Page 88 of Monster
Essa
Present
The momentmy scars got brought up, Vincent’s entire demeanor changed—and not for the better. His cold mask of indifference slipped over his features, but it was different than usual. I could see the anger and pain permanently etched in his eyes. His fucking eyes hurt to look at, so I dropped my gaze to the floor before I realized that made me look weak, and I’m not weak anymore.
I can’t be weak.
Except I want to be so bad and it’s confusing as hell.
Now, I sit on my fucking bed,waitingfor Vincent to summon me back like I’m some petulant child in need of punishment. Another very confusing thing because as much as I hate when he barks demands at me like I’m some dog, a sick part of me loves it—even fuckingcravesit.
I’m so fucked up; I don’t even know anymore.
I hear a door slam in the distance and the sound echoes through the house, making me jump at the sudden noise. What the hell was that?
I stand up from my bed and, as quietly as I can, I tiptoe to my door and press my ear against the wood. I don’t hear anything and find myself growing more annoyed. Even though I know it’s useless, I still grip the doorknob and try to turn it. To my utter fucking surprise, the doorknob twists, albeit a bit creaky.
I wince at the noise as my heart gallops in my chest. My palms grow sweaty and my grip on the knob slips, so I finish turning it the rest of the way. As slowly as I can, I pull open the door. Thankfully, the door doesn’t make a sound and before I know it, I’m in the hall. I roam my gaze around the entire hallway, keeping my eyes peeled for Vincent. I don’t see, or even fucking hear him, and it makes my heart thump faster with fear.This seems too easy.
I know if I get caught, I’m going to really fucking pay for my disobedience. It seems—unlike last time—this time around, Vincent’s temper is on a way shorter leash and that's really saying something considering how fast he used to lose his shit.
As gently as I can, I shut the door behind me while twisting the knob as it closes to quiet the sound a bit more. I warily make my way further down the hall, straining my ears for every little sound and as I pass my room and Vincent’s, a muffled voice catches my attention. A voice that is deep and rough—one I recognize all too well. And I know where it’s coming from too. It’s coming from down the hall, where Vincent’s office is.
I practically tiptoe my way down the hall, mentally urging my heart to slow the fuck down so I can hear more than the blood rushing though my ears. My hands and legs shake more with every step, and I feel like I’m going to pass out. I take a silent deep breath, and another—pulling as much oxygen into my lungs as I can—until I feel the tiniest bit better.
I finally make it to his office door and as much as I wish I could, I can’t press my ear to the wood to hear his words better. It’s too risky, so standing how I am now will have to suffice.
“Yeah, I’m here,” I hear Vincent say to whoever he is speaking to, and the abruptness of his voice has me jumping back. My heart flutters and I raise my hand to my chest as my breathing accelerates. I’m so fucking scared right now, but I simultaneously want nothing more than to yank open this door and throw myself at him.
I’m so fucking desperate for his attention, it should disgust me, but it doesn’t. He makes me feel too fucking good for that.So, instead, I feel ridiculous amounts of shame and self-loathing.
I don’t hear anything else for a few minutes, and the silence surrounding me begins to feel too loud. It echoes and has a high pitch ring to it which makes my head pound ruthlessly. It could also be the massive amount of fear and arousal I’m feeling from his demanding voice, but I force myself not to go there.
I lean back against the wall and take another deep breath. My eyes close briefly and when I reopen them, they fall to Vincent’s door down the hall. The memories of what I did months ago after he made me strip for him surge through my mind. How I held a gun to his fucking head—but worse than that, how I pulled the trigger, not knowing it wasn’t even fucking loaded.
Then I actually fucking shot him and left him for dead. I was so fucking terrified in both of those moments; the fear literally took over my body and consumed me. It felt like I didn’t have any control over what I was doing and that is almost more terrifying than me doing it of my own free will.
Still not hearing anything on the other side of Vincent’s office door, I find myself gravitating towards his room and the next thing I know, I’m standing beside his bed, pulling open his bedside table drawer and wrapping my fingers around his gun. It feels heavier than I remember, and I think that means it is actually loaded this time.
I’m careful as I grasp it and bring it closer to my face to get a better look. The silver glints from the sunlight which is peaking through the clouds covering most of the sky. Having it in my hands gives me a sense of power, a sense of security I have been craving to feel. I’m still scared shitless, but I’m a different person than I was the last time I held this gun.
I’m stronger.
Or at least, I’d like to believe I am.
With my left hand, I hold open the front pocket of my Sublime hoodie and carefully place the gun inside of it. It’s heavy and it weighs my hoodie down, but I don’t have anywhere else to put it, so it will have to do.
I feel like I have already been in here too long and I can’t risk getting caught. I walk carefully across Vincent’s bedroom and when I reach the doorway, I pause and strain my ears for any sounds of him. I still don’t hear anything, so I step out and move towards the stairs. I wrap my left hand around the gun—through my hoodie—and press it to my stomach as I walk so it doesn’t sway.
I take each step carefully and deliberately, but always as quickly as I can. I feel like I am running out of time. I don’t even know what the fuck I’m doing, but that seems to always be the case with me—a helluva lot of good it’s done me too.
Taking the last step off of the floating staircase, I scurry to the door, but the moment I rest my hand on the door handle, I freeze.
The alarm, damnit.
I inwardly curse myself for being so fucking stupid and forgetting about the alarm he sets. I heave out a sigh of annoyance and turn to go back up the stairs and sulk when I see the red light flashing next to the door—the alarm system. It’s not fucking set. Red means it’s disarmed.
Without thinking twice, I swing the door open and the wet, cool breeze that hits me in the face brings a giant smile to my face. I’m free—sort of. I’ve got a gun and… I’ve got a fucking gun. That is about all I’ve got, but it’s better than the nothing I had twenty minutes ago.
