Monster 05: Devon Shaw

I slept next to Alexa Demont, it seemed, for the better part of my life. When she disappeared, I was so worried I even went as far as to go over to her parent’s house to ask if she was there. She wasn’t.

The week before, we had a fight, so when she didn’t come home that night I thought she would seek refuge in her childhood home, sitting on her bed hugging some forgotten stuffed animal and cursing my name. I thought my anger was the reason she left, because I’d gotten so mad at her for something so stupid.

She returned after nearly three weeks, shaking and bruised, as she stood on our doorstep. It had been raining, too, so she was completely soaked. I’d wondered if she’d walked all the way here from wherever it was that she had been. That was the only thing I could come up with.

I asked her if she was okay, she assured me that she was, and that she just fell on the way back to me. Fell would equal scrapped knees and possible bloody forearms, not faded black-and-blue bruising on her cheeks and neck. This was something else.

I clenched my fists, my anger threatening to erupt. Someone had hit her and I was going to find them, and make them pay, if it was the last thing I ever did. I asked her to tell me, after I’d gotten her a blanket and a cup of tea, what happened. She refused. She said it would be okay. She promised.

It always took awhile to get her back into bed after she had her nightmares. I never asked about them, and she never told me. It was just how she was. I was okay with that. I know what you’re thinking. I’m a bad boyfriend for not caring enough to really know what happened. In truth, the shape Alexa came back in, I’m not sure I wanted to know. I might have done something I’d regret later on.

She asked me immediately to call her therapist, even though it was close to midnight. When I declined, she thrust the phone into my hands and didn’t say another word until I dialed. After, she showered, she asked me to drive here over. I agreed, having seen the way she carried her. On the way to the office, I watched her; she seemed small sitting next to me, and I wondered why she hadn’t gone to the police.

I’m one of those people that think seeing a shrink won’t necessarily help matters. Not saying I think Alexa is crazy. I don’t. This isn’t the first time she’s been to talk to someone. This is the same woman who she went to when her cousin died last summer.

I was brought out of my reverie by the sound of a whimper. I watched her, her face illuminated by soft light through the window, listening for any other signs of distress, and when I heard none I relaxed. It was just a noise, nothing to worry about. She looked peaceful, not night terrors plaguing her at the moment.

When she has those nightmares, it’s horrible. I would wake to find her in another part of the house, crying. Or she’d still be in bed, twisting in her sleep, away from invisible demons.

Tonight was calm, and as I touched her face, she reached up and gripped my hand, her eyes opening slowly. She frowned at me.

“What is it?” she whispered, her hands moving to cradle my face.

I closed my eyes and exhaled. I loved the way her hands felt on my skin, soft and warm. I smiled and leaned in, brushing my lips against hers.

Alexa’s fingers found their way to my waist, pulling me closer. She ran her nails along my back, knowing what the spot did to me, and hooked one of her legs around my torso. She stared at me. I always thought she could see right through me with her green eyes, but I was never sure. It felt like it.

With her nails on me, I let out a small mewling noise. She smirked at me and dragged my head down toward her mouth. All I tasted on her lips was strawberry, from her chap stick, and on her tongue, the faintest trace of vanilla from the ice cream we had.

She frowned when I untangled myself from her and lay next to her. One of my hands was buried under my pillow, the other in her hair, my fingers playing with the strands. She didn’t press the issue of going further, she never did. She seemed content with just this.

“I love you,” I whispered. “And I’m glad you’re okay.”

Of course, even as I said those words, I had no idea just how not okay she really was.