To Love A Monster

by Marina Simcoe

  “Thank you, Mon—“ I started and cut myself short. “Hunter?” I winced with a nervous smile. “I’m not sure what to call you now.”

  “My name is Hunter,” he said in a tone of a formal introduction. “But the woman I love used to call me Monster.” A lighter note slipped into his tone. “When said by her, it sounded like an endearing nickname.”

  I smiled in response but couldn't bring myself to address him either way—none of the names felt right at the moment.

  “Both are me, Sophie,” he urged.

  I patted his hand and said gently, without addressing him in any way at all, “Thank you for apologizing. I’m sorry, too. For running away without giving us a chance to talk.” I covered his legs with a blanket and moved the side table closer to the couch, intending to leave some food and water for him. “I promise we’ll talk more as soon as you get better. I’ll have to go now to make it back today,” I said and warned, to make it clear, “I’ll need to bring Jo to help you. Can I tell her about you? I’ll ask her to keep your secret. And I trust she will.”

  “Sure, I don’t care,” he brushed it off, seemingly unconcerned. His worries must have lain elsewhere as he took my hand.

  “Just answer one question before you go. Why did you come back, Sophie?”

  My chest heaved as I met his eyes and told him the truth, “Because I can tell myself I hate you, but I can’t make myself stop thinking of you or caring about you. No matter what I do.”

  Chapter 45

  “WHAT, ON EARTH, IS this?”

  Jo’s eyes opened wide, big and round, like two saucers of baby-blue.

  I had told her that a man had been attacked by a cougar near the house in the woods. Jo had access to the drugs needed in case of a wild animal attack. As a nurse working in a remote community, she also had the authority to prescribe antibiotics in a doctor’s absence.

  She followed me in her car because I didn’t want to leave Monster alone again to drive her back to town tomorrow.

  “I told you, he is a man with a condition.” I’d tried to warn her about Monster’s appearance. However, I knew nothing I said would have prepared her for what she saw in front of her now.

  “It’s not a man,” she whispered, shaking her head quickly and not moving from her spot about ten feet away from the couch where Monster appeared to be asleep.

  “Jo, he’s very sick. He needs stitches, shots, antibiotics. God knows what else.” I got down on my knees at his side and touched his hand. He didn’t open his eyes, and a new burst of worry shot through me. His breathing was heavy and his hand felt hot to the touch. I left him hours ago. Infection might have been setting in already. “He needs help, Jo. Quickly.”

  Hesitantly, she took a couple of steps towards the couch.

  “Maybe, you should call a vet? There are different treatments for people and animals, you know. Are you sure he’s not dangerous?”

  “Jo!” I glared over my shoulder at her. “He is not an animal.”

  “Do you see him, Sophie? He doesn’t look human. His biology—”

  “His biology is very compatible with human. Trust me,” I bit out, getting rather offended for Monster at this point, even as I understood that seeing him for the first time would be a shock for anyone.

  “And how can you be so sure about that?” Jo tilted her head to the side.

  “I just am,” I asserted, not ready to divulge any details of just how intimately I had become familiar with Monster’s biology. “Human medicine seems to work on him. Antibiotics should too. Let’s just increase the dosage to account for his above average size.”

  Not that we had a choice here.

  She sighed.

  “Fine. For you. I’ll do what I can. No guarantees, though,” she warned, opening her medicine case. “This is the first time in my life I’m treating someone like this.”

  I nodded with relief, noting that at least she referred to him as “someone”, not “something” this time.

  Jo immediately started an I.V. for Monster then cleaned and expertly stitched the gaping wounds. I assisted her as best I could.

  He opened his eyes once during the process and even managed a greeting for Jo—which almost sent her to the floor on her butt. He seemed lethargic when he spoke or attempted to move, and I hoped it was for the best when his eyelids dropped and he appeared to doze off again.

  “It must’ve hurt like a bitch, without the meds,” Jo noted as we were dressing Monster’s wounds with fresh bandages.

  “I gave him some over-the-counter pain medication before I left. Not much, though, as he already took some this morning. He takes it for chronic headaches. The horns.” I waved my hand over my head. “They bother him.”

  When we were done, I made us some tea.

  “How long have you known him?” Jo asked.

  “Since last fall.” I sat on a bar stool at the island next to her. “He attacked me then helped me through the night when the others left.”

  “He attacked you?” Jo’s eyes flew wide. “So, he was your infamous bear?”

  I nodded, not taking my eyes off the tea in my cup.

  “Why didn’t you tell anyone then?”

  “Why? Jason was out for blood to cover up his own cowardice. All he needed was confirmation about a beast in the woods to have people out with pitchforks, starting a hunt. Besides, I promised him,” I tipped my head towards the living room, “not to tell anyone.”

  “This . . . um . . . man attacked you. Sophie, I treated the scratches on your legs and back.” She shot a cautious glance towards the couch where Monster was still passed out.

  “He did,” I replied slowly, afraid to sound like a woman justifying abuse, even as I knew that was not our case. “He was hardly a human at that point, more like a feral animal. He stopped when I said no, though. And he helped me to survive that night.”

  “What is he, Sophie?”

  “He is a man.” I shrugged. “A man, who happens to looks like a beast.”

  “Okay.” Jo stared inside her cup for a few seconds too then met my eyes again. “This is a personal question, Sophie, but I need to ask. How . . . closely are you involved with this man? I mean, I can see how you look at him, how you touch him. You worry about him.”

  “I do. I care about him.” Now that I had almost lost him, I realized I had no intention of letting him out of my sight, ever again. “And I was . . . um, involved.” I inhaled before confessing. “All the way.”

  Jo just gaped at me wide-eyed for a moment.

  “Like . . . really?” She turned towards the living room, staring at one of the long horns spiraling over the back of the couch. “Sophie, I’m sorry. But, this is just crazy. How is it even possible?” She leaned a little closer to me and lowered her voice. “And how was it?”

  How?

  I thought back to our nights together when Monster loved me and I believed that I loved him too—when his hands touched me, healing me from the inside. I smiled with confidence.

  “How? Fanfuckingtastic, Jo.”

  She giggled unexpectedly.

  “Well, to each their own. Whatever makes you happy. I mean whoever that is. Are you happy, Sophie?”

  I couldn’t talk about the present yet, but the past . . .

  “He did make me happy. Yes. Very much.”

  She shook her head, but a wide smile quickly chased the expression of disbelief off her face.

  “Well, then I’m happy for you, too.” She jumped off her barstool and gave me a big hug.

  “So, are you going to just keep hiding him here forever?” she asked more seriously, taking her seat again.

  “He has no choice but to stay here.” I sighed. “And I’m afraid it’s not safe to tell the rest of the world about him. I can’t predict everything bad that could happen to him if people knew. Unwanted attention from media and tourists would be bad enough. But what if there were a scientific interest from someone who could hurt him? Or some idiots decided to hunt him?”

  “We
ll, if he is a person, he has rights like anyone else.”

  “That might require some time and effort to prove to the world.”

  Jo was right, though, Monster had a name and an identity. He had the right to live and a right to privacy, just like anyone else. And he should be able to live his life openly, like everyone else.

  Sooner or later, coming out of the woods—figuratively speaking—might become necessary for him. His official identity documents must have expired by now or would be expiring soon. Without them it was as if he didn’t exist, which could even mean potentially risking losing ownership of the house in the future. And that would be a real disaster in his situation.

  New worries clouded my mind.

  First of all, he needs to get better.

  I hopped off the stool and walked to the couch. His breathing was heavy, but his expression remained peacefully relaxed.

  “Thank God for you and your drugs, Jo,” I whispered as she came behind me and watched him over my shoulder.

  “Don’t worry,” she replied softly. “He’ll be okay now. No vital organ damage. The muscle tissue and skin will heal in time. But I have to warn you—the scars will be extensive. Honestly, he would need a plastic surgeon if you want to minimize the scarring. Well,” she continued, as if thinking out loud. “The fur will grow between the scars, hopefully long enough to hide them because the scar tissue won’t allow for new fur growth.” Her brow wrinkled in visible concentration. “I have no idea what is better, aesthetically, in this case. Which would you prefer? More fur or less fur?”

  She looked at me, completely serious.

  For some reason Jo’s genuine concern on this matter seemed way too funny to me, and I burst out laughing, covering my mouth to avoid waking up Monster.

  It must be the stress of the past several days and the finally receding adrenaline that made me so lightheaded, but it felt good to laugh.

  “No, really.” Jo smiled back at me. “Is there an optimal amount of fur that makes him sexy for you?”

  “It’s not the fur, Jo.” I grinned wide. “It’s what underneath it that counts.”

  “I bet it is!” She giggled.

  “Honestly.” I elbowed her side. “It’s what he does to show how he feels about me that makes him sexy to me.”

  Chapter 46

  JO LEFT THE FOLLOWING morning, promising to come check on Monster again.

  I was relieved to hear that she had decided to extend her contract in Rocky River for another year after all. And I was delighted when she told me why she changed her mind. A young and, according to Jo, impossibly hot pilot just started a job at the airport. He flew Jo in after her last visit home, and they’d even been on a date already.

  “Sophie, trust me, this is the guy I’m going to marry one day. I never believed in love at first sight, but this is it,” she told me with confidence, making me smile.

  I hugged her as tight as I could when we parted.

  After she left, I set a pot of broth on the stove to warm it up for Monster then went back to the living room to check on him.

  He appeared to be asleep. Jo had removed his I.V. but left a bunch of pills for him to take for the next little while.

  I was no longer the only person in his life. Now, Jo knew of him too. Maybe, instead of despairing over his isolation, we could see about bringing more people into his life? Just because he couldn’t leave here didn’t mean he couldn’t have friends who’d visit him.

  My mom had been asking when she could come over. Maybe instead of coming up with more excuses to keep her away from Monster, I should arrange for them to meet? With his permission of course. Would he want to do it?

  As long as he is well and healthy.

  I knelt by the couch and touched his forehead, feeling for signs of fever. It was hard to tell through the layer of fur if his temperature was elevated, and I touched his nose instead.

  He snickered and opened his eyes.

  “Is it cold and wet, like a good dog’s nose should be? Or is it a cat’s nose that’s supposed to be that way?”

  His voice sounded normal, I noted with relief, just a little raspy from sleep.

  “Both. Healthy pets usually have wet, cold noses,” I replied, a little concerned myself—his nose was dry and rather warm.

  “So what kind of a pet does my nose make me?”

  “You? A pet?” Brought out of my worries by his words, I studied his face.

  His eyes twinkled with humour—he was teasing me again.

  “You’d make a horrible pet.” I shook my head, hiding a smile. “I doubt you’d ever make it through an obedience school with your temper.” I patted his arm, getting up. “I’ll need to get a thermometer to check your fever.”

  “I’m fine,” he growled as I walked to the hallway on my way to the bathroom.

  “Just in case,” I said in a pacifying tone, returning with a thermometer.

  Propped on his arm, he heaved himself up into a sitting position.

  “Careful,” I warned, rushing to him. “You shouldn’t be moving yet or you risk damaging Jo’s handiwork.”

  I stuffed a few pillows under his back, and he leaned on them a little sideways, avoiding putting pressure on his freshly bandaged injuries.

  “How are you feeling?” I leaned over him, contemplating if it would make any sense to put the thermometer under his arm—the layer of fur would undoubtedly skew the reading.

  “I’m fine,” he repeated then solved my dilemma by grabbing the thermometer out of my hand and sticking it in his mouth.

  “That works too, I guess,” I muttered and went to the kitchen for a bowl of broth for him.

  The thermometer beeped when I returned, and he gave it back to me without looking.

  “It’s not bad.” I sat the bowl on the side table and lowered myself on the couch next to him. “Your temperature is a little elevated, but it doesn’t look like you have an infection. Let’s hope it’ll stay away.”

  “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For everything. For looking after me. For getting Jo. For coming back.” His brow furrowed for a moment. “Where have you been? Where did you go when you left? What did you do?”

  “I went to France. Henri passed away.”

  “I’m sorry, Sophie.” His hand covered mine.

  “Thank you. I’m glad I went. I got the chance to say goodbye. We both did.” I squeezed his fingers gently. “You were right, it’s better to forgive. Hurt and regret would be a heavy load to carry for the rest of my life.”

  “Sophie.” His thumb stroked my hand. “I’m not saying I deserve your forgiveness.” He shifted on the couch, wincing from the pain it caused him. “But I’ll ask for it anyway. That night in Calgary has been the greatest regret of my life. I’m not sure an apology can ever make it right. But I am sorry. I’m sorry I attacked you. I’m sorry I ruined your life. I’m sorry I hurt you again the first day I saw you here. God, Sophie,” he groaned and pressed my hand to his forehead, “I would kill and die for you, yet I keep hurting you over and over again.”

  “Why did you do it?” I asked quietly. “Why did you attack me?”

  “When?” he exhaled with a sad smile “Which time?”

  “Well, the last time you were more an animal than yourself, still you stopped when I asked you. Why did you attack me then, eight years ago?”

  With a deep inhale, he turned his face to mine.

  “Sophie. You happened to cross my path at the worst of times. I was stupid, drunk, and angry.”

  “Why? Why were you angry?” I asked and urged when he hesitated, “Tell me. Trust me, it’ll be easier once it’s out.”

  “I had a fight.” He dropped my hand and broke our eye contact, staring somewhere in the distance now. “My father, he . . . Well, I have his temper. I hate it and I try to fight it, but he didn’t even try. He attacked me instead. Ever since I can remember, all of his lessons were taught with his fists. Even when I did what felt like the right thing to do
, I often got punished for it because my father’s rules vastly differed from common morals and ethics.”

  A steel band of sorrow for him tightened painfully around my heart. But I had come back to him ready to listen. So, I clasped my hands in my lap and stilled my breath, hanging on his every word.

  “That day, I thought for once I could fight him back, but he brought a baseball bat to the fist fight. Defeated, hurt, and pissed off, I tried to drown myself in whiskey, which only made it worse. I was angry at my father, at myself for being so weak I couldn’t fight back. I was mad at the world and everyone in it. That’s when you happened to be there . . .”

  He leaned in, his eyes on me again. Dark shadows of pain clouded his expression, surfacing from wherever he had been carrying it inside him all this time.

  “Innocent, oblivious of all that shit in my life, completely blameless, you ended up being hurt the most. I’m so sorry, Sophie. Nothing that happened that night was fair. Especially, to you.”

  “Was it revenge?” I wanted to understand.

  “Revenge.” He inclined his head. “Irrational one. But most of all—power. My father made me feel small and weak. Attacking someone, defeating them, was supposed to make me feel stronger. It didn’t. It made me feel like shit when I realized I turned into my own father, hurting people to get high on power over them. I let you go—”

  “You did?”

  I never paused to think about the reasons why I was suddenly able to get away that night. Too consumed by the panic, I simply ran the moment I could.

  “I let you go then waited for you to report me and for the police to come for me to dish out a well-deserved punishment.”

  “I didn’t want to report it.”

  “I know it now. Anyway, police would’ve been way too easy. Instead, my punishment was supposed to take years and come from within, in the most torturous ways. I had to feel it every moment of my life until I fully comprehended the gravity of every wrong I’ve ever done. Then the pain of regret was supposed to end me.”