Page 21 of To Love a Monster
The canvas is blank.But not for long.I start with charcoal first, broad strokes that form a man-shaped shadow.Broad shoulders, the dip of his hood, his stare.I paint his mouth next.Full lips.The kind of mouth made for cruelty or worship, maybe both.Not soft, not sweet.A snarl or a smile.I can’t tell.Because all I can think about is how close I came to tasting him.How my lips hovered there, waiting for the heat of his to break the distance.How my body leaned in like a sinner at the altar who’s ready to kneel.
Then comes the rain.Smeared streaks of silver and gray across his body, dripping from his arms like he’s standing in the middle of a storm and doesn't give a damn about getting wet.He watches me through the canvas, just like he did that night.And when I’m done, I step back and he’s there.Not really, but close enough.
Trapped in oils and shadows and whatever fucked-up fantasy I’ve stitched into my bones.He looks like hunger, like obsession given shape.I swallow hard.My coffee’s gone cold and the painting stares at me from across the room.It feels like a confession I didn’t mean to write.A truth too loud to ignore.
A storm of emotions brew under my skin.Rage, confusion, want.I’m pissed that he’s disappeared after staking his claim, after looking at me like he wanted me to want him.I’m furious that he’s left me pacing like an addict waiting for a fix.
I push off the stool like it’s responsible for the knot in my chest.I tell myself I need air, movement, anything that doesn’t feel like sitting in his absence.I head to the bathroom and flip on the light.When I look in the mirror there’s a tired version of myself staring back.My light eyes look more gray than blue, the skin around them slightly puffy.My lips a little swollen, skin pale except for a slight flush in my cheeks, and my dark hair’s a tangled halo of last night’s sleep.
I splash cold water on my face, press my palms to the counter, and stare at myself until my breathing steadies.I think I just need a run to clear my head.
With my hair wrapped up into a tight bun, I pull on my leggings and a hoodie.Once my shoes are tied tight enough to strangle, I walk to the door and pause with my hand on the knob.Just ...wait.My phone sits on the counter.Silent and dark.I glance back at it, like maybe I missed something.Maybe I blinked and a message slipped past.
I know I shouldn’t, but I reach for it anyway.Wake the screen and let out a deep breath but there are still no new texts and no missed calls.The silence is so loud it feels intentional.Like he’s punishing me.Like he wants me on edge.I hover in the doorway a beat longer than I should, heart beating in rhythms meant for war.Hoping, stupidly, that I’ll feel it again.That prickle at the base of my neck.That knowing.His presence.
But the woods are still, the house is quiet, and I am alone.I shove the door open hard enough to make it echo.If he won’t come to me ...maybe I’ll go find him.I do know where he lives.After all, he implied that I’m in danger.That he’s protecting me.And I deserve to know more.
The trail is cold, damp from last night’s storm.Pine and mist cling to my skin as I push into the woods, lungs burning with each breath.I press harder, much harder than usual.My footsteps are quick and determined, even as my mind reels with thoughts of him.
The cold air slices through my clothes, but I don’t feel it.Not really.Not like I feel the sting of his absence.I reach the path that leads into the woods, and I don’t slow.Can’t.I’m desperate to feel it.To feel him.That sense of being watched.Of being wanted.But the silence is so thick it feels like another person.Like a taunt, like he’s already won and he’s not even here to see it.
My heart thuds in my chest.It echoes in the empty space around me as I push harder, faster, sweat dampening my clothes and clinging to my skin.The trail is slippery and my shoes slide on the wet ground but I keep going.
The woods are still.There’s no wind, no movement.Just the sound of my own breaths coming too fast and too ragged.Pine and damp earth fill the air.It should smell like freedom, like escape, but it doesn’t.It smells like him.Like he’s everywhere and nowhere, all at once.
By the time I reach the end of the loop, my legs are shaking.And that’s when I hear it.Footsteps behind me.Fast and purposeful.I whirl, heart slamming into my ribs as I expect to see him.Wanting it to be him.
I slow, let my hands fall to my knees as I suck in lungfuls of air.There’s a hollow ringing in my ears, a painful pulse in my chest.But worse is the sick disappointment that floods through me as I see who’s approaching.
Carl.Lean, clean-cut, and jogging toward me.“Hey!”he calls, still at a distance but gaining fast.“Didn’t mean to sneak up on you like that.”He slows to a stop in front of me, brushing a hand through his short brown hair.It’s damp with sweat, sticking to his forehead in a way that should be endearing.
“Guess I wasn’t the only one who couldn’t sleep in,” Carl says with a breathless chuckle.“You’re really pushing it this morning.”He gestures to the path, to my shoes caked in mud and my breath coming in fast, uneven bursts.He’s close now, too close.I step back and give him a shrug, casual.“Just needed to clear my head,” I say.It’s not a lie.Not really.But it doesn’t feel like the whole truth, either.
“I was about to make a loop back to the cabin,” Carl says, his smile warm and full of things I don’t want.“Mind if I join you for the rest of your run?”
“Sure.”I say as I start jogging again, pretending like his company is not the last thing I need right now.He falls into step beside me, our strides syncing without effort.For a while, it’s quiet.Just the steady crunch of gravel underfoot and the whisper of wind in the trees.The sun is starting to cut through the canopy of trees now, casting dappled light across the trail like it’s trying to soften the edges of everything.
“You always run this early?”Carl asks, glancing sideways with a breathy chuckle.
“Not always,” I answer.“I should probably make it more of a habit to be honest.”
“Ah,” he nudges me with his elbow, playful.“You should try podcasts.I swear, half the reason I work out is so I can keep up with my murder show backlog.”
“Murder podcasts while running in the woods?”I arch a brow.“That feels like tempting fate.”
“True,” he grins.“But if I ever get murdered, at least I’ll die informed.”It should be cute.And maybe it is.Maybe he’s everything he’s supposed to be—funny, friendly, safe.But I’m not really listening.Because I keep glancing into the woods.My eyes track every shadow between the trees.Every rustle of leaves.I keep expecting to feel it, that slow prickle down my spine.That shift in the air.That sense of being watched.Of him.Of Nikolai.But he’s not here.I know he’s not.But some sick, twisted part of me wants him to step out of the tree line like smoke and ruin, eyes wild and furious that I let another man run beside me.
My stomach coils as Carl’s voice pulls me back.“So, are you running for fun?Or are you training for something?”I blink.“What?Oh.No—no training.Just ...thinking.”
“Deep thoughts, huh?”he says and I glance over at him, offering a tight smile.
“Something like that.”He nods, and we fall back into silence.It should feel companionable and normal, but it doesn’t.I feel the wrongness of it.The trees part as we hit the last bend.Sunlight slants through the branches, casting long golden shadows.Carl wipes the sweat from his brow and shoots me an easy grin.“So, how often do you get out for a run?”
“Oh, just a couple of times a week.Enough to keep my body in shape and head clear I guess” I say with a shrug.
“It shows,” he says, eyes sweeping over my frame.Quick, but not crude.Then back to my face.“You’ve definitely got the body to prove it.Maybe I can join you on a couple of runs while you’re out here.”
“Yeah, sure.”I say, “And thanks,” I add awkwardly.The compliment rolls off me like rain on stone.I don’t even feel it.Not the way I usually would if someone like Carl were to hit on me.Not like I’m supposed to.We slow to a stop near the mailbox, gravel crunching beneath our feet.The sky’s a fading wash of gold and blue, the kind of twilight that pretends to be peaceful.But inside, I’m buzzing.Carl shifts his weight, sliding his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie.
