Page 2 of Monsters Like Us
It’s the final arithmetic of a life measured in small cruelties.
The flames in the carved pumpkins flicker as if in applause.
The first officer steps forward. The clock keeps ticking.
Behind the mask, I’m smiling, ready to leave this place. Waiting for whatever comes next.
CHAPTER 1
Katana
My body tremblesas the floorboard outside my door creaks. I pull the blankets higher, even though sweat beads over my skin, making my pajamas stick to me like glue.
Please just go away.
I’m twenty years old, but Ted still treats me like some cornered little girl. Being stuck in high school doesn’t help. I should’ve graduated two years ago, but I missed too many days as a kid. Mom was too drunk or strung out on drugs to get me on the bus, and I was too small at six and seven years old to get myself there. That was enough for the system to hold me back. Twice.
Now I’m paying for it every day of my life.
“Ted. What ya doin’?” My mom’s voice slurs, drunk again. Relief rushes through me at the sound, even though I know better than to hope. Maybe this time she’ll do the right thing. Maybe this time she’ll see him for what he is.
“Git back to bed, Connie. This doesn’t concern ya.” His voice is low, laced with barely restrained rage.
“Have ya been sneakin’ in her room? She told me you was. I didn’t believe her.”
“Sneakin’?” Sarcasm drips from his tongue. “I don’t need to sneak. She invites me.”
“That’s not what she told me.”
Hope flares in my chest.Please. For once, believe me.
“I said, git back to bed!” he yells.
“No. I’m not goin’.”
My pulse spikes.Alright. Mom’s finally getting a backbone.
Her footsteps pad across the wooden floor. “Git away from my daughter.”
The slam against my door shakes the whole frame. She screams, and I hear the ugly crack of a slap, followed by her cry of pain.
“Lemme go?—”
“Told ya this doesn’t concern you.” Another blow. Another sickening thud of flesh against wood.
Oh God. He’s going to kill her.
I sit up, clinging to my blanket, my heart hammering. I stare at the door, my mouth dry, pulse ricocheting in my ears. The chair wedged under the knob won’t last long.
“Leave… my… daughter…” Mom rasps, defiant even as she cries out in pain again.
Ted snarls, “Yer daughter is a twenty-year-old whore. Dumb bitch is still in high school.”
Tears burn my eyes. The insult isn’t new. Neither is the shame that comes with it.
Another scream. The door bows inward from the force of the fight.
An image fills my head. The silver handle. The cool weight I carried upstairs two nights ago after another one of Ted’s disgusting comments. I’d been terrified. And tired of being a victim.
