Gods & Monsters

by Saffron A Kent

  I’m feeling vulnerable, all of a sudden. I mean, we’re married, and I know things have been undecided between us. But my mandatory bed rest has been over for a while, and I still haven’t moved out and he hasn’t asked me to, either.

  Slowly, he comes out of the fridge and faces me. His golden hair is slightly wet from the snow, sticking to his forehead and his black shirt is faded and hole-ridden. His silver cross is moving with his heaving chest. With the way his body is shuddering, he’s either breathing all the air around him or he isn’t getting the oxygen he needs.

  “Abel?”

  He gulps. “You aren’t kidding.”

  “No.” I shake my head. “I want to. I’ve been wanting to for some time now.”

  He gulps again and his eyes go wide. God, how is it possible for any man to be this strong and this vulnerable, at the same time.

  “I...” He shakes his head, placing his palms on top of the counter, like he needs support to keep standing. “Does it mean… that I can tell you, now?”

  “Tell me what?”

  “How much I love you.”

  Biting my lip, I nod. “Yes.”

  I don’t know how he does it. I don’t know how he makes me want to jump his bones and clutch him to my chest, at the same time. Butterflies are exploding inside my swollen stomach, even as my eyes are filling with water.

  His exhale is huge and noisy. When he looks at me, I feel his stare fluttering over my skin. Every emotion that runs through the beautiful brown depths of his gaze is touching me, too.

  “I love you, Pixie,” he rasps. “I’ve loved you for years but it’s nothing compared to how many years I’m going to love you. How every day I feel this… thing expand in my chest. It’s like watching you grow my baby – our baby – made me realize how fucking lucky I am. It’s like everything wrong in my world has been worth it. Every pain has been for this, and I don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve this beautiful thing, because what the fuck am I doing to you. I’m making you sick. You throw up all the time. You can’t go to work. You can’t even eat your chocolate, anymore.”

  I chuckle; it’s a combination of a sob and laughter. “I don’t care about the chocolate.”

  “And that’s the thing, isn’t it? When will it stop? When will I stop giving you pain? Why the hell can’t it be easy? Why does it have to be so hard?”

  “Because we’re making a life, Abel. Giving birth to a life is always hard. It’s always painful. Things crash and collide and explode. That’s why it’s called the big bang.”

  We stare at each other for a while. I’m letting all my emotions show and so is he. He’s showing me how much he loves me, how afraid he is, how ecstatic. And I’m doing the same. Words are great, but after years, we don’t need them. We know each other inside out.

  “I felt it, you know,” he whispers, like a happy little kid. “When I touched your stomach that day. On the bench. I feel it every time I touch it. The big bang.”

  I smile. “Yeah.”

  “Are you really going to be here. With me?”

  “Yes. I was always going to come back to you, Abel.” I cover his trembling hands with mine. He calms down, then. His shivers stop at my touch. “I was always yours.”

  His eyes go liquid and reddish. “I thought I lost you. I wouldn’t have asked you to stay. I’ve been counting down days till she comes into the world but I also wanted to stop time. Somehow, I wanted to keep you here.”

  “You can keep me, you know. I’m yours to keep.”

  Abel leans over and places a small kiss on my lips. This is the first kiss after I spontaneously, kissed him outside of the doctor’s office. This one is soft and feathery, with beginnings of an explosion of need.

  It reminds me of our very first kiss. Up at the treehouse.

  Abel rests our foreheads together, his palms now cupping my cheeks, simply breathing me in, savoring me. Savoring us.

  “You can stop time again, Abel,” I whisper.

  “What?”

  “I bought something for you.”

  He stills when my meaning dawns on him. He tries to move away, but I don’t let him. I keep his hands glued to my face.

  “Pixie, I can’t —”

  “I’m not afraid of you.”

  Maybe it’s my tone, the tone I used when we talked for the very first time on that bus, but we’re thrown back to that day, both of us. I was so fascinated by him, so taken. I couldn’t stop thinking about him, not for a single second. Even then, I knew I was his and he was mine. I didn’t understand it but I knew it. I felt it.

  I still feel that.

  Fourteen-year-old Abel tried to scare me away. Now, I know it was the show of vulnerability. He wanted me too much but he was afraid of rejection.

  Older Abel swallows and does the same. “What if I told you I bite?”

  “Then I’d tell you that I’m still not afraid. Plus, I bite too, you know.”

  His grip flexes on my face, as if everything inside him is too much to deal with. “I nearly destroyed everything with that.”

  “No, we destroyed everything with what was inside us. Camera was just a tool. Camera’s what you make of it. You used it to hide before and then, we used it for revenge. But now, we’re going to use it to come closer. To capture moments. To have fun. It’s not going to rule our life, Abel. Nothing will.” I put my hands on his cheeks and press our foreheads together. “Do you hear me? We’re stronger now. We know better and I forgive you. I do. I have. This is our last burden. I want you to forgive yourself.”

  “How’d you get to be so incredible?”

  I chuckle, kissing his nose. “Because God made me for you and he knew you’d probably be an idiot sometimes.”

  “Yeah.” His answering chuckle is so sweet. So, so sweet and sexy. “I love you so much.”

  “I love you.”

  “And I love her.”

  She kicks in my stomach. “I do, too.”

  We breathe each other in for a few seconds before Abel moves away, smiling. It is so carefree and playful — a grin, really — that I can’t help but smile back. He walks around the counter and before I can question him, he gathers me in his arms and carries me to our bed. The bed only I’ve been sleeping in for the past few weeks; he always took the couch.

  “Abel! Oh my God, put me down. I’m a whale.”

  “You’re the mother of my child.”

  “I’m heavy.”

  “Nah. You’re exactly right.”

  He lays me down on the cream-colored bedsheet, hovering over me, his silver cross swinging back and forth, as he places a soft kiss on my forehead.

  “What are you doing? What about the camera? The pictures?”

  He gets on the bed and crawls over, and drags me to his side, putting his hand on my swollen belly. “Eh, we have time for that later. Right now, I wanna be with my wife and my daughter.”

  I smile, happiness blooming in my chest. Happiness and contentment. The kind that can only come from sinking into Abel’s chest and his apple scent. “We still don’t know if it’s a girl.”

  “It is. I know it.” He rubs my stomach, as if lulling our daughter to sleep.

  The movements of his hand are soothing and gentle, and something occurs to me.

  “Hey, you know, the day you came into the town and I saw you? Out in the fields? I’d just gotten my first period. I woke up and saw all that blood. I thought I was going to die.”

  “You’re not gonna die, Pixie.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah. And neither am I.”

  “Okay.” I roll my eyes.

  “Because legends don’t die. Our story’s gonna live forever. Abel and his Pixie.”

  “You’re crazy.” I can barely contain my smile.

  He grins and closes his eyes. “Only for you.”

  Sighing, I marvel about the mysteries of life. I met him when I was on the verge of womanhood. Everything was changing, and I didn’t even know it. And now I’m here, with him, on this bed. T
hings are changing once again. I’m on the verge of something new. Motherhood.

  There’s poetry in nature.

  I close my lids, as well and imagine a little girl who looks like Abel. I never wanted to change the world, except for a little while there, when I was angry and hurting. I don’t know if a girl like me is even capable of making a difference, but I can do my part.

  I can teach my daughter to be forgiving and kind. I can teach her to never go to sleep without doing at least one good deed for someone else. I can teach her to have faith in herself. I can teach her to be strong, to feel, to love, to hurt, and to love again.

  And I can tell her a story about a golden-haired boy. People called him the monster but a blue-eyed girl thought he was her god. He was neither. He was only a boy, who drew, who wanted friends, and whose favorite fruit was an apple.

  But most of all, he was a boy who felt things deeply. He was a boy who loved, with everything that he was.

  THE END

  Thank you for reading Abel and Evie’s story. I like to see it as an unconventional coming of age. This book came to me in pieces. I had so many things to say with this story that for the longest time, everything was muddled. Even after I wrote The End, I knew something was missing. Thanks to the best beta readers in the world, I was able to figure out the theme of this book.

  And the theme of this book is people.

  How we see ourselves. How others see us. What do we do if we are misunderstood? Do we react? What is God? Who is He? What is faith?

  Above are some of the things that I’ve always struggled with. I wish I was brave enough to have faith in higher power. I wish I was brave enough to embrace religion fully. But I’m not. I admire people who believe, however. Like Abel, I only believe in myself, and even that is hard to come by sometimes.

  With this book, I hope someone out there who’s struggling with similar things, can find some hope. It’s okay to have doubts. It’s okay to make mistakes. It’s okay to be lost and hurt and react.

  But most importantly, it’s okay to forgive. It’s okay to learn and move on. It’s okay to forgive others and it’s definitely, okay to forgive yourself. Because if you don’t, then who will?

  And now, a poem that is fitting for the book.

  The Cross

  By Sonal Dutt

  The cross at his neck

  Makes me gasp for breath

  Slithering on my skin

  Recreating every sin.

  The words on his tongue

  Make me come undone

  Etching themselves on my soul

  With him, I’m whole. His actions.

  His deeds.

  His promises.

  Dirty, filthy, wrong

  Mine. All Mine.

  Sky and Duke’s story ... Coming Fall 2018

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  My husband: He’s my entire support system. I don’t know what I’d do without him. Thank you for being my sounding board on this one. I love you, honey.

  My family: Thank you for being there for me and for supporting my passion. I hope I make you proud.

  My person #1 (Isabel Love): Thank you for reading this story over and over, and assuring me that it’s not a bunch of crap. You save my sanity every day.

  My person #2 (Renate Thompson): Thank you for reading my story TWICE, even though you were traveling around the world and super freaking busy with your life. I’m such a fucking bitch for doing this to you. You’re my ROCKSTAR.

  My betas: Mara White, Suzanne West, Julia Heudorf, Melissa Panio-Peterson, Sarah Green, Meire Dias and Serena McDonald. Sorry for making you read this LONG book in one week, and thank YOU for coming through. I hope you guys know that you’re my people. You’re my village, and your support and encouragement means the world to me.

  My early readers: Kate Stewart, Autumn Grey, Heather M. Orgeron and Dylan Allen. You guys give me life with your comments and enthusiasm. I never thought I’d find my kind of people, but that’s exactly what you ladies are. MY kind of people. I love you!

  Serena McDonald: I’ve said this before but I’ll say it again: you’re a one-woman army. Your enthusiasm and passion for books is unmatched. Thank you for all that you do for me and my stories. And thank you for picking out a BAZILLION quotes for this one.

  My agent, Meire Dias: I’m so glad to have you on my team. Your advice means so much to me. Thank you for being always so supportive and honest.

  A. M. Johnson: Thank you so much for being my music inspiration in this. I’m not even ashamed to say that I stalked your Spotify!

  Authors I’ve met along the way: Thank you for being kind to me, for sharing your wisdom with me, for including me in your circle. Most of all, thank you for being genuine, through and through. The book world is a better place with you in it.

  Purple Hearts: My readers are the BEST readers in the world. Their support and enthusiasm get me through some of my hardest days. THANK YOU for not only taking a chance on my stories, but also embracing them with open hearts.

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  A War Like Ours © 2017 by Saffron A. Kent

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  First Scarlet Rose Edition, 2017

  Print ISBN: 978-1-5092-1364-1

  Digital ISBN: 978-1-5092-1365-8

  James splayed his fingers, taking hold of my entire cheek. He stared into my wet eyes. “Let the pain take over. Let it own you, turn you inside out. Let it win, Madison. That’s the only way to stop this, to stop feeling.”

  Yes, I wanted that. I wanted it to stop. Was that why I wanted him to hurt me, dominate me?

  Touching the hot skin of his forearms, tracing the bumpy veins and coarse hair, I whispered, “Show me how.”

  His eyes took in my entire body, an urgent sweep of perusal. They grew heated, as if filled with angry, unforgiving lust. Biting rage and passion, glinting like that of an animal. My back arched without my say-so, and my heaving breasts pressed against the planes of his chest. I clawed at his forearm, unable to stop myself. Apparently, I was a scratcher. It was soothing. Who knew? A melody of sharp nails and stinging skin. I looked at his lips. If I took one more step toward him, I’d touch them, taste them, taste the hint of his blood.

  I didn’t know who made the first move. But suddenly his hot lips were on mine and I was kissing him, sucking them into my mouth.

  He shuddered, and I was right there with him. That first contact felt life-changing, breath-stealing, colorful behind my closed eyes. His taste was just as it should be, masculine, minty with a touch of tart apple juice and metallic blood. I fisted his shirt to bring him even closer. Hard planes of his chest cut into the soft curves of mine.

  His arms wrapped around my waist and squeezed tightly, to the point where I filled his mouth with the last of my breath, moaning. It felt like I was dying, and my skin came alive, buzzing and humming. He crushed my breasts against his rough, angular pecs. The pain fanned my need for him. I bit his lower lip, and he growled, biting me back. He pushed me until my back thumped against the tree.

  All while feeding on my lips, he encircled my neck with one hand and tugged my hair with the other. The rough texture of his fingers d
rove me crazy, making me scratch his shirt-covered back as I locked my thighs around his waist. I pushed my core into his. It was wet, starving for him. Growling, he dug his torso into mine, making me feel his cock through his pants, big and hard.

  I’d forgotten how good it could be with a man, how rough and unpolished. It’d been four years since I’d experienced something so dynamic and feral. I never wanted it to end. I didn’t know how long we latched on to each other’s lips, sucking, stroking, lapping, making sounds of pleasure or pain. Who the fuck cared? I didn’t. Then his lips were gone, and I wheezed in a breath. I didn’t like it. I didn’t want to breathe. I wanted him. I looked at him and found him staring at my lips, his eyes wild and drowsy at the same time. A moment later his weight was gone, too. Why did he move away? I wanted him back.

  He wiped the wetness from his lips—the wetness I gave him—with the back of his hands, and my arousal disappeared into the night. “This can’t happen again.”

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  The Unrequited © 2017 by Saffron A. Kent

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  ISBN: 978-1-5480-4833-4

  I’m hit by a storm of desire to kiss him better. It’s a tornado, an avalanche in my body, and in one breathless moment, I decide to go for it. It’s okay. I can take the blame for it later.

  I break the rules and reach up and kiss him. A feathery peck on his plump lips, it’s a kiss of solidarity, a kiss that intends to tell him I understand—but one isn’t enough. It only manages to ratchet up my lust. So I give him another, this time on the corner of his mouth, and then another one on his jaw.