Page 74 of Monster
Dominik.
Vincent.
My fucking self.
I drop to the floor with a crash and my entire body screams in pain, but no pain I feel physically can beat the pain in my heart. In my fucking soul—deep down to my very fucking core.
I blindly reach out beside me and when my hand lands on something sharp, I know what I have to do. I can’t live like this anymore. I was so fucking foolish to believe I could move past it all, but how is that even possible? How does one move on from losing their sister and their fucking baby? All because of one fucking mistake they made.
I made one mistake and now everything I ever loved is gone—ripped away from me because I don’t deserve anything good. I don’t deserve happiness and I sure as fuck don’t deserve love.
I grip the glass in my hand so hard, I revel at the sting as it digs into my skin. I feel a smile pull at the corners on my lips at the pain. Pain I missed so fucking much. Pain that will make everything better.
I lift the glass and bring it to my neck, to where I know my scar to be. A scar that as much as I wish I hated, I don’t. Last time I did this, I tried to end it all by slitting my wrists. Clearly that didn’t work, so this time, I think if I shove it in my neck quickly, it will end soon. No getting tired and then slowly closing my eyes, no. I want to feel the blood run across my skin as I bleed out. I want it to be fast and painful—exactly what I deserve.
I flinch when I feel the sharp, cold tip press against my throat, and I swallow instinctually.
Don’t chicken out now.
“Baby doll.”
I squeeze my eyes tighter at those words. Words that can’t be real because Vincent would not stop me from doing this. He hates me and he wants me dead.
“Baby doll, stop.” I feel a hot hand wrap around my own holding the glass and I shudder.
This isn’t real.
“Essa, please,” Vincent pleads, and his desperation forces my swollen, blurry eyes to peel open and lock on his. Soulless, deep browns stare back at me, and I feel myself wavering. I can’t waver.
This has to happen.
“No!” I scream as I scooch away from him. Glass slides across my skin and I cry out, the pain blinding, but I keep forcing myself away from him. “You can’t stop me! I’m a fucking creep who deserves to die.” Sobs wrack my body as I wail on my bathroom floor. A bathroom which reminds me of the beginning of us.
“So fucking what! You think you’re a creep?” Vincent shouts and his sudden boisterous voice compels me to shoot my gaze to him once more.
“Try being a fucking monster, Essa! I fucking kill people for a living and what’s worse than that, is I fucking love it! Icravewatching someone bleed out in front of me. I want to watchyoubleed out in front of me. To watch the life drain from your fucking eyes. I obsess over it!” he bellows. He pounds his fist over his chest, and I feel my heart crack.
I’m wavering.
With my gaze locked on his heaving form, my eyes catch on something along his side. A new tattoo, I think, but with my eyes being so swollen and blurry, I can’t fucking tell what it is—or if I’m seeing shit in my hysteria.
Vincent steps toward me and drops to his knees right in front of me. My eyes drop from his face, down to his chest and now that he is closer, I can see he does, in fact, have a new tattoo but I still can’t quite make it out.
“Wha—” Vincent’s hand wrapping around my own cuts me off and he firmly, yet gently removes the glass from my painfully harsh grip. I don’t know why, but I let him. His finger trails along my Creep scar, watching in silent allure as his fingers trace every letter so gently. I forgot he could be so gentle.
“You're a creep, baby doll,” Vincent’s voice breaks the silence, forcing my gaze from his fingers to his face. “But I’m a fucking monster.” And with that, I watch in morbid fascination as he brings the tip of the glass to his left arm—through one of his poppy tattoos—and begins to carve into his skin.
“Vincent, what the hell are you doing?” I ask as tears flood my eyes again, but I don’t stop him. I don’t want to. I want to see how far he is willing to take this. Call me sick. Call me fucked up but I want nothing more in this moment than to watch him bleed—for me.
Vincent doesn’t answer me. He keeps carving his skin, the movement of the blade delicate, methodical. Almost hypnotizing. Each letter he carves causes more blood to trail down his arm and drip onto the floor. I have a sudden urge to run my tongue along each letter and savor the metallic taste of his blood, but I resist. I tear my eyes away from his arm and lock them onto his face.
His jaw is set in stone, clenched tight and his eyes are slightly squinted as he concentrates. This whole fucking situation is turning me on like no other and it’s so fucking confusing.There is a steady pulse in my core, and my arousal dampens my inner thighs.
After what seems like forever, I hear the clatter of the glass dropping to the floor. Blood pools below the both of us but Vincent pays it no mind as he stands to his feet, dragging me up with him. I stand before Vin, as naked as the day I was born, and him not far behind. His face is blank, not giving me a single fucking thing about how he may be feeling but something in the air has shifted. It feels intense, heavy, hot. My eyes drop to his arm, and I stare, rapt, as a trail of blood runs from the R down to the tip of his finger before dropping to the not-so-pristine white floor. I trail my eyes across his body, and what I see clearly now, has me taking an involuntary step forward.
“Vincent,” I crock out. I grab his bleeding left arm as gently as I can manage in my haste and move it to the side so I can see what it says better.
The word Baby Doll stares back at me, black and bold, surrounded by a multitude of poppies. My heart thumps wildly in my chest as I drop his arm and step back to peer at him. His gaze is already locked on mine and what it does to me…
