To Love A Monster

by Marina Simcoe

  Listening to Jo’s complaints about the lack of healthy food for children made me think about possibly rearranging some of that money around this month to see if I could buy some healthy snacks for school.

  I wasn’t staying in Rocky River long enough to start any long-term projects, but I could still find a way to help out a little.

  AS SOON AS I COULD move around with the assistance of a walking stick, I made my way to the general store in Rocky River.

  There, I stood in front of a pharmacy shelf, feeling rather at a loss as to what sort of medicine to get for Monster. Would human medicine work on him at all? Or did he mean for me to get it from a vet? What animal could I even tell the vet I needed the pills for?

  With a sigh, I grabbed two family-size bottles of painkillers from the shelf and limped towards the cashier. According to the expiry date on the bottles, the pills were good for two years. They should last him for a while before he needed a refill.

  How would he get a refill? Did someone use to get him pills before me? Was it the same person who taught him how to speak English?

  Somehow the monster knew of painkillers in the first place. In fact, judging by the manner of his speech, he seemed to be very well acquainted with modern human world. As if he had been a part of it once.

  If he had, would there possibly be other things he’d miss?

  I passed by a display of fruit. Fresh fruit was not cheap around here, and the selection was rather small.

  Oranges would be definitely one of the many things I‘d miss if I lived alone in Boreal forest.

  On impulse, I picked up one of the three oranges on display and placed it on the cashier’s counter along with the bottles of painkillers.

  Chapter 13

  THE FOREST LOOKED VERY different from the previous week. Since I’d been here last, close to two feet of snow had fallen, weighing down the branches of the tall pine trees and covering the ground with pristine white.

  The snowfall stopped two days ago, and by now most of the roads had been cleared. Even the private forestry road that led to Monster’s property was passable.

  Bob’s old pickup, which I had borrowed for the trip, held its own, going through the icy patches of frozen mud and taking me to the chain-link fence in just over two hours.

  It was barely noon when I pulled over and trudged through the snow on the side of the road.

  I was much better dressed this time—snow pants, hooded parka, and winter boots, not to mention a warm hat, scarf, and gloves. My leg hardly hurt anymore, but I still walked with a slight limp and used a walking stick to help me make my way through snow and ice.

  Monster told me to leave the bag by the fence, and I stopped there hesitantly. How long would it take him to find the bag? It wasn’t like he came here looking for it every day, was it? What if it took him a few days to pick it up?

  The damn orange would definitely freeze by then or some forest critter would find it. My impulse purchase quickly turned from a goodwill gesture into an inconvenience, and I felt stupid for making it.

  He probably doesn’t even eat oranges. He hunts rabbits, for Goodness sake!

  I shuffled through the snow to the opening that Jason had cut in the fence and crawled through it to the other side. Walking along the fence for a little while, I was still thinking what to do about the stupid orange. What if I tied the bag to a tree branch? Would it be any safer than leaving it on the ground?

  I didn’t hear him approach. Somehow the snow didn’t crunch or squeak under his paws. I knew he was there only when I was spun around and thrust against the fence, the air was knocked out of my chest, and the plastic bag fell out of my hand.

  “What are you doing here?” His breath misted the air between us, his gaze fierce. “I told you not to come back.”

  “Monster . . .” I croaked, trying to calm my racing heart, which wasn’t easy as the bulk of him still hovered uncomfortably close to me.

  With his hands on each side of my head, he hooked the claws through the links of the fence. His body came flush with mine, and his snout dipped to my face.

  “You shouldn’t have come,” he rasped against the skin on my cheek and rubbed the side of his face against mine.

  I felt his cold nose travel along my cheekbone then down the side of my neck.

  The initial fright of his sudden appearance eased, but the tiny icy needles of trepidation were still there. His voice, his touch, even his words felt both unnerving and intimate at the same time.

  “I—I brought your medicine.” I winced, wishing he would let me go.

  We weren’t on the ground. He was not lying on top of me. But the heavy weight of him and the cage of his arms were beginning to feel too restrictive.

  My complete inability to move triggered the old feeling of helplessness, sending my heart into overdrive. I fought the familiar panic already tightening my throat and desperately tried to stall the imminent meltdown.

  “The painkillers . . . Remember?”

  “Of course you did. Wouldn’t that be just like you? Cute, little Sophie shows up in the dark, desolate place, bringing in light and medicine.” His voice sounded coarse, and his words delirious. “Did you bring your asshole photographer, too? To document your act of kindness?”

  What was he saying? And why?

  He pushed further into me, rocking his hips into my lower stomach. The fence groaned under the pressure.

  “Let me go.” It came out more like a warning than a plea while I clung to the shreds of my control.

  My breathing turned shallow and fast, and my sight dimmed and narrowed to a black, cloudy tunnel.

  “What if I don’t? What if I hold on to you this time and never let go, keeping you all to myself?” His breath was hot against my neck. His words made no sense.

  The suffocating helplessness of being trapped—unable to move—closed in on me.

  Choked with horror, I could barely hear him.

  The next moment, the incoming wave of full-on panic attack hit all my senses.

  “No! Please. Let me go!” A terrified shrill cut through me as I thrashed against him. “Get off me! Get your hands off me! Don’t touch me. Don’t you ever, ever touch me!” My hands in front of me, I tore blindly at something—everything that hovered over me, shrouded me, tortured me for years. “Let! Me! Go!”

  “I did.” The deep voice came calm and low, reaching me as if from far away. “Sophie, you’re free.”

  Realizing that the heavy weight of his body was no longer there, I stopped fighting, and my senses slowly brought me back to reality.

  I stood with my back to the fence, my fingers curled through the links, flexing so hard, the metal cut painfully through my gloves.

  My eyes were open, but the world remained out of focus. Everything was just a swirl of white snow streaked with the brown of the tree trunks, Monster’s blurry shape a dark shadow at my side.

  My knees gave in, and I slid to the ground.

  I recognized the knitted thing on the snow in front of me as my hat, which I must have lost during my frenzy.

  My chin trembled, and I closed my eyes again feeling two warm streams roll down my cheeks. I inhaled deeply, mentally counting while I caught my breath.

  “I’m okay,” I whispered, using every single bit of my mental power to will the black wave to retreat. “I’m free. I’m fine. It will pass. It always does.”

  “Always?” The soft fur of his knuckles brushed against my cheeks, soaking up the wet trails of tears. “How often does this happen to you?”

  “I can’t . . .” I shook my head vehemently, without answering his question. “I can’t be held down. I can’t be restrained . . . I have to move. I need to breathe . . .”

  It was worse than that—any contact, with even a hint of being sexual, especially, if mixed with any kind of aggression, could trigger a panic attack in me.

  No surprise that none of my boyfriends stayed for long. In fact, the two full months with Jason was the longest relationship I eve
r had. He just didn’t seem to care enough to be bothered by my issues.

  Monster remained silent for a few seconds as I focused all my attention on one deep breath after another.

  “Since when?” He asked softly, and I noticed that he was now sitting in the snow next to me. “What happened?”

  “Nothing happened,” I replied quickly. “I’m fine because nothing happened,” I repeated the same thing I’d kept telling myself for eight years now, shoving the dark memories deep into the pit of oblivion they had crawled out from triggered by his actions. “I’ll be fine. A little air, and I’ll be fine.”

  He shifted uncomfortably but, thankfully, didn’t insist on an answer.

  “I’m sorry, Sophie.” His voice was rough and strained, as if it cost him a tremendous effort to utter the apology. “I didn’t think—” Elbows on his knees, he raked his claws through his mane. “When I realized you were here . . .” He spoke slowly, choosing the words with care. “I spent the last days trying hard not to feel anything, hoping it would be possible. But one whiff of your scent—” He drew in a deep inhale. “And it all came back again—anger, memories, pain . . . things I don’t even have a name for.”

  His voice sounded soft in the snow-filled landscape.

  I thought back to the night I spent here and to the emotions he displayed then—rage, dislike, annoyance of having to look after me. I recalled him talking about the irritating feeling in his head every time someone came here, and a flush of embarrassment heated my face.

  He had made it clear he didn’t want me on the property. Last time, he couldn’t wait to get rid of me in the morning. He’d told me just to leave the medicine by the fence.

  Yet here I was, trespassing once again.

  “I’d better go.” I searched the ground for my walking stick.

  “Let me take you to the house,” his voice was rough, but with a note of unexpected concern. “You shouldn’t drive in this state.”

  His fingers closed around my walking stick the moment mine did, and I lifted my gaze to his.

  In the light of the bright winter day, I could see every single detail about him clearly. Everything I had missed before.

  His eyes, for one. How could anyone miss those eyes? They were as complex and mysterious as the woods around us. There was the green of the moss, the brown of the bark, even the specks of gold and crimson of the autumn leaves—all the colours of the forest before the snow hid them from sight.

  When he stared at me like this, I could even catch glimpses of sunlight filtering through, bathing me with warmth.

  He still looked every bit the beast he was, but the thought and emotion in those brilliant hazel eyes were wholly human.

  “I’ll start a fire,” he continued. “You can rest and warm up for a while.”

  I shook my head.

  “You said you didn’t want me here. There is a nagging feeling because of my presence.”

  He tilted his head, holding my gaze.

  “Well, without anyone’s presence there is just an empty void.”

  The brief flash of pain in his eyes, more than anything else he could have done or said, compelled me to nod in agreement. I didn’t want to leave him just yet. Still, the little icy needles that had prickled my insides with trepidation I experienced in his presence prompted me to reply cautiously.

  “You scare me.”

  The autumn forest in his eyes frosted over.

  “I scare myself.” Bitterness overpowered the sadness in his tone.

  “Promise me that you won’t hurt me, and I’ll believe you.”

  “I promise,” he said without hesitation. “I will not hurt you, Sophie.”

  He had proven to me that I could rely on his word when he helped me survive that night. I believed I could take the chance and extend my trust once more.

  With another brief nod, I put my hat back on and accepted his hand when he rose to his feet, helping me up, too.

  “I’ll carry you.” He picked up the bag. “It’ll be faster that way.”

  I paused, unsure if I was ready for this much of a close contact with him again.

  “Please, Sophie,” he added, seeing my hesitation.

  My eyes shot up to his in surprise—first a sorry, now a please. So different form his usual rudeness. Astonished, I couldn’t form a reply right away.

  He waited for a few seconds, shifting from foot to foot, then must have taken my silence for agreement and lifted me up in his arms.

  The ends of his fur were frozen in sharp spikes, prickling my cheek when I leaned against his shoulder. I noted that the smell of wet dog was absent this time despite the dampness of his fur. Instead, the freshness of frost and the warm, earthy scent of his skin filled my nostrils. I believed I even caught a trace of something like a men’s cologne or body wash.

  “You smell nice,” I smiled.

  He cleared his throat and shrugged awkwardly.

  “There was shower gel left at the house.”

  “You took a shower?”

  “No, the water at the house is off. I bathe in the river.”

  “Even when it’s this cold?”

  “The river doesn't freeze all the way,” he explained casually, as if the fact that he didn’t have to hack through the ice to go for a dip made the whole winter swimming absolutely normal.

  “The cold doesn’t bother you?”

  “I like swimming.” He glided smoothly through the snow, maneuvering between the trees. “It does get too cold around here, even for me, but most of the year I’m okay.”

  “Do you live in the house at all?” I remembered the abandoned state of the place again, but he managed to make the fire that night, and he knew that the fireplace downstairs was in working order.

  “No.”

  “Are there others, like you?” It was impossible not to think about where he came from and who he was.

  “Others like me?” he scoffed. “I hope not.”

  “You hope? Would you rather be alone? Don’t you have a family?”

  “Sophie.” He stopped suddenly but didn’t set me down. “I’d need a promise from you, too.”

  “You won’t tell me where you came from, will you?”

  Slowly, he moved his head side to side.

  “No. And I don’t want you waste your time asking those questions. Will you promise me not to ask them again?”

  I paused, searching for a way to refuse. Not finding one, I nodded, with regret.

  “I promise.”

  Chapter 14

  IT WAS OBVIOUS MONSTER hadn’t spent any time inside the house since my night here. The front door was half-open again, and the wind had blown enough snow on both sides to keep it frozen in that state until the first thaw if no one hacked it off before then. The heavy, red blanket was still hanging over the broken back door, stopping drafts from blowing through the house.

  As soon as I limped to the couch, Monster took one of the bottles with painkillers out of the bag and dumped a few of the pills in his palm.

  “They’re extra strength,” I warned. I couldn’t tell exactly how many pills he had, but it was definitely more than the recommended dose of two.

  “Well,” he shrugged, “it extra fucking hurts,” and shoved the handful in his mouth then went to get a fire started.

  “You probably shouldn’t take any more pills today,” I offered tentatively, watching him quickly making the flames dance in the fireplace. “Or you might hurt your stomach.”

  “Couldn’t be any worse than that rotten deer carcass I fed on once,” he retorted gruffly.

  “What?” I snorted, my eyebrows rose high in disbelief as my mouth twitched in disgust. “Why would you do that?”

  “Obviously, I’m not what one would call a picky eater.” He smirked and added, “I was pretty hungry. But yeah, it wasn’t fun for a couple of days afterwards.”

  He shrugged. The movement jolted his head a little, and I noticed a slight wince in his expression when he came back to the couch.
/>   “Is it the horns?” I asked as he sat on the floor with his back against the couch next to my knees. “The horns give you headaches?”

  “Yeah. They are a pain. In more ways than one.” He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “It will get better soon. It usually does through the day.”

  He had said so before, but it was afternoon already and the pain was obviously still there.

  Only because he happened to be exactly in the same position as he sat the last time, I ventured to offer again. “Did, um, did the massage help at all? I could try again. If you want.”

  As if he had just waited for me to offer, he shifted closer immediately and leaned against my knees, tipping his head back, into my lap.

  Slowly, I raked my hands through his mane from the furry points of his ears up to his horns.

  “Fuck, it’s good,” he groaned when I made the first set of circles along his temples.

  “It’s helping?” It was always so exciting to hear from people that my efforts loosened the hold of their pain.

  “Mmhmm, don’t stop,” he murmured, his eyes closed. His long, thick eyelashes fluttered a little. The lashes seemed too beautiful and almost out of place on a beast.

  Beast?

  I felt a sharp jolt of shame, catching myself thinking about him as an animal. He might refuse to explain who he was, but I didn’t need his answer to know by now that there was enough of a human in him to be treated as such.

  Gently, I massaged around the base of his horns. Despite his occasional satisfied grunts, his whole body seemed extremely tense. Even through the snow pants I was wearing, I could feel the hard cords of the tightly knotted muscles in his back.

  After finishing the basic steps around his forehead and horns, I raked my fingers through his mane again, applying even pressure here and there for a general head massage to relax him a little.

  Thick and wavy, the golden-brown strands felt soft when I dipped my fingers into them. Even hopelessly tangled, the fur of his mane was surprisingly silky.

  My fingers still deep in his mane, I leaned in and whispered in his pointy ear, “It’s done. Are you feeling better now?”