Gods & Monsters

by Saffron A Kent

  If I didn’t know him, I’d be scared of him right now. A tall boy barely able to fit inside my treehouse, vibrating with anger, his features all sharp and poky. I know it’s no use lying to him. Might as well tell him and make him see it’s nothing serious.

  “It’s just something my mom does when she gets angry. I was talking on the phone with Sky and time got away from me, and she got mad and sort of pinched me. It’s nothing. Doesn’t even hurt.”

  “Is that why you’re about to cry? Because it doesn’t hurt?”

  “Abel, it’s nothing. Really.”

  “That fucking bitch.” His fists are clenched on his thighs. “I’m gonna —”

  I cover his hands and stop him. “You’re not gonna do anything. Promise me, okay?”

  “No.”

  “Please. I can’t lose you,” I plead. “Promise me you won’t do anything. I’m okay.” I know he’s still angry so I play the card that he won’t be able to refuse. “Will you… Will you hug me?”

  He releases a deep breath, blinking. He jerks out a nod and that’s all the permission I need. I dive and fit myself in the crevices of his body as he wraps his arms around the subtle dips of mine.

  We stay like that for a while, until his anger is drained. He’s clutching me tight like he’ll never let go, caressing my hair, circling my back, kissing my forehead. Gosh, this boy. No wonder I can’t stop thinking about him. He’s amazing. The best guy I’ve ever known.

  We’re relaxed now, even though his hold on me hasn’t let up. But then I remember what started all of this.

  Phone.

  Oh my God. He bought me a phone. How did he even buy it? Where did he get the money? I know his uncle, Peter Adams, gives him a minimal amount of allowance, which more often than not goes to his bought lunches and other supplies.

  Peter Adams isn’t a very present guardian, from what I’ve seen. They barely cross paths during the day. He’s left Abel to his own devices, which I totally hate. That’s why I bring him cookies and PB&J sandwiches when Mom’s not looking.

  “Abel?” I sit up straight. “How did you buy the phone?”

  “The regular way. Went to the store and asked for it.”

  “You know what I mean.” I hit his shoulder. “How did you pay for it?”

  He rubs the spot. “Damn, you’re bossy. Anyone ever tell you that?”

  I huff. “Yes. My boyfriend.” His eyes flare at boyfriend and my heart stutters. But, focus! “Tell me how you paid for it.”

  At that, all playfulness vanishes from his face and he sighs. “I can’t lie to you, Pixie. Don’t make me lie to you.”

  Now, I’m really worried. My heart’s slamming against my chest, but the rhythm of the beats is different. It’s not excitement but dread. “What did you do?”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “It does.” I clutch the silver necklace on his chest. “Tell me, Abel. Please. Tell me what you did.”

  “I sold my camera.”

  I don’t breathe for a second. It’s like something hard crashed into my chest and I’m jarred.

  His camera. He sold his camera.

  He got that from his mom. That and the silver necklace he wears. Those are the only things he’s left of his parents.

  Sometimes I cry myself to sleep thinking about how lonely he is. I pray for him at church. I pray for him to be less lonely. And now, he’s lost one of the two things that matter to him the most.

  Because of me.

  I regain my strength because I’m angry — at him, at me? I don’t know, but I am. All those prayers, all the times I cried for him and like an idiot, he wasted everything.

  God, I hate him. I do.

  I don’t.

  “Pixie, now listen for a second —”

  “I hate you,” I lie on a screech. “I hate you so much, Abel. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.”

  “No, you don’t.” He grits his teeth, anger flashing in his eyes.

  I thrash against his hold with a strength and passion I’ve never felt. “I’m so mad at you. So freaking mad. How could you do that? How could you sell it? It was your mom’s and you loved it. Why would you give it up?”

  His hold on my body tightens. It tightens to the point of pain, to the point that I can hardly breathe and I’m gasping. But that could also be because I’m crying right now. God, I never thought my heart could break so much. For anything. For him.

  I should be the one consoling him but instead, I’m crying like a five-year-old all because I can’t even imagine the pain he must’ve felt while giving up something so precious.

  “Listen to me, Pixie, and listen closely.” His whip-like voice brings me out of my anger. Keeping me flush with his body, he brings up his hand and wipes my tears gently, totally the opposite of the cadence of his voice, rough and raw. “When I first came here, I fucking hated this place. I was all ready to run away the next day until Mr. B found me on the street and brought me to church. Said he wanted me to find peace in God.” He scoffs. “Fuck God. Fuck Him and all His power. He took my parents. He orphaned me. He took my control. I don’t need God. I’ll be my own God. I’ll make my own rules. But then I saw you.”

  His voice drops to a whisper, words so thin and air-like that I have to press my palm to where his heart lies, so I can feel that he’s real. That what he’s saying is real. That it belongs in this world and not in a dreamland.

  “You were arguing about something. Your voice was so fucking sweet. I knew you were pretty when I first saw you but in church, under those stained-glass windows… Jesus Christ, you looked like a goddess. The entire time I was there my hand was itching. I had to scratch it against my jeans. I wanted to touch you and then draw your face and then touch you again.” He licks his lips and I feel the throb in mine. “That was the first time in days I hadn’t thought of that phone call I got about my parents. I was thinking about something else. About you.”

  His hand creeps up and fists my loose hair, pulling at the strands. It stings and I hiss but he doesn’t give me relief. I have a feeling that he can’t. I don’t know how I know this, but I do. He’s feeling too much and his emotions are leaching into his actions. I’ve never seen him like this, or anybody else, for that matter. So agitated and… and aggressive.

  “I want you, Pixie. I want you in my life and if I have to sell everything I own, even my soul, I’ll do it. My mom used to say people with no souls are monsters. I don’t mind being one if I get to keep you. And I’m keeping you, Evie.” A current runs through me when he says my real name. “I’m fucking keeping you. Even God can’t snatch you away from me.”

  Oh.

  Okay.

  So many things are happening right now. So. Many. Things.

  I can’t make sense of all of them. The pain in my scalp. The zing in my blood. The pounding of my heart. And there’s a thrill. It scares me how thrilling this sounds. It’s so confusing. It’s messing with my head. But I know one thing for sure. I know that I want him to kiss me, and I won’t mind if he does that lip-suck thing again.

  But first I need to tell him something. Something that’s important. “I don’t hate you.”

  Our chests are colliding like we’re stars in the sky. I was wrong before. This is the big bang. This is crashing. This is how our love story is born.

  “Yeah.” His fingers twitch in my hair.

  “I-I think I… love you.”

  This time his yeah comes out as a breath of relief. Sweet, sweet relief.

  “But isn’t love like a… like a grown-up thing? I mean, aren’t we… aren’t we too young to feel this way?”

  I don’t know if this is normal. He’s pulling my hair until it hurts. How can that be normal? How can I want him to do more of that? Besides, I’m only thirteen and he’s fifteen. Isn’t love too big a thing for people our age?

  “Says who? God?” he mocks.

  “And people,” I squeak.

  “Fuck God, Pixie. Fuck the world. We’ll be our own gods. You be mine and I�
�ll be yours.”

  I feel dizzy. I literally feel faint right now. My vision is blurring. All I can see is him. His golden hair, his honey-brown eyes and those red-as-apples lips. Is that what Adam and Eve felt when they wanted to bite into that fruit? Is that what Delilah felt when David asked her to be his, against all men and nature?

  I wish I knew. I wish I knew if this is what they all felt because then, I’d be able to say no. I’d be able to tell what this is. I think this is a sin. I mean, didn’t he just bad-mouth God? I don’t believe in that. I don’t believe in screwing off God or bad-mouthing Him. I’m a believer, aren’t I?

  But still, I nod because it feels so right. “Yes.”

  His smile is super close to my own mouth that I feel his lips stretching. And then, I don’t care about anything else. “Will you kiss me like that?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like you did before. With that lip-suck thingy.”

  He chuckles softly. “I love you, Pixie.”

  With that, he kisses me like I asked him to. It’s wet and piercing. Sharp and soft. It tilts my world and makes sparks run under my skin, and I never want him to stop.

  ***

  Later at home, I sit at the dining table with my new phone in the pocket of my dress. I join my hands in front of me while Mom says grace and I think about that kiss. I thumb my tingling lips and realize now I am a believer. Now, with the sparks still running under my skin and stars shooting in my lips, I finally have the proof of His existence.

  “You taste like sugar,” Abel whispers against my lips, making me blush.

  “You taste like apples,” I whisper back.

  “Yeah?” He nuzzles his nose below my ear, tickling me.

  “Abel, stop,” I say, giggling. “We can’t be loud.”

  “In a second.”

  He’s placing feather-soft kisses all over the column of my throat and I’m too weak to resist him. I let my head fall back and look to the dark ceiling of the church closet.

  The service is about to start and I told Sky that I needed to go to the bathroom. We only have about five or at the max, ten minutes, if I’m willing to lie about my digestive system.

  I don’t want to think about it when Abel is making me feel so good, both light and heavy. It’s like my feet don’t touch the ground when he’s this close and kissing me. All I can do is clutch his soft t-shirt between my fingers and lean against him.

  His kisses are not always this feathery light, though. Nope. They can be sharp and wet with his teeth biting me. I once told him that kisses aren’t supposed to hurt. He smirked and bit into my bottom lip gently, saying aren’t they? Remember I told you I bite. Maybe you should’ve listened to me.

  Besides, if I’m being honest, I wouldn’t have it any other way. There was a time when I was obsessed with his lips. Like, really obsessed. I still am but I’ve added a few more things on my list of obsessions: his teeth and his tongue.

  I can’t stop thinking about them. For reals. I can’t stop thinking how his teeth take my fleshy lower lip and pinch just enough to make me want more, and how his tongue leaves wet trails along the seam of my mouth. Sometimes our teeth clack against each other because we’re so desperate. But he’s always mindful of my bruises.

  Abel hates my mom even more now. He glares at her, deliberately gets in her way at church. My mom and Mrs. Weatherby are not happy. They bristle at the sight of him. I keep telling him to cool it, but of course he doesn’t listen.

  “She fucking hurts you, Pixie. I’m not gonna back off. In fact, I should call her out on it.”

  “No. Absolutely not.”

  A few weeks ago, my mom ran out of cheese for lasagna and we made the trip to Mr. B’s store. He’d hired Abel a couple of months ago to work for him. As soon as my mom saw Abel stocking the cereal aisle, she wanted to get out of there. But Mr. B kept chatting her up at the cash register. I had a feeling he knew about Abel and me, and I’ve never loved Mr. B more. I knew our secret was safe with him.

  Even though I had an unobstructed view of Abel, I was only throwing him side-glances, because Mom was right there. But Abel didn’t care. At first, he openly glared at my mom, and then, he moved on to watching me. I was blushing, even though I knew it would make him smile, which would make me blush even harder. I was so nervous, sweaty and red. I kept ducking my head and hiding my face with my hair. But darn it, my hair was braided because Mom wouldn’t let me out of the house with loose, savage hair so it was no use. I bet he was getting a real kick out of it.

  When we left, Mom literally dragged me by my arm. Swallowing, I threw a last glance at him over my shoulder and he winked at me. Jerk.

  That night when I went to bed, I typed in a text with shaking fingers.

  E: Why were you staring at me like that at the store?

  A: Because I can’t not stare at you when you’re around.

  E: What if we’d gotten caught? My mom would’ve killed you.

  A: Not afraid of your mom. But it would’ve been worth it.

  E: You’re crazy.

  A: Only for you.

  And I’m crazy for him.

  But our time in the closet is up and I need to get back to the sermon. I reluctantly push him and his inquisitive lips away and tell him that I need to go. He isn’t happy about it. He frowns and plants a hard kiss on my mouth, mashing our flesh together.

  It hurts every time I have to leave him but it needs to be done. Sometimes I think, what if I didn’t have to leave him? What if I got to stay with him all the time?

  ***

  We’re at the treehouse, as usual.

  I’m writing in my journal, which I haven’t shown my boyfriend yet. Though he’s nosy. I keep telling him it’s private and he keeps telling me there’s nothing private between two people in love. Well, I don’t think that’s true. So, I’m keeping it away from him.

  But now, I’m not interested in writing.

  I look at Abel. He’s sort of sprawled with one leg stretched straight, and sort of crouched, too, with his other leg folded at the knee, and his drawing pad on his thigh. His yellow shirt makes me smile.

  He bought it for me. I told him that he needs more color in his life; he’s always wearing black, and he asked about my favorites.

  “Yellow,” I said, grinning evilly.

  “Cool.”

  “You’re going to get a yellow shirt? Because it’s my favorite color.”

  “Sure. Why not?”

  I didn’t believe him until he actually wore it one day, and I couldn’t catch my breath. I still can’t.

  “Stop staring at me, Pixie.” He smirks and I want to kiss him so bad.

  So. Bad.

  I know if I start then I won’t be able to stop and we’d spend our entire time making out. Not that it’s bad; we’ve done that. But I’m in the mood for something else.

  I shove aside my journal and crawl over to him, fitting myself against his body. Like a perv, I smell the hollow of his throat. I’ve been working up the courage to touch the bare skin of his torso with my fingers. So far, I’ve been really chicken. Someday soon though.

  “Tell me a story.”

  He smiles and kisses my forehead, fishing out his phone from the pocket.

  Abel tells me stories about his mom and dad. David and Delilah. He tells me how his dad used to make his mom laugh. His dad would do something goofy and she would pretend to be mad at him, but then she always ended up laughing.

  Thumbing the screen of his phone, Abel throws out a nostalgic laugh. “So, this one time he was late. He was supposed to be home by five but he got held up. And Mom got really mad because they were going on their date night. Dad brought her flowers and he wouldn’t get inside the house until Mom forgave him. He was literally on his knees, singing stupid songs.” He chuckles. “It was so embarrassing. I told him, Dad, get the fuck up. And he was like, no. Not until your mom loves me back again. He used to say, don’t ever take no for an answer from the woman you love, Abel. Keep at it. She’s gon
na give in eventually. She’s gonna see how much you love her.”

  On the phone, I can see two people, a golden-haired man and a dark-haired woman with a huge smile. They look young and so happy against the entire backdrop of New York City and the setting sun. Abel tells me that they are on top of the Empire State Building. They look so in love.

  I already knew that I could never hate them. I never did. But now I think I’m falling a little in love with their love story.

  Does that make me gross or weird?

  Maybe.

  I hug him. My Abel.

  If it makes me weird, then so be it.

  Beside me there’s a boy who came from them and who misses them, and I love him. There’s no choice but to love his parents and their love.

  His body’s tight and feels so fragile, like he’ll break any second. In the setting sun, his hair looks exactly like his dad’s.

  “What do you think happens to people when they die?” he asks, with an aching, lonely voice. Somehow it still manages to echo inside the treehouse.

  I get even closer to him, plastering the side of my body to his. “Maybe they become stars.”

  We both look up and see the tiny strip of orange sky through the gap in the roof.

  “Yeah? You don’t think they just… vanish? Become worm food?”

  “No.” I move my eyes away from the sky and look up at him. “I know you don’t believe in God or anything like that, but what if there is one? What if the way we met, the way we fell in love… It was all because of Him and your parents. Maybe they are watching us right now, waiting for us to figure everything out. They could be rooting for us, you know.”

  “Or maybe stars are just stars and God’s dead. And I have to figure it out on my own how to keep my goddess forever.”

  “You’re an idiot.” I roll my eyes, even as I kiss his chest. God, that’s really firm and hard and warm. When will I grow the courage to kiss it without his shirt?

  Well, now is not the time. I continue, “If I’m your goddess, then I grant you your wish. You can have me forever.”

  “Yeah? You’re not kidding?”

  “Nope.” I wave my hand over his head and jiggle my fingers. “Wish granted.”