She pauses, gazing out the window into the dark cluster of trees surrounding the house. It’s like she loses herself for a time, but eventually, she finds her way back to me.
“Did Chelsea ever tell you I wrote poetry before I became an expert in all things ghouls and goblins?”
I shake my head.
“I studied the subject in college.” She smiles, her hand still perched on the windowsill. “I fell in love with the flow of lyrics, with the emotions a simple poem could invoke. It’s the closest we’ll get to magic, being able to convey certain emotions through words.”
I’m transfixed by her.
Mrs. Deal shakes her head after a moment, giving a short laugh. “I’m sorry, Lock. It’s the wine talking, I swear. It makes me sentimental.”
“It’s okay.” I smile. “I don’t mind.”
“Of course, you don’t.” She chuckles, flipping her notebook open. “You’re just so sweet. But you came here to talk about my monsters, so let’s do that. I’m curious, do you know why I chose to create these books, Lock?”
“Because they’re awesome?”
“That’s true.” She laughs, sinking into the chair behind the desk. “There’s a certain poetry in horror too, if you know how to find it. Why do you think people like to read about these monsters to begin with?”
“I’ve never really thought about it before.”
“We create these otherworldly creatures to explore the things about ourselves we don’t necessarily want to admit. What makes a monster truly terrifying is when it shows a certain humanity. When you can see yourself in the creature, that’s when you feel that shiver creep up your spine.”
I nod along, and I suddenly feel like I should be taking notes.
“Keep that in mind, Lock, and you’ll never have a problem getting a response from your audience. They’ll come back, again and again, to see themselves in your monsters.”
“Do you ever…” I stop, not really sure I’m ready for her answer. But there’s no turning back now. “Do you ever see yourself in the monsters you create?”
Mrs. Deal stops flipping and looks up at me over her clear-rimmed glasses.
“All the time, dear. That’s why I write them.”
Goosebumps spread across my skin.
“There’s a little piece of the creator in every creation. They’re our children, no matter what we do. That never changes.”
I’m about to ask another question, but Jill’s voice cuts me off.
“Lan?”
I turn back into the living room to see her gliding along the smooth floor.
“It’s getting late, sweetie. And you know I’m going to be out at midnight, knocking over little old ladies for deeply discounted merchandise.”
“Okay, one second.”
Mrs. Deal is already out of her seat, rummaging through the top shelf. She finds what she’s looking for, handing me the modest-looking book. “It’s my earliest work,” she explains. “A collection of poetry I only printed a few copies of. I want you to have this one. Take it as a reminder we all start somewhere.”
I hug the book to my chest. “Thank you.”
She smiles, and for a second, I think she’s going to hug me, but she must think better of it. We both rejoin the others.
“Thank you so much for having us,” Jill says, heaving Jack onto her lap. He doesn’t even stir from his full-on turkey-coma.
“Thank you,” I echo.
“Anytime.” Mr. Deal grins, wrapping an arm around his wife’s shoulder. “You’re always welcome.”
Chels’s phone chimes, and she pops up off the couch. “Hey, would it be alright if Lock stays for a bit longer? West is coming over to run some lines for the show next week, and we need a line spotter. I’d be more than happy to take him home.”
Jill looks back to me. “You okay with that?”
“Of course,” I tell her, causing Chels to clap enthusiastically. I help Jill get Jack loaded into the car where she gives me specific instruction to be home before midnight because she said, and I quote, “Can’t let those able-bodied bitches get all the good stuff.” I send the book Mrs. Deal gave to me with them so I don’t forget it.
When I get back inside, Chels’s parents retire into the lounge where Mr. Deal puts on a record and Mrs. Deal pulls out a thousand-piece puzzle.
Chels invites me up to her room while we wait on West, and it’s there she tells me the truth.
“We’re not actually going to be running lines,” she whispers, closing the door behind us. “Apparently, some shit went down over at West’s house, and he needs to talk. He asked if you were still here, so I figured he’d want you to be.”
“Oh.” I shove my hands in my pockets. “Okay.”
“This is a good thing, I think.” Chels starts pacing the floor. “I mean, he’s been so shut off lately, I think he’s actually going to open up about what’s going on. At least, I hope he is. Jesus, look at me. I’m like shaking, I’m so nervous.”
“Maybe you should sit down?” I offer.
She nods, sinking onto the edge of her bed. “That’s a good idea.” As soon as her butt hits the mattress, she bounces right back up. “I can’t sit still. I’m just too fucking anxious. Where the fuck is he?”
The doorbell rings downstairs, and Chels bolts for the door.
I glance out the window and see a white Lexus in the driveway. That’s not West’s car…
Claire drops me off in Chels’s driveway, promising me for the thousandth time she’s going to castrate Blake. She’s also going to handle the shitstorm we left behind at home when Claire told my parents what happened. Of course, they don’t believe it, but it feels nice having her on my side.
I ring the bell because I’m not feeling like my usual jovial self who would just barge right on in singing my own rendition of The Twelve Days of Christmas. Here’s a hint, my version involves a lot more shirtless men than the original. Who woulda figured?
The doors swing in, and Chels wraps her arms around my neck before I have a chance to move. I squeeze her back, fighting fresh tears. After a solid minute of our embrace, she pulls me inside. I wave to Mom and Dad in the study, and then we’re climbing the stairs and I’m crying again before we even reach the door to her room.
Oh good, Lock’s here too. Great, now I’m crying in front of him. That’s just wonderful.
Chels sits me down on the bed, wrapping me up in my favorite fuzzy blanket from the bottom drawer of her dresser. I finally notice my hands are freezing. My whole body is still vibrating, so it’s hard to notice anything right now.
The room is silent other than the sound of me sniffling every other second, and it’s starting to get annoying, even to me.
“How was dinner?” I ask, not ready to talk about what happened.
“The usual,” Chels replies, forcing a smile. “Mom didn’t try to resurrect tofurkey this year, so that’s a plus. The pie was so good. We saved you a plate.”
“I’m sorry I had to miss it,” I say, and my voice cracks because they can’t possibly know how much I wish I’d been here instead of—
“You still made it.” Chels wraps her arm around my shoulders. “Better late than never.”
Another minute of silence and I think I’ve just about got myself under control.
“I’m sorry,” I say to Chels, looking into those warm brown eyes that always make me feel safe. “I’m sorry I’m such a piece of shit.”
“You’re not a piece of shit,” she reprimands me. “You’re the shit. There’s a big difference.”
My laugh is broken. “Something like that.”
Here’s my chance to come clean about everything. Claire hadn’t needed to hear the whole story to believe me—she’d seen it with her own eyes. But this is different. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to tell them.
Lock pushes off the windowsill he’s been leaning against since I got here. He pauses for just a moment then crosses to the bed. He stands in front of me, fingers twitching at
his side.
“I’m going to hug you.”
“Huh?”
“I’m going to hug you,” he repeats. “Is that okay?”
“Um. Sure?”
Lock places his hands on either side of my shoulders, pulling me onto my feet with a gentle pressure. Once we’re (semi) eye-level, his arms wrap around me. My head fits against his chest, and he rests his chin softly on the crown of my head.
We stay like that, but for how long, I don’t know. He’s warm. Like he’s taken a bite out of the sun, and now he’s some kind of radioactive heat monster. It’s nice. Plus, he smells really good. Not cloying, like Blake—
And the tears are back now because all I can see is Blake and all I can feel is his body on mine and his hand on my throat and his breath in my ear—
I shove Lock. Hard. He falls back on his butt, making a thud.
“West?” Chels is beside me, but I shrug away from her touch. My arms wrap around my chest to keep from falling apart.
“I’m sorry,” Lock says quietly, climbing back to his feet.
“No, it’s me,” I say through trembling lips. “It’s him, not you.”
Chels guides me back to her bed, and Lock lowers himself onto the floor in front of us.
“What happened, West?” Chels asks. “Please, tell me.”
“It’s B-Bl—My sister’s fiancé,” I finally say because I can’t form his name.
“Dr. Dickhead?” Chels giggles. “Oh, honey. What did he do this time? Make another joke about you?”
I shake my head, wringing my hands to keep from fidgeting. “He t-tried to rape me… Again.”
Chels’s smile fades faster than the cheap blue hair dye she tried last spring.
“A-Again?” She rockets off her bed, nearly trampling Lock. He manages to slide out of her way before taking a foot to the crotch. “What!”
“Please don’t shout,” I tell her. My nerves are shot enough as it is.
“I’m sorry,” she adds in a softer voice, then it’s back to max volume. “But what the fuck do you mean again?”
“H-He raped me over summer vacation,” I say, and it sounds weird out loud. Like I should be the one whispering. “It was totally my fault. I was so pissed off at Claire for telling Mother I’d been purging the last few months—”
“Few MONTHS?”
Chels is about to hit the ceiling, but it’s Lock who grabs her hand and pulls her down to the floor. “Maybe we should let him finish,” he says in his calm voice, snaking an arm around her to keep her in place.
Chels is about to argue, but she must realize I’m on the verge of shattering into a million pieces, so she just nods.
“I was mad at her,” I say again as memories of the ocean breeze and sandy beaches come into focus. “So, I decided to get on her nerves and flirt with her boyfriend. What I wasn’t expecting was for him to be into it. Like, really into it. And of course, I have no chill, so I just kept pushing the envelope. Lingering hugs turned into kisses which turned into full-on make outs behind closed doors. I didn’t stop him then, didn’t tell him it was all just a joke, that I was doing it to get back at Claire. Then, that night in his room, he was different. The way he touched me, looked at me… It made me nervous. Twisted my insides until I finally came to my senses.
“I told him no. That we’d taken things too far. I mean, he was getting ready to propose to my sister for Christ’s sake! But maybe that’s why he did what he did. When I told him no, he laughed in my face. When I tried to push him off me, he hit me. When I screamed for him to leave me alone, he shoved a sock in my mouth. And when I cried, he told me not to worry, that I’d like it. Then, when he was done with me, he threatened to kill me if I talked.”
The more I tell them, the more freely the words flow. This is the first time I’ve wanted to relive it, to feel what Blake did to me. Time hasn’t dulled any of the details. If anything, they’re sharper, revitalized by his earlier attempt of recreation.
“The next day, my family behaved like nothing had happened. In their mind, I suppose nothing did. Blake and Claire held hands during breakfast. No one noticed the bruises on my neck or the vacant expression in my eyes. My world was burning down all around me, and they never even fucking noticed.
“I made it through the next week out of sheer spite. Once I was able to process what had happened, all I felt was rage. I wanted to show Blake he hadn’t broken me, even though he had. Then, when we were home, I’d thought the worst was over. But he kept coming around and Claire was none-the-wiser. Each time he’d push me into the wall and kiss me, it was followed by threats of exposing what we’d done to my sister or worse.
“But he hadn’t ever been so bold as to try anything when Claire’s around. Until tonight, that is. He grabbed me under the dinner table, flaunting the fact I couldn’t do anything or I’d destroy my sister’s marriage before it even started.
“So, I left, thinking I’d be safe in my room. He followed me, and before I knew any better, it was Italy all over again. But unlike Italy, Claire was watching. She came to check on me and then proceeded to break Blake’s nose.”
“Fuck, yeah,” Chels whispers, and I look over to see the trails of her tears along her face.
I take a second, my tongue dry from all the talking. Lock and Chels both watch me, and while I fully expected Chels to bring the waterworks, I’m surprised when Lock reaches up to dab his eyes.
“I didn’t tell her about the first time,” I confess to them. “Claire, I mean. I don’t know why, especially since it looks like I’m defending the bastard. I think it’s my way of protecting Claire. She already feels awful about tonight. What is she going to do if I tell her that her fiancé isn’t just an attempted rapist?”
“But West.” Chels sits up on her knees. “If you don’t tell her, how are you going to get the fucker arrested?”
“Arrested?” I repeat.
“Um, duh?” Chels scoffs. “The guy raped you, West. Don’t you want him convicted?”
“But it’s my fault,” I say, pushing away these new confusing thoughts. “I lead him on, encouraged it.”
Chels is in front of me, cupping my face in her hands. “Did you tell him to stop?”
I nod.
“Did he stop?”
I shake my head.
“That’s rape, West. No ifs, ands, or buts. No matter who flirted with who. What Blake did was deplorable, and he deserves to go down for it. Actually, he deserves to have his dick chopped off and fed to a rabid weasel, but that’s just my humble opinion.”
Somehow, I manage to crack a smile.
“So, are you going to tell her?”
“I can’t. Not right now, at least.”
“Okay.” Chels nods, stepping back to give me space. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. But I think you should at least think about it, West. And if that fucker even thinks about getting near you again, he’ll have me and my two friends, Frieda and Wilma, to deal with.” She kisses one fist then the other, and I’m smiling again because the thought of Chels trying to scrap is oddly hilarious.
“I should have told you all this sooner,” I say, pulling back on my fuzzy blanket. Maybe then tonight wouldn’t have happened.
“I agree.” Chels pounds her hands together. “Then we could have already roasted this son of a bitch. I swear, if I’d known last month when I saw them at your house, I would have grabbed your Dad’s driver and just gone to town—”
She paces the floor, continuing to rant about all the household objects she could use to maim Blake. Despite everything that’s happened, I can’t help but laugh. I laugh because my friends make me feel safe. I laugh because there are no tears left in me. I laugh because I can still hear the sound of Claire breaking Blake’s nose.
Somewhere in the mix, Lock ends up next to me on the bed, his knotty hands gripping his knees.
“Are you okay?” he asks, brown eyes finding me.
“No,” I tell him because I think his honesty is rubbin
g off on me. “But I think I’m on the way.”
He nods, going back to watching Chels wear a hole in her floor. Without warning, he takes my hand. Then he’s looking at me again. “Is this okay?”
It takes me a second to catch the breath that’s suddenly gone. “Y-Yeah. Definitely.”
“Lan! Come help unload the car!”
Jill’s voice rouses me from sleep. I was dreaming about West and how perfectly his hand fits in mine and the way his eyes sometimes sparkle like reflections of stars across water.
But now I’m awake, and my head hurts because I haven’t been asleep very long, and there’s so much stuff crammed into Jill’s van.
“Did you leave anything on the shelves?” I ask, strategically stacking boxes.
Jill piles her lap with bags from the passenger seat. “For your information, I thought I showed herculean restraint. There was this great deal on an exercise bike, but I got to thinking, where would I put it?”
I stare at her, but then she cracks a smile and I realize she’s joking.
“Lighten up, Lan. It’s officially Christmas season, which means it’s the season of giving. And I plan on giving the majority of this shit away. Except for this.” She holds up a copper skillet. “This puppy is all momma’s. Thank you, Williams and Sonoma gods, for smiling upon me today.”
After a dozen trips to and from the driveway, the kitchen floor is covered under the mess of boxes and bags.
I collapse into a chair at the table, wiping the sweat from my forehead because this is Georgia and apparently seventy-degree weather is normal for late November.
“Where’s Jack-Attack?” Jill asks while she sorts through the spoils of her late night.
“Still asleep, I hope.” I let out a yawn. “He was wide awake when I got home because someone got him too hyped to sleep.”
“Not my fault,” she replies, giving me a sly grin. “He was helping me look through ads, and I may have given him a little sugar to help fuel the search.”
“So, the truth comes out.”
“I never said I was a good person,” Jill defends.
“Of course not because you’re the best person,” I tell her, and she pauses just long enough to give me gooey eyes, then she’s back to work. “Have you heard from Mom?”
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