Gods & Monsters

by Saffron A Kent

  “I want to hug you,” I tell him one night over the tiny secret phone he gave me so long ago, which I now hide under the loose floorboard in my room.

  “Close your eyes.”

  At his whisper, my eyes flutter closed. “Okay.”

  “Do you see me?”

  “I always see you.”

  “Now imagine me leaning over and putting my arms around your waist.”

  I do. I imagine it. I wrap my own hand around myself, though my arm isn’t as heavy or warm, nor does it make me feel as secure. I smell the air and pretend it smells like apples, when it’s probably the moth balls and laundry detergent.

  I want to cry but I promise myself that I won’t. I’ll be tear-free tonight. No one wants a crier for a girlfriend. “Are you fisting my dress?”

  “Are you wearing your sexy as fuck pink dress?”

  I clamp my thighs together. “Yes. For you.”

  He groans and I hear rustling. “Fuck.”

  “And are you smelling my skin?” I bite my lip, rubbing my shoulder on my cheek, imagining his soft nose and velvet lips on the spot.

  “And sucking on it.”

  “But you can’t leave a mark on me.”

  “One day I will.”

  “Abel…” I moan, picturing red and purple marks all over my body. They will hurt and throb like bruises do. But I won’t mind them. No, I’ll welcome them because they are made out of love. Too much love. Something so passionate that it becomes painful.

  “You’re imagining it, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yeah. You want me to mark you. And you know what, Pixie?”

  “W-what?”

  “I wouldn’t stop at your neck. I’d mark you everywhere. On your back, your waist, your soft stomach. I bet it’s silky. Silky and so fucking smooth. I’ll suck on the skin, use my teeth and let it go with a pop. It’ll be red by the time I’m done with it. Maybe as red as your nipples.” A grunt. “I keep thinking of them. I keep thinking about your pussy. How wet it gets. How soft it is. Fuck, it’s so soft. Softer than anything in this goddamn world. I should probably be gentle with it, you know. Like, real gentle and slow, but I don’t think I can be.”

  “Why not?” I writhe on the bed, slide my feet up and down, turned on out of my mind.

  “Because I’ve waited too long for it. Too fucking long.” There’s rustling at his end. “You’ve made me wait, haven’t you? You’ve made me go crazy for that sweet pussy.”

  I love it when he talks like that, when his desperation becomes so thick it saws away at his voice. But he’s right. I’m a major idiot for making him wait and playing those games. He loves me so much and I love him, too. And now we can’t see each other as often. I thought we had time until they snatched it away from us.

  “You like it, don’t you? You like it when I beg. When I go horny out of my mind at one smile from you and I come in my pants.”

  I shudder, my core buzzing with his words. “Abel…”

  “Admit it. Admit that’s why you keep saying no.”

  “I…” I look to the dark ceiling, embarrassed and horny. “Yes. I-I love it that you get so crazy about me. It’s… sort of freeing. Makes me feel powerful.”

  He chuckles. “Ah, so my Pixie is a cock-tease. Who knew?”

  I gasp, shaking my head. “I’m not. I am so not. Besides, you tease me too. You don’t let me touch myself as a punishment. You keep telling me what to do and that’s not nice.”

  Okay, so I might be a little bit of a tease. But he’s a jerk too, ordering me around. It’s fun to have a little bit of power. Because I’ve seen what having no power does to a person. I’ve promised myself that I’ll never end up like my dad. Though Abel is nothing like my mom, is he?

  “And you listen to me, don’t you?”

  “Yes. Like an idiot,” I grumble.

  “How about I tell you to touch yourself now, like I’m doing.”

  I forget all about maintaining control and whatnot because I’m drowning in lust now. “You are… touching yourself?”

  “Fuck yeah. I’m jerking off to your voice. Does that make you horny?”

  I swallow, picturing him holding his cock in his large hands. Damn it. I want to be touching it. Me. I want to see his face when he comes in my hand. “Yes.”

  “Then I’m gonna be nice to you, Pixie. So you know how much I love you. How much I hurt for you.”

  “How?” I breathe, squeezing my legs together, my fingers playing with the hem of my pajamas.

  “I’m gonna tell you to touch your tight little clit for me. Can you do that?”

  I tell him yes and my fingers fumble in the dark, reaching for my most achy part. And when he tells me to put a finger inside, I do that too. I follow his every direction until I come before going to sleep, thinking that this was a good night.

  But some nights are hard. Some nights tears flow freely, running down to my hair, soaking the strands, soaking my pillow. Some nights I’m a crying girlfriend.

  “I don’t know how long I can do this. I miss you so much. I hate this town.”

  “Nah, you just love me.”

  “Of course I love you, you f-fucking idiot. Why aren’t you as mad about this as me?”

  “My Pixie is acting all grown up with her swearing and stuff.”

  “Abel, stop making jokes, all right? Be mad with me,” I whisper-hiss.

  “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because if I started, I wouldn’t know how to stop.”

  I clutch the phone tighter at the violent vibrations in his whisper. Violent and fierce. He’s angry and grows angrier every day, doesn’t he? I hate this for him, for us, for our love.

  “I want to tell them, Abel. I think my dad will take our side.” Well, I’m not sure what he can do in front of Mom but maybe he’ll come to our defense like he did before, about Abel.

  “No.”

  “But Abel –”

  He cuts me off, his voice harsh. “No, Pixie. You’re not telling them. Not until I can do something about it. Not until I have the power.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “That means we need to be smart. We need to wait. I need to have some money saved up and you need to be legal. So if things go south, we can do something about it.”

  He’s scaring me. “Like what?”

  “Whatever it takes. Because I’m not letting you go, Pixie. I’m keeping you. Remember I told you that?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I meant it,” he declares.

  I’m going to turn eighteen in just about a month. I’ve never waited for a birthday like I have for this one.

  In four weeks, I’m going to tell my parents about me and Abel. I know it won’t be pretty and my mom will probably freak out. But she’ll come around. I’m almost sure Dad will be on my side; he might not make it known, though.

  There’s simply no case against Abel. Well, except that he’s an Adams, and my mother hates that family.

  As much as I’d like to forget about what happened almost two years ago, I can’t. People look at me with suspicion, like I’m a dying star, ready to collapse on myself. At school, when I pass by the spot where Abel held my hand and said I was his, I’m reminded of that day. His torn-up and angry expression. As if there’s any way that I’d choose a moron like Duke over Abel.

  My Abel is an artist. He’s pure gold. He’s passionate, romantic, intense and playful. He can be a little over-possessive and controlling but that’s okay. I can handle him. I’d never leave him. Never.

  But first I need to do this one thing. I need to survive this last insult to our love. Go to prom with Duke Knight.

  Remember how I said my mom had started to push me toward Duke? It’s gotten worse. Now she doesn’t confine her suggestions to our house. She expresses them in public, namely at church.

  “I think you kids should hang out more.” My mom laughed right alongside Mr. Knight, Duke’s dad. “My Evie’s always busy with her b
ooks. Thank God, she’s stopped going to her treehouse and running around in the fields, though. But she really needs to get out more.”

  “I think you guys should go to prom together,” Mr. Knight suggested.

  Duke smiled tightly and mumbled something about being capable of getting a date on his own. That dick. He turned to me and asked - with his lips, while his eyes said he’d rather be anywhere else in the world right now. Thank God, Sky hadn’t arrived yet. I was hoping I’d have the same luck with my boyfriend but nope. He was there and he watched the whole thing. He stood across the room, his focus on me, his gaze dripping with rage, while my mom nudged me with her elbow and said yes on my behalf.

  I thought someone was strangling me. I felt faint, my vision turning hazy with unshed tears. Even so, I shook my head once, trying to convey to the boy I love that it didn’t matter. Not enough for him to risk another incident. Though we did fight about it on the phone.

  We’ve been fighting ever since. It’s more like a cold war, where he sounds frustrated and angry, and I cry silently, and then he apologizes for making me cry. The next night we do it all over again.

  I’ve debated making myself sick, sticking a finger down my throat to make myself throw up. So Mom thinks I’m too unwell to go. But that’s even worse than staying home where I’m under a constant cloud of suspicion. That would give her more fuel that her daughter is really having an affair with the monster.

  I’ve also debated outright telling her. It’s only four weeks. What’s the worst she can do? But then, I remember what they did with my classmate, Jessica Roberts. Everyone was surprised when she turned up pregnant last year. She was on her way to college to be a pre-med, but she committed the sin and became the slut, instead. My mom’s words, not mine. And naturally, my mother thought it was Abel. Until Jessica came out and admitted to falling in love with a college guy who was visiting the town. In the end, her parents sent her away. I don’t know where she is in the world, but I hope she’s okay.

  So I can’t risk it. I can’t risk being sent away to God only knows where, when we’re so close to the goal.

  When Duke arrives at my house, I hardly spare him a glance. My mom takes pictures and all I do is stare at her with all the hatred I’ve felt over the years. While Abel’s camera makes me feel alive, free, immortal even, every click of my mom’s camera kills my spirit. She tells me to smile and I ignore her. We glare at each other while my dad stands off to the side. I hate him so much, too. I hate everyone right now.

  Once the pictures are done, we head out. I don’t realize when the car pulls out of the driveway, and neither do I care. I’m looking out the window, but I barely pay attention to the road or to the scenery. When the car stops, I take off my seatbelt, ready to get out and away from the guy next to me. But I pause, realizing that we’re not at the school. We’re in town. But mainly, we’re in front of Mr. B’s store. Where Abel lives, right upstairs.

  “What… What are we doing here?”

  Duke’s hands stay on the steering wheel as he shrugs. “Go.”

  “What?”

  He turns to me. “Go. He’s probably already plotting my murder up there.”

  My heart starts pounding. “W-What? Who?” It’s a dumb question and I’m not that good of an actress when directly confronted.

  “Really?” He sighs and faces me. “Look, I know you hate me. Trust me, it wasn’t my intention to hurt Adams or to hurt you. I was just –”

  “You were just messing with Sky like you always do.”

  He squints his eyes, probably thinking up a lie. But he surprises me. “Yeah.”

  I study him. He looks the same: spiky gelled hair, starched shirt, expensive watch. But his gestures, his demeanor, they’re different. “Why’d you kiss her?”

  After everything settled down, I asked Sky about the kiss. She said it came out of nowhere. One minute, they were fighting and the next, his lips were on hers. I asked her how it felt and she said he tasted like shit. Very graphic and unnecessary description. But I had a feeling she was lying, even to herself.

  Something flashes on Duke’s face, like he’s reliving the memory. Like he’s been reliving it ever since it happened. I know that look.

  “Because I wanted to.”

  “You wanted to kiss Sky, your arch-nemesis.”

  He scoffs. “Yeah. She’s that, isn’t she?” He thumps his head on the headrest. “Has she always been this crazy?”

  Despite myself, I smile. “You mean, bloodthirsty? Yeah.”

  “Why?” He sounds so perplexed, like he has no idea when their enmity started. Like he’s forgotten years of him trying to get her into trouble.

  “Well, if you’re asking why she wants to kill you, I think you already know the answer. But if you’re asking in general, then I’d say…” I think about it. “Skylar Davis aka Sky aka my best friend wants to change the world. She hates it that her mom’s a maid and people like you look down on her because of that.”

  “But Sky is a maid. She can’t change that. You can’t change who you are, who you’re supposed to be.”

  “No, Duke. Sky isn’t a maid. Her mom is. And there’s nothing wrong with it, by the way.” I shake my head. “I’m starting to think that maybe she should change the world. Because the world is full of assholes like you.”

  His chuckle echoes in the leathered confines of the car. “Ah. Evie Hart said a bad word. I’m guessing that’s your boyfriend’s doing.”

  “My boyfriend is worth ten guys like you. In fact, my Abel is better than this entire town.”

  Duke smirks. “Then you shouldn’t be wasting your time chatting with me. You should go on up.”

  “What’s the catch?”

  “No catch.”

  “Really? You really want me to believe that?”

  He nods. “Look, consider this my good deed. I fucked things up for you, so now I’m sort of making things right. Besides, no offense but I don’t wanna spend my evening with a bitchy version of you. So I’ll be back to take you home in time.”

  “Ah, Duke Knight said two bad words. I didn’t know you cursed. Sky did though.”

  “Sky.” He sighs, long and sort of lonely. “I wonder what she’s up to tonight.”

  “Hey, don’t you mess with her. She doesn’t need your crap.”

  He chuckles like the devil he is and completely ignores what I just said. “Tick tock, Cinderella. Get going. Time’s running out.”

  I don’t remember getting out of Duke’s car or climbing up the rickety stairs that lead up to my boyfriend’s apartment, but I’m standing in front of his door.

  It’s white but has patches of yellow on it. The paint is peeling and the brass knob is scratched and scraped. This is the very first time I’m seeing it; I have been so careful to never sneak out to his place lest someone sees me, but tonight I don’t care. By all means, this is a door I wouldn’t look twice at. This is a door that’s shabby, falling apart like these white, discolored walls.

  But my Abel lives on the other side.

  That’s all that matters to me. I put my hand on the faded, ill-painted wood about to knock, but it wrenches open before I can, making me stumble back a bit.

  Abel stands at the threshold with a frown, his chest punching his black t-shirt with every breath he takes. His hair’s all messy, like he’s been sleeping for a decade, but his eyes are bloodshot, suggesting he hasn’t slept at all.

  “Pixie?” His voice is rumbly and it’s so good to hear it in person that my entire body sighs. I can’t remember the last time we talked face to face. I’d forgotten the shape of his lips, how they mold around my name, Pixie. As if it’s the most important name he’s ever said or he’ll ever say.

  “Abel,” I whisper, smiling even as my eyes feel heavy with all the pent-up emotions.

  He’s looking me up and down, flicking his gaze all over my body, and for the first time, I feel like a girl, maybe even a woman. For days at a time, I don’t think about the clothes I’m wearing or the braid t
hat my mom has me do. I don’t feel anything. Not a single thing. The time that I truly feel alive is when his eyes are on me, or when he’s whispering in my ear, at night.

  I feel alive now. My heart’s racing in my chest, banging against my ribcage. Every breath I take makes me realize that I’m wearing a dress with a low neckline, not crazy low but lower than what I usually wear, with a tiny hint of cleavage. The sleeves and bodice of my dress are pure lace with flowers and it fits me like a second skin up until my hips. And then, it flares into shiny waves of fabric and reaches a little over my knees.

  Does he like it? It’s his favorite color: black. Though I know he likes pink on me more than anything.

  Why isn’t he saying anything? I look down at my feet and wiggle my toes inside my low-heeled black pumps. Then I look up, feeling more unsure than ever. Usually, he’s the one yanking me inside closets and classrooms, gathering me in his arms, touching me one way or another. But he isn’t doing any of that right now.

  “Can I come in?” My voice breaks as I ask the question.

  He blinks, waking up from some sort of sleep, and then, he does what he always does, pulls me inside and shuts the door with a thud, his gestures loud and sure.

  “What… I thought I was dreaming.” He swallows, his palms flat on the wood, on either side of me, making a cage of tanned muscles and bones. “I’ve been going out of my mind all day, thinking about you with that fucker. Been kicking myself for being an asshole to you all week.” He leans down, his wildly heaving chest pressing into me. “I was going to take you.”

  Something in his tone makes me shiver. “T-take me from where?”

  “From him. From your school. I knew you’d be arriving right about now so I was going to get you. Going to tell the whole world you’re mine.”

  I know he isn’t lying. I know he would’ve done it, whatever he was thinking of doing before I got here.

  It shouldn’t make me all melty and slippery. It shouldn’t make me clench my thighs because honest to God, this is scary. Borderline criminal and crazy. And I know that if he had decided to take me, I wouldn’t have resisted. I would’ve gone with him, with a savagely beating heart and a healthy dose of fear and excitement in my stomach.