterates. “She was simply a quick fuck so I could get off. I was angry at you and at the time, I wanted to hurt you the only way I knew how. Even if you wouldn’t have ever known, I would have, and that was enough for me. She was a means to an end.” He leans down until his face is hovering right above mine. The tip of his nose brushes against mine and my eyes start to go cross-eyed from his close proximity.
His large hand suddenly envelopes my throat, but his grip is gentle. He simply rests his hand there and I feel my pulse kick up at his touch. I hope he doesn’t feel it, how much I love it when he does that.
“You on the other hand…” he whispers against my lips. His hot breath fans my face with every word he utters. My breathing falters as he shifts closer, until his mouth hovers directly above mine. If he were to move his lips at all, they would brush against mine and the need to feel that, to feel his mouth on mine, is overwhelming.
I find myself pursing my lips, desperate for his mouth, but he’s so much fucking quicker than I am. He jerks his head back the second before I move my mouth, guessing my motive, and my lips barely miss his.
Damnit.
Vincent flexes his hand on my neck and squeezes. My heart thumps as the oxygen entering my lungs begins to diminish.
“Vincent,” I croak out, my voice barely audible.
“You on the other hand,” he repeats. “You felt something for Dominik, didn’t you? And don’t fucking lie to me, baby. I fucking saw you two together. For months I watched you both so I fucking know. I just wanna hear you say it.” He grits his teeth and the dark, blank expression on his face has fear slithering up my spine and goosebumps trail across my skin.
“Answer me,” he spits out. His tone is angry, pissed even, but his face is calm. Devoid of everything. A fucking mask. A mask I wish he would take off.
“Yes.” I keep my answer short and give him the answer he wants. I know he doesn’t want details or the why. He wants to know it’s true and I am not going to lie to him. I did—do—feel something for Dominik. He saved my fucking life and he made me feel hope. When I thought all was lost after Holley, and then my baby, he helped me.
He had me. And that’s all I ever wanted.
He was kind to me. Sweet and endearing. He was always patient, and he never pushed me. Everything I thought I wanted. So, of course I felt something for him. How could I not?
Vincent’s jaw works a million miles a minute as he clenches and unclenches it but that’s the only outward sign he gives he heard me. I don’t say anything, afraid if I speak, he will snap, and Ireallydon’t want that to happen.
My mouth falls open with shock when Vincent turns away from me and strides to the door. He slams it shut behind him, and I jump at the brutality behind it.
He fucking left me chained to the fucking bed naked. Again. I roll my eyes and huff out an annoyed breath.
Feels like Deja fucking vu.
