Page 18 of To Love a Monster
At first, there’s nothing but silence.Then suddenly there’s movement as the curtain shivers, just a subtle flutter, like it’s caught in an unseen breath.And then I see him.
He’s standing on the deck.Absolutely unmoving, like he was carved from the shadows themselves.Rain drips from the edge of the roof, but it doesn’t touch him.It’s as if even the storm knows better than to disturb him.His hood is up, casting the top of his face in darkness.I can just see his eyes peeking out from beneath the darkness.They gleam through the gloom—lit from within like some unholy fire.Pale and sharp, burning with something predatory.Like he sees everything.He seems too big for the space he’s in.Too solid.Too still.The world around him feels warped, bent to make room for the sheer weight of him.
My breath snags in my throat and my fingers clench tight around the counter’s edge.Every muscle is on alert, strung taut and thrumming.He doesn’t speak, doesn’t gesture, doesn’t blink.He just watches.Like he knows I’ll come to him.Eventually.
His stare isn’t a question.It’s a promise.Patient and possessive.Like a wolf stretched out in tall grass, watching the lamb he’s already marked crawl closer.Shaking, silent and complicit.And without realizing it, I do.At first it’s just one slow step.Then another.The hardwood is cold beneath my bare feet, but I barely register it.All I feel is him.His presence like a riptide disguised as a man.
My heart hammers in my chest, each beat a war drum loud enough to echo in the hollowness between us.But it doesn’t stop me.If anything, it drives me.I move toward him faster now, like gravity no longer applies.Like I was meant to drift toward this monster in the dark.Slow and measured with a knife in hand.Not because I’ll actually use it, but because I need the illusion of control.
The glass door is open just enough to let the cold bleed in.Just enough for the scent of rain and pine and something darker to wrap around my ankles like a leash.He notices the knife immediately.A grin unfurls across his face, crooked, feral and dangerous.
“And what are you planning to do with that, little lamb?”His deep voice slides over me like black velvet and underneath it, the rasp of something sharp.Something that cuts even when whispered.I swallow, the motion scraping against the dry heat in my throat.“Don’t test me.”
“I’m not.”He steps closer.Slow and controlled.I square my shoulders and lift my chin.My hands are still trembling, but I wrap them around myself like armor, the knife clutched tightly in my fist.
“What are you doing here?”My voice is sharper than I feel.“Why are you following me?”His smile doesn’t falter.If anything, it deepens.A slow, snake-like expression that unfurls across his face as if he's relishing the question.
“You’ve been watching me,” I accuse.“Sending messages.You stole my painting.”His eyes flash.
“Yes.”No apology.No denial.Just a single, ice-slicked confession that makes the hairs on the back of my neck rise.
“And you think that’s okay?”I whisper.“You think stalking someone isnormal?”He tilts his head, almost thoughtful.
“No.”A pause.“But I don’t give a fuck about normal.Normal doesn’t keep you alive.”
That stops me cold.I blink.“What?”
“You think this is about obsession?”He steps closer again and slides the door open enough for him to slip through, one boot over the threshold now.“You think I’m here because I’m broken.Dangerous and delusional?”A beat.“If so, you’re right.”My breath catches.“But I’m also the only one protecting you right now.”
“From what?”He doesn’t answer.Just tilts his head.Then, softly, like he’s asking me to take my clothes off, he says, “Drop the knife.”I hold my ground.
“No.”His eyes narrow, but not in anger.More like ...disappointment.
“Shame.”He takes one step back.“That’s just a damn shame.”
I blink.“What?”
He shrugs, turns.Begins to walk away.“I’ve had many opportunities to hurt you if that was what I wanted to do.But you don’t trust me yet.That’s understandable, I guess.I’ll just leave then.”
No.That single syllable pulses through my chest like a flare.I don’t say it out loud, but my hand moves.Slowly.Almost like it belongs to someone else, and then the knife slips from my fingers.It clatters to the floor and he stops.
He doesn’t look back right away.I can’t explain why I did it.Not to myself.Not to anyone.But my heart lifts a little when he turns back, slow and controlled like he’s savoring every second, and steps forward again.He towers over me.Shadowed like danger personified.
The night spills in behind him like smoke and everything stills for a moment.And then he’s in front of me.He reaches up, so slowly I barely see the movement and brushes his knuckles along my cheek.A whisper of contact that sets fire to my skin.He pushes a strand of hair behind my ear.Then he whispers, low and cruel, “Did you enjoy your little coffee date with the neighbor?I saw you.You smiled like you were trying to pretend I wasn’t there.”His voice is low, curved around something cruel and jealous.“Tell me, did it work?”The words are quiet, but they hit like a whip.
The heat snaps out of me, rage and shame and something darker lighting up beneath my skin like wildfire.“Don’t do that,” I spit.“Don’t act like you know my thoughts.I joined Carl for coffee because I wanted to.It had absolutely nothing to do with you.”
He tilts his head.Smiles like sin dressed in restraint.“Oh, really?You think I don’t know what runs through that pretty little mind?That I don’t knowyou?”
“You don’t.”I say again, firmer this time as he leans in, deliberate and slow.The air shifts as he does, dense with want and warning.His scent curls around me like mist, filling the air with scents of pine and rain, making my stomach twist into knots.
“I know your heart started racing when we locked eyes the first time, know you think about me enough for it to reflect in your paint, even when you’re drunk.I know that youlike itwhen I watch you.Like knowing that soon, I’ll consume not only your mind but your body.If that’s not the truth, then by all means, tell me I’m wrong, Lila.Go ahead and explain why you are still standing here.Why would you bother inviting a shadow into your life if you’re not intrigued by the dark?”The question guts me.Because he knows he’s right.Because I don’t have an answer.Because I am still here, holding my breath like I’m waiting for a verdict I’ll beg to be guilty of.
I shake my head hard, desperate to shake off the spell he’s casting.“You’re wrong.You can’t just say I’m yours.I’m not an object.I don’tbelongto anyone.”His grin sharpens and there’s no softness in it now, only hunger.His emerald eyes light up with something primal.The kind of look you’d expect from a predator that’s already decided which part of you it wants to bite first.
“Oh, little lamb,” he breathes, “but you do.”
My fists curl at my sides, nails carving crescent moons into my skin like I’m trying to anchor myself to anything but the pull of him.“You think just because you’re obsessed with me that means I should just automatically give myself to you?”
