Page 1 of The Monster I Loved
1
PAYBACK’S A BITCH
Summer
The day rolled aroundwithout my say-so. If it were up to me, this day would never have come. I would have lived in limbo forever. In fact, we’d still be in 2015; the good ol’ days. I used to laugh when adults used that phrase, but now I knew better. I longed for better days. Days when I was twenty-one, without a care in the world, spending every day with the man I loved.
Loved!
That same man became the source of all my misery, the suffering so strong that it landed me in therapy.
So, yeah, thank goodness for Marni.
Without our weekly therapy sessions, I might have let those dark thoughts win, the ones that wavered between killing him or myself, and where would that have landed me? Dead or in prison.
The cool breeze greeted me as I closed the door to my home. I took a deep breath to steady my nerves and walked down the driveway to my battered old Honda Civic. For a second, I stood there, allowing the cold air to wash away the prickle of anxiety.As much as I didn’t want to climb into the car and drive, that was what I did next. As I pulled onto the street, I stole a quick glance at my phone. It was a little past 9 AM.I still have time, thankfully. I had an appointment I didn’t want to be late for.
Driving along Broadway, I passed my old elementary school, the library, and Patriots Park, all places filled with memories. The sun was still bright, lower in the sky, and the crisp wind through the car windows reminded me that October 31stwas near. If there was one thing every resident of Tarrytown loved, it was Halloween. Obviously, no law required potential home buyers to love the spooky holiday in order to settle down in Tarrytown. But it made zero sense to move here if Halloween wasn’t your kind of thing. Not with Tarrytown’s close proximity to Sleepy Hollow.
During the month of October, Tarrytown transformed itself into a Halloween haven. Residents celebrated with themed events and desperately tried to outdo their neighbors’ decorations. Jack-o’-lanterns, hanging skeletons, spooky ghosts, and a host of other Halloween-themed décor adorned the front of every home.
I used to love Halloween. Shit, I didn’t outgrow trick-or-treating until one of our neighbors, Mrs. Rose, refused to give me candy when I was in high school. In a mocking tone, she said to me, “Summer, you really should start acting your age.”
As the traffic light turned green, I shook my head, remembering Mrs. Rose’sadvice, and turned into the parking lot. I let out a sigh when I noticed that all the spots were taken. I had to circle the lot three times before I found one. The space was tiny and far away from the building, but it would have to do. I squeezed my car inside the white strips of paint and then had to scramble to the office to make it on time.
Panting like a dog, I pushed the door open, managing a quick nod at the same secretary who’d worked there for the last tenyears, at least. She’d been there every time I arrived for a therapy session, without fail, the same customer service smile plastered on her face. It felt like both yesterday and a decade ago that I’d arrived for my first session with Marni, directly in the aftermath of my dad’s death.
Today, his murderer would be released from prison.
My ex-fiancé.
Too fucking soon if you asked me or anyone else who truly loved my dad.
“Summer, you’re late,” Marni said, pointing to her couch. The wrinkled leather furniture had become my safe place. On it, I cried, yelled, and at times only lay in total silence.
Nodding at Marni, I threw my body down and sank into the cushion. I knew what would be on the agenda for today, and it was the last thing I wanted to talk about (which usually meant it was the thing I needed to talk about the most).
On cue, Marni folded her hands in her lap and said, “Thaddeus gets out of prison today. How do you feel about that?”
It was an excellent question. How did I feel about that?
I stiffened. “My feelings about him haven’t changed.”
At times, I felt like I was chatting with a girlfriend, not a therapist. It was part of the reason I enjoyed the sessions so much and paid so highly for them.
Marni studied me, and I could see she wanted me to answer the question.
What could I say? Ten years ago, my life fell apart. Everything I loved disappeared. At the time, Thaddeus and I were in love. He was the perfect partner; so handsome and incredibly wealthy. What more could a girl ask for?
We werein Thaddeus’s house, which sat on top of the hill. At twenty-one, we’d just finished our undergraduate degrees and were dreaming of our future together. The days were short and cool, and I spent them all with him. Other three-story homes surrounded his house up on the hill. Foam gravestones and adult-sized skeletons adorned the front lawn of the Fitzgerald’s home. A few carved pumpkins rested on the porch, and twinkling orange and black lights framed their door. Inside, the house featured heated marble floors, high ceilings, and large windows with custom drapes. I once asked Thad who cleaned them, and he shrugged and said that a team with ladders, harnesses, and the whole shebang came to clean the windows whenever Aston—the family butler and sometimes driver—called them. Every part of the house screamed ‘wealth.’ Their kitchen had a seamless marble countertop, a large commercial refrigerator, and the walls were lined with expensive (certified, to prove its authenticity) art.
Regardless of the expensive furniture and location, inside the Fitzgerald house was chaotic. That night, Thad’s parents were shouting at each other, which wasn’t anything new. Everyone who knew them wished they’d get a divorce. Some relationships were just beyond saving. Even Thad wished they’d just split up and be done with it. Witnessing the Fitzgeralds scream at each other was like standing in the middle of a war zone, bullets flying and praying none would hit you.
I’d always known that I didn’t want a relationship like that. Love was supposed to be relieving, not distressing. I couldn’t understand why someone would choose to stay with a person they hated so much. Their fights were always about one of twothings: the women John Fitzgerald slept with, and how long he intended to keep embarrassing Gina Fitzgerald.
It wasn’t the first time Thad and I sat in a different room as their argument bled through the drywall.
“Sorry, Summer.” His cheeks were flushed with embarrassment.
