Page 49 of Monster

It would have been ideal.

It meant he would leave me alone.

Or, at least, it should, but the thought of spending time by myself in this room held no appeal.

Besides, where would he go?

The bastard had put me in his room.

That was what I figured out while I was looking around for something to help me escape.

The walk-in closet was filled with men’s clothes in Dominic’s size.

Unless he put me in some other man’s room, they were his.

I stayed under the shower a little longer than necessary, trying to wash away all that had happened since the morning I woke up and drove across town to give piano lessons to a kid whose mom didn’t even like me.

What a fucking mess.

My throat clogged, but I held the tears in.

I only allowed myself once a day to break down, and I had already done so this afternoon.

I would not break down anymore.

When the temperature turned tepid, I turned off the water and reached out to grab a soft, fluffy white towel.

I stopped when I found some clothes neatly folded by the towel.

I glanced at the door.

I knew for a fact I had locked it before I hopped in the shower, but now there were clothes laid out on the counter for me, and the door was unlocked.

I took a deep breath, locked the door again, even if it was fucking useless, and quickly put on the clothes.

I stopped short at the sight of his black boxer briefs.

The thought of his boxer briefs touching me so intimately…

I shook away the thought.

If I gave myself more time to think about it, I might not leave the bathroom tonight.

I left the bathroom, stopping short, when I found him sitting on the bed in the same spot he had been when I left, but it was clear he’d left and returned.

His hair was slightly damp, along with the skin on his face, neck, and shoulders. He was shirtless, displaying the tattoos he had, and he was donning a pair of fitted black boxer briefs, showcasing curves and steel and…

I quickly averted my eyes, not wanting to be caught staring at him, and looked down at the floor at my bare feet.

It had only been about three days since I was home at my apartment, attempting to do something as simple as painting my toenails pink.

It didn’t look so bad from far away, but up close, I could see where I had messed up the paint, when my hands had shaken so badly, I had a hard time staying inside the cuticle line.

My eyes blurred before another pair of feet came into my line of sight.

I blinked away the stinging and noticed the obvious size difference between us.

His feet were probably twice the size of my own, his skin a shade or two darker than mine. His feet were much hairier than I had expected men’s feet to be, and his toenails were cut neatly, short and round and free of color.

---