by Elena Monroe
“Are you on the pill…” None of my questions sounded like a real question. My voice didn’t go up, and even if she said no, it wasn’t changing where I was going to come. I was too close for a change of heart now.
Heart.
Her hips bared down, and I buried my face in her neck, letting myself do something I had never done before: make an obvious mistake with no regard for the control I put on a pedestal.
Breathing heavily, my hips pushed every inch of me as deep as she would allow, until I came between Abigail’s legs inside the warmth of her pussy.
“Fuck, babe.”
That alone made her come again when I realized her legs were shaking and her head was tilted back in pure bliss. Abigail never did anything half-assed.
“Jesus…” After letting the orgasm wash over her, she finally spoke, while my lips planted kisses on her neck, still feeling my dick pulse inside her.
“I’m the opposite of that guy.” With a laugh, I pulled out and fell next to her, while she cuddled into my side and let her leg cross over mine. “Polar opposite. I’m death, and he was a savior.”
“Sometimes death can be a savior. He did die on the cross to save us all.”
Would she say the same thing once she met my monster?
I gave her pieces of myself I had never given away before, including me unhinged enough to make choices outside of the four walls of control. For the first time, I didn’t need pain in reaching pleasure. For the first time, sex felt personal.
The buzzing under my shoulder had me reaching around trying to find the source of the buzzing. Pulling my phone out from under me, I read Bowen’s name across the screen. He never texted me, and I preferred it that way.
BOWEN: Are you going to handle Seattle or not? Zeus is complaining to Vic. Not the person you wanna piss off after spitting in his face. Literally.
I didn’t respond. There was no response to type out. Instead, I locked my phone and let it fall to my chest, wrapping my arm around Abigail and pushing her into me closer.
Seattle was at the bottom of my list. Clave problems were at the bottom. Zeus problems were at the bottom of my priorities. The only thing at the top of my priorities was the man who hurt Abigail and making him hurt just as much.
Without any more holes in the story, I had all the justification I needed to do what I did best: Kill before it killed me. That's what being out of control, swept up in emotions, and anything related to Abigail felt like: a certain death. She was killing me slowly, because I knew better than anyone she wasn’t going to accept the monster in me. No one would.
After leaving her apartment, making sure Justice never saw me there, I sat in my car for a minute while I dialed the number of the shared private jet our four families used. I needed to feed my monster as soon as possible.
Khaos was the all-knowing, tech-savvy god that we all relied on to provide the information the Clave loved to leave out. Texting him while my phone was on speaker, I asked him for the details on the fucking priest I was determined to send to hell.
The Clave was a group of psychos overdosing on religion and expelling the unnecessary evil in the world; this was in their wheelhouse.
As far as I was concerned, I was doing their damn bidding.
ABIGAIL
Have you ever been so sleep deprived and ravenous for more of your boss that bad decisions seem like good ones?
I wasn’t delusional.
I knew my ritual pit stop before work to snag a green smoothie was a good decision.
I knew bending over in front of Grimm in these skirts and dresses were a bad decision.
Again, I wasn’t delusional.
Picking up the phone when my ex called, all to prove to myself I was still playing the field when really I called it quits the minute Grimm wouldn’t let me make him come in return? That wasn’t just a bad decision; it was downright dangerous.
I knew exactly what kind of scum Oscar was. Grimm was pretending to be scum, and I couldn’t figure out why.
We finally had sex after accepting parts of us we hid away, but we agreed to just being friends with him inside me. To say I was distracted was the understatement of a lifetime.
Everyone wants to be the reason someone takes action. Good or bad, it doesn’t matter, just to be noticed by someone.
My recently developed nightmares that shook me awake in the comfort of my own bed weren’t helping me make any good decisions. I felt like the walking dead, still functioning, but not exactly living. The bags under my eyes were proof.
I hadn’t had nightmares like this since the time I was wedged between the post kidnapping and our family’s priest trying to beat the disloyal out of me.
At least today was a day off; the weekend rolled in with the hope of sleep, when a new kind of nightmare didn’t let me wake up from its grasp.
It’s funny how your own brain hides your own dreams from you just to protect you. I woke up in a cold kind of sweat, soaking my oversized shirt, with drool drying at the edges of my lips and sand in my eyes, like I had slept so hard that even if I wanted to wake up, I wouldn’t have.
I only remembered pieces of my nightmares as I sat up in my bed with the light pouring through the curtains. A man grunting, my arms tight against me, and tears cascading down the side of my face into my hairline. His breath was hot against my skin, and I felt a kind of exhaustion that turned into adrenaline so I wouldn’t stop fighting back.
The kind of kisses you didn’t ask for.
The nightmares started a week ago, much simpler in construction then, like walking down familiar streets or doing mundane things, like getting coffee, and the goosebumps pricked my skin without warning.
Your intuition always knows before you do.
I didn’t know nightmares could escalate.
Mine sure did. The bags under my eyes wouldn’t conceal anymore and the amount of caffeine I dumped into my body wasn’t even giving me a jolt anymore.
Sitting up in my bed, I yanked my now dampened shirt off and tossed it to the end of the bed, still trying to shake off the dream. Being attacked in a dream often crossed over into reality, leaving fingerprints of discomfort crawling on the surface of your skin.
No work today meant no distraction either.
Why couldn’t I have a normal sex dream about my boss instead of whatever nightmares these were?
Let’s be real… I hadn’t stopped thinking about Grimm naked, with all those piercings and bad attitude still intact under me since it happened. My imagination was demanding a break from all the thinking.
Grimm had let me climb on top of him long enough to make sure we were both satisfied this time.
The rippling kind of insult had me insecure the last time we were naked together. Him saying he was “good” without coming had me paranoid and downright playing a seductive roll every time he was around me. I had never been so insulted. Now I found myself insulted in other ways, like how much sense he had to make sure I knew what it was.
The only reason I agreed to go out with Oscar was stupid. My ego needed feeding, plain and simple.
Oscar had a way of looking at me like he wanted to eat me for breakfast, lunch, and dinner—all because he could.
He was ready and willing, unlike Grimm, who should win an award for control. He had skipped out on work entirely for a few days, now leaving me to my own devices. Work was easier with something like Grimm to look at.
My small sleep shorts were all I had on when I was twisting to lay on my stomach and distract myself with Instagram perfection. My scrolling was interrupted when Oscar’s contact came up over the screen. Not with his name but the words DO NOT ANSWER instead. Funny how a fit of anger while drunk turned into the best warning signs that I still didn’t listen to.
The night still popped up into my head every time I thought of him or heard his name. The night my rules betrayed me and I betrayed them. I only had one rule to follow, and I didn't.
Read the rules before you break them.
I read Oscar up and down. I knew my rules like mantras, and I still broke every rule that screamed to run away from him. I ran into him again and again. I ate up the lavish lifestyle and attention he hand fed me.
I pretended overlooking his bad qualities was worth it. That’s what love was supposed to be: the good and the bad. You don’t get to choose what parts you love of someone.
Pressing to answer the call, I rolled over onto my back and yanked the sheets up to my neck, suddenly feeling vulnerable being naked on the phone with him.
“I’m gonna pick you up. Let’s go surfing.”
That was one of the parts of Oscar I did love: the spontaneous fearlessness I didn’t have. Spontaneity for me had to be planned, with a plan B hatched in case it all fell apart and I needed to know all the details. Not spontaneous at all.
“I don’t know how to surf, Oscar…”
“You live in LA now, babe. I’ll teach you. Get dressed.”
With a laugh, I agreed, “Okay, okay.” He was dragging me out of my comfort zone and my head, all with so much ease it was hard not to play right into his hand.
Rolling out of bed and padding to the bathroom, I capped my water bottle so it wouldn’t get knocked over in the process. Something I’ve done so many times before that I swear there’s a semi-permanent stain on the wood.
Showering was pointless if I was going to get wet, so I fished out a cream one-piece suit that zipped down the middle and cut high on my hips with some wedges. I wanted to make sure it covered the nearly blended in scars that Oscar never noticed anyways, even when I was on my hands and knees. I almost Googled what else I would need for surfing, but I stopped myself, saying the word in my mind over and over like a new mantra.
Spontaneous.
Jus didn’t knock, and I startled at the image of her leaning against the door frame behind me. “Jesus! You scared me.”
“Oh, really? Not as much as you scared me when fucking Oscar knocked on the door.”
She was seething. Not disappointed or shaming me, seething. She hated Oscar for more reasons than I did. Third party outsiders with unbiased opinions always housed more hate for bad decisions.
Jus was an activist even as your best friend.
“What? I just got off the phone with him.” The confusion in my voice was casual and not concerned to balance how pissed Jus was that I didn’t warn her. Even if I did warn her that I picked up his call the other day and agreed to go surfing with him now, she would be the same amount of unhappy.
“He moves quickly, because he’s a snake.”
I glided the lipgloss across my full lips, making sure to coat them in a shine before I moved to my closet to find a cover up to go over my suit that I shimmied into before noticing she was vacant from my doorway. Pulling up jean shorts, I gave myself a once over in the mirror. I was desirable and hellbent on making Grimm see that enough to regret making me rise to his challenge.
The cream suit bounced off my naturally brass skin and the freckles scattered along my arms, chest, and nose. I looked like a lifeguard with my hair in a messy bun from sleeping still. That was the other thing that Oscar did that made it hard to not fall for his tricks: No matter what, Oscar looked at you like you were the sun. Sweats, half-effort, full-effort… he found a way to appreciate you in all your glory.
He was great for the ego, unlike Grimm.
Grabbing my crossbody bag, I headed out of my bedroom door and saw Oscar standing next to the front door, probably not by choice. Jus probably threatened him to keep his distance. The last time he fucked up, she Lysoled everything, and then we threw out everything even remotely related to him.
“You got here fast.”
His arm wrapped around my waist and pulled me into his hard abs as his lips landed on my temple. “I know better than to make you wait.”
Jus piped in from the couch, with her cereal on her knees, folded into herself, and Dirty John playing in the background, like I wouldn’t notice her unsubtle tone: “Damn straight.”
Giving her wide eyes, I tried to simmer her down, but Jus was a mixed bag. You pulled out whatever you got and sucked the hard candy until it was finally sweet.
“Okay, so we’re leaving. I’ll text you. Love you! Bye!” Dragging Oscar behind me out of the line of fire, we headed to his red Bentley parked outside our house that was broken up into condos. No elevators, no stairs, no passing people expecting neighborly small talk.
“You ready for the waves?”
He didn’t bother to open my door, and I tried to lower my standards. We weren’t together anymore, and I didn’t want to be. Still, that didn’t mean I didn’t expect some level of respect with my doors.
“Terrified, but excited…” Sliding into his car, I took a big inhale of the beach scent already bottled up in his car. He was a beach bum in between reading scripts and spending Mommy and Daddy’s money.
I lived near the beach, yet he drove right past the entrance and proceeded towards the highway. I wanted to question him until the word spontaneous floated back into the forefront of my mind.
Instead I melted back into the comfortable seats, feeling the smooth leather under the back of my thighs and trusted today would be a surprise.
“Babe? We’re here. You sleep alright?” His hand was on my thigh when his words yanked me from my sleep in a startling way. Shaking my head, I perked up, looking out at Malibu’s ocean—clear blue fading into sand, with the waves pure white as they rippled towards us.
“I haven’t been sleeping so well lately. I’m good though. Good power nap.”
After being here and seeing the ocean, there wasn’t any chance I was missing this. The sun beat down on us and warmed my skin, even through the windshield, before I got out and felt the heavy air until the wind ran by.
Oscar called out, already walking towards some monstrous house sitting back further on the beach. “I’ll be right back. Gotta get the boards.”
I slipped off my wedges and made a few steps forward before my feet landed in the warm sand, sinking to where it felt refreshing. My crossbody bag buzzed, and I knew it was my phone. I actively ignored it. I dropped my cover up, wedges, and bag into the sand as I walked closer to the water.
No one wanted to live in LA, but this… this right here was a piece of heaven wedged in between all the false pretenses of Hollywood and The Bay’s dedication.
Oscar jogged over like the heartthrob he was, holding two boards at once, one under each toned arm. His blonde hair blew in the light breeze, and his smile was almost too drastically perfect compared to the rest of him.
Taking the boards, he laid them down in the sand and tossed me a piece of hard soap. “What do I do with this?”
Laughing he dropped to his knees in front of his lime green board and rubbed the similar bar of soap against the outside of his board. “It’s wax. It should be good. It’s just a good luck thing now. Don’t want the waves to go flat.”
Still looking down at the bar in my hand confused, I followed suit, on my knees, next to his spare board, ready to mess up if need be. I was trying to not overthink anything today, and this wasn’t a good start.
He laughed again before coming over to me, kneeling next to me. I felt his eyes take all of me in and chew on whatever bad ideas he had going on upstairs. Pushing him playfully, I said, “Oscar. Just show me, already.”
I watched his fingers unwrap the hard bar and pushed it against the board drawing circles, “You want to glide in the water, babe. It’s wax. Try making circles.”
Taking the wax from his grainy hands, I mimicked his motions, leaning over the board in a position I only questioned later.
Crap. See? Seductive without trying.
I felt his hand, sand sticking to his fingers, run up my thigh making its way to my ass when I jumped at the light touch. “Oscar! We’re just friends now.”
My words threatening to friend-zone him didn’t stop his hand from resting on my ass and him leaning into me the way he was. “Sometimes friends have fun,
Abi.”
Oscar was the only one besides Jus, my best friend, and my family to call me Abi instead of Abigail. The only difference was they earned it, while Oscar had snatched it like a thief in the night.
“Well, we don’t. Gonna teach me to surf or get a tan? I know how to do that already.”
Standing up, I shimmied out of my jean shorts, and I picked up the weight of the board I wasn’t used to. The heaviest thing I carried around was my bag and maybe supply boxes if we truly ran low on paper. Oscar smiled his way through rejection, and a part of me wondered how many times you had to be rejected before that became your reaction.
Twice.
In fifth grade we did a Sadie Hawkins dance, and I asked my crush back then, Brian Furwood, to go with me in the lunchroom. He rejected me in front of the whole school. It was probably because of my vain outlook when it came to my outsides. It was okay, though. I knew my insides were pretty too, and there was nothing wrong with making them match.
Grimm was the second and last time I planned to be rejected.
I didn’t want to build a pile of rejection until it became a stand up Netflix special, like it was for Oscar.
The water felt shockingly colder than I expected, even with the beating sun, but I managed to adjust quickly when Oscar came up behind me holding the board and telling me to lay on it. He was pretty much behaving so far. That didn’t mean much when you had a whole day to go. There was still plenty of time for him to fuck up.
ABIGAIL
When you see Blue Crush too many times, it gives you a false sense of accomplishment when you lure yourself out there on a board, hoping you transform into Kate Bosworth.
That didn’t happen, but I always didn’t get dragged underwater until my lungs popped and I didn’t fall off enough times to give up.
I wasn’t a quitter.
Oscar’s sandy arms wrapped around me and swung me around tightly as he congratulated me on how well he thought I did.