Page 20 of Crazy Rich Monsters (Necessary Evils 1)

The weight of Carter’s body crushes me harder against the sand and I can feel my body starting to be pushed beneath the surface. He continues to thrust though as if nothing is wrong, as if he’s not about to meet another excruciatingly painful demise. With the weight of his body pushed against me, it’s quickly becoming hard to breathe. I reach upwards to find a knife just above my head. I grab the blade with one sweaty hand and stab it into Carter’s back. If it’s painful, he gives no indication. I stab him again and again and again. Blood waterfalls from his mouth onto my own face. I throw my head back again, gasping for air and the last thing I see before my vision goes black is the tavern exploding into a fury of flames.

I scream out for my father, but my voice is muffled by the tears erupting from pained eyes. The smell of burnt plastic crawls through the deepest recesses of my nose and that’s when I realize that I’m no longer on the beach. I’m in my bed, eyes wide open and heart racing. Even in my dreams where I possess no control, my father somehow found a way to speak to me, to watch after me. To force me to wake up and save myself.

“Shit,” I scream, realizing that I’m no longer dreaming. I throw the covers from my body and jump to my feet. Safe from the nightmare but not safe from reality. The only light comes from outside the smoke-stained window, where the pale, yellow light of the streetlight outside pours in. It’s enough to see the predicament I’ve awoken to. The bedroom is hot, clouds of dark smoke pool underneath the crack of the door. I rush to the window, unlock both locks, but pause just before pushing the window upwards. I cock my head over my shoulder to the door and realize my mother is probably inside.

I hate myself sometimes. I hate that for a brief moment, I contemplate leaving her inside. Maybe she can get out on her own. Most likely she’s too drunk, or even worse, she’s the one that lit the flame. The thing I hate the most though is that I know this is my chance to be free from her, free from the devil herself and I can’t bring myself to do it. I inhale a sharp breath and break away from the window. If I open it, I know that I risk backdraft.

I scan the room, looking for something to use to cover my mouth and nose and settle on a dirty tee-shirt thrown over a bedpost. I won’t have much time. The smoke will kill me before the fire does, so I rush to the door, take one last breath before covering my face, and then rip the door open. Flames whip forward, scratching at the side of my face. I’m able to duck out of the way but the burning smell of hair is too strong to miss, even in the midst of every other burning smell.

“Mom,” I scream through the cloth covering my mouth. “Are you there?”

Some people have a conscious. Other people don’t. While I briefly toyed with the idea of saving my own ass and sorting through the wreckage later, whatever little moral compass I have left won out. I wouldn’t put it past my mother to have already ran out.

I push forward, passing through the dining room. The closer I get to the front door, the thicker the smoke and the hotter the flame. The smoke burns my eyes, and the heat burns away the uncomfortable tears. The fire burns the highest in the living room. If I had to make an educated guess, I’d say the dumbass fell asleep with a lit cigarette. If she’s in the living room, she’ll be lucky to be alive.

Sometimes, I think she wants to die. I know this because I’ve been to that dark place before. I’ve sat in my room hoping the blades I cut into my skin would nick an artery. The blood always flowed, but death never came.

The hallway walls are on fire. The only photo of the three of us is half-gone, the cheap plastic of the frame dripping onto the carpeted floor. There’s nothing in this house worth saving. Mother threw out all of Dad’s things so long ago. That could be one of the only good things she’s ever done for me, but only in retrospect. If there was anything worth salvaging, I’d gladly walk back into the flames after making sure she was safe.

I angle one arm over my eyes to block out the light of the fire and to get a better view. As expected, she’s passed out on the couch with one arm slung over the edge and another scooped behind her head that rests on the arm of the couch. She’s right in the midst of the burning fire and somehow completely oblivious. Perhaps she’s inhaled so much smoke over the years that her body doesn’t understand it’s in danger. Not to sound too fantastical, but there’s a circle of flames around the couch as if mother is starring in a circus. An unsuspecting visitor could be forgiven for thinking it’s all part of a show.

The only show to be seen here is a story about how a daughter rescues her mother from a burning house, only to be later accused of setting the fire and trying to kill her. I don’t need to be psychic to know that’s exactly how this will play out in the near future. She’ll hate me for saving her just as much as she hates me for everything I have and haven’t done.

It’s my last chance to leave her here and let her burn. I could get away with it too. It would be the least suspicious way to get rid of her once and for all. I could leave this place and never look back. For real this time. I think I stare a little too long, drifting off into deep space as I contemplate what my future could look like, free from the chains that have held me attached to this place.

And then her eyes flash open. Her eyes panic but her body remains still as if she’s paralyzed. With her head thrown over the arm of the couch, she rolls her eyes backward until she makes eye contact with me. And then there’s a brief moment where we just stare into each other's eyes. She’s so fucking helpless. She needs me like I needed her when I was young, but it’s a feeling that’s long gone. Her lips part and she sayssomethingbut I can’t hear what she’s saying. I can only read my own name being uttered from her lips.

“Fuck,” I grind out and jump into action. I take a measured step backwards and then rush forward, jumping over the flames. She’s too weak to get up on her own, so I have to reach under her body and lift her. I strain the muscles in my arm. She weighs a hundred pounds soaking wet, but even the adrenaline isn’t enough for me to lift her.

“Come on Mom. I need you to get up.”

There’s an unnerving sound behind me. I cock my head over my shoulder to see the fire spreading to the curtains draped by the front door. In mere seconds, our only exit will be blocked, and we will burn together in this deathtrap. I turn back to her with a newfound invigorated sense of strength, drop a hand behind the back of her neck, and force her to her feet. She’s dead weight dragging me down, but thankfully I’m used to that. I steer her towards the door, but she trips over an empty bottle of liquor on the ground and almost sends the both of us face forward into the fire. I straighten myself out and reaffirm my grip on her before rushing forward, stomping through the fire. Just as I near the door, she collapses onto the floor, breathless. Fifty years on this earth and it’s a fire that’s going to take her out of it and from the looks of it, it’s a fire of her own making.

“Wake up!” I drop to my knees and slap her on the cheek. She doesn’t respond. There’s no time to resuscitate her inside the house, so I reach for the front door and rip it open. A fiery breath of heat akin to a flamethrower roars over my head from the backdraft. The entirety of my body is drenched in sweat, and I can feel the heat exhaustion settling in.

I grab her by both arms and drag her backwards, out of the burning house. The fresh air hits me like a ton of bricks. It’s almost as bad as the flames inside and that’s an impossible feeling to try to explain. I drag her lifeless body a little bit further into the grass beside the defunct car.

I’m not a nurse and I’ve never taken a proper CPR course, so I’m forced to use the knowledge I’ve learned watching television shows. I check for a pulse first. There’s no sign of life in either her throat or wrist. I cradle my hands together over her chest and begin compressions. One. Two. Three. Grab her nose and inhale into her mouth and then start the process all over again.

One. Two. Three.

As I hover above her, prepared to inhale again, I notice a familiar shadow in the distance. Standing on the opposite side of the street is a man. I squint my eyes and lean forward, trying to make sure I’m not hallucinating. A chill falls over my body, freezing me in place. I know I should be focusing on resuscitating my mother, but my mind is elsewhere as I stare Nick down.

In the bottom of my gut, I know that he had something to do with this and I’m going to get to the bottom of that later. I will find out the truth and then make him pay for it. If he wants a war, he’s going to get one.

I compress my hands over mother’s chest, pinch her nose, and inhale against her dry, chapped lips. She smells of smoke and fire, and yet the smell of bourbon overpowers everything else. The sirens begin to wail in the distance, far away and eerily quiet at first and then loud and overbearing. The flickering lights of the firetruck light up the scene in bright red, and in the shadows of the lights, I realize that Nick is gone.

Maybe he was never there.

ChapterTwelve

ADDISON

The last time I walked these halls was when I learned my father died and I haven’t been back since. Hospitals are the worst places in the world. They are hotels for the grief-stricken where many never check out, and for those who remain among the living while their loved ones depart, their souls become trapped there too. I know this because I think I lost my heart in this very same corridor of empty spaces and white walls.

The silence is deafening. It only serves to make the grief worse as if the people here can’t get out of their own heads as it is. As strange as it might seem, I think I would be more comfortable navigating the stages of grief at a carnival. The glow of the neon lights and the screams of ecstatic glee would be enough to distract me from the war in my mind.

And that war is violent with battlefields littered with guilt and suffering.

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