My Monster

by Einat Segal

  “Sha-awn?” Cintia tries to shout louder.

  Shawn begins ambling toward the door.

  I put my face in my hands. This is the first time I need Shawn for something beyond sex. Well, whatever.

  I leap to my feet and grab Shawn’s arm before he can reach the door.

  “I’ll just go fetch them?” Cintia says reluctantly. Bob and my parents eagerly agree.

  We hear Cintia’s eight-inch heels loudly click over the floor. She’s practically stomping her feet. She stops midway to call Shawn again.

  I pull him toward me, and our lips meet. He doesn’t need instructions. He’d know his way around a girl’s body blindfolded. His hand runs up my skirt, right into my panties as we crash down onto the couch with him on top of me. It’s a bit comforting to know that both Shawn and I are completely sick in our heads. At a time like this, when we’ve just gone through the revelation that the world is a lot scarier than we previously believed and that our parents are about to catch us making out, we’re both utterly turned on.

  The door opens a crack. I hear a gasp.

  Shawn breaks away. I look up into Cintia’s red face.

  “Mom!” he cries. The undertones of that one word are spectacularly done. It’s something between “Oh my God, I’m so embarrassed,” and “Ugh, parents!” and “I still have an erection, and my mom’s in the room. This is a nightmare!”

  It’s interesting to watch Shawn’s acting skills from this side. I straighten out my clothes and look at my shoes. I can’t even pretend to be embarrassed, so this is the best I can do.

  “Oh . . . oh,” says Cintia.

  We all maintain a wonderfully awkward silence. I cross my legs. Shawn takes my hand and twines his fingers through mine. “Mom, Sophie’s staying over tonight.”

  I look toward her. She’s stuck in the doorway, clutching the door as if it’s her lifeline. “Shawn needs help with his English paper,” I say.

  “Yeah, I’m going to fail English if Sophie doesn’t help me.”

  “You’re back together?” Cintia asks shrilly.

  “What are you talking about, Mom? Sophie and I never broke up.”

  Never broke up? Then how are you going to explain . . . Okay, whatever. I slept here three nights this week. My parents just assumed I was sleeping at Esmeralda’s house or maybe Landon’s. I’ve got an official toothbrush in Shawn’s bathroom. Might as well just come out with it. “Thanks for letting me stay over again, Mrs. Henderson,” I say brightly.

  * * *

  “To be honest, Fee . . .” Pause.

  A very long pause.

  “I don’t want to say it,” Shawn says late that night as we both lie in bed. We talked about it all, inside and out, until it doesn’t feel as bad to me anymore. When it became too much, we released the tension through sex.

  Shawn’s happy about it. He loves this shit. He wanted magic to be real his entire life.

  “What don’t you want to say?”

  “I’m not going to say it.” He turns his back to me.

  I tap his shoulder.

  “Shhhh . . . I’m sleeping,” he whispers.

  “No, you’re not.”

  “I’m trying to.”

  “Now you have to say it.”

  “I don’t have to say anything.” I can tell by his voice that he’s not convincing anybody.

  “You’re going to say it anyway, so just say it already.”

  “You can’t break me,” he mumbles.

  “If you’re going to be like this, I’m going to get angry, Shawn.”

  No answer.

  I jab my thumb into his side right below the ribs. He squirms and turns onto his back so he can scowl at me. I make to do it again, and he grabs both my arms. The more I struggle, the stronger his grip becomes.

  “Shawn, don’t make me knee you in the balls,” I hiss.

  It works. He lets go of me. “Fine. Have it your way.”

  I settle by his side to listen.

  “You’re being a bitch,” he says.

  “I know. So just tell me what you don’t want to tell me.”

  “No, that’s what I didn’t want to say.” He gives me an oddly serious look, and his voice sounds . . . really sad. “You’re being a bitch toward Landon.”

  I wasn’t expecting that, nor the sudden wave of attraction toward this Shawn. Right now, he’s trying to be a true friend. And he’s sad about it. He doesn’t even need me to hurt him anymore. He’s going ahead and doing the “hurting Shawn Henderson” for me.

  “What the fuck, Shawn?” I say, turning away. “Who made you an authority about relationships?”

  “You didn’t even hear him out. You didn’t give him a chance to explain.”

  “I was freaking out.”

  “Then you should’ve talked to him when you were done freaking out.”

  What are you doing, Shawn?

  “There wasn’t anything to explain,” I argue back. Goddammit, why does that sound so feeble?

  “Are you kidding me? There’s a shitload of explaining he has to do. But you didn’t even let him talk.” Shawn's hands come up to cover his face. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

  “I can’t believe you’re doing this, either.”

  “I just said on Halloween that we’re doing the honesty thing,” he moans. “Can I take it back? This is terrible. Let’s stop doing the honesty thing now.”

  “I don’t know, Shawn,” I say. I just need to change the subject. I’m sorry I asked. Next time Shawn doesn’t want to tell me something, I should trust his judgment and have him not say it. It’s not like he keeps his mouth shut on most things. “I kind of dig this honesty thing.”

  “Really?” He emerges very quickly from the hole he just dug for himself. His arms wrap around me, and he pulls me closer so that my head comes to rest on his chest. “Well, shit.” He kisses my nose.

  Shit . . .

  My heart hammers fast.

  Shit, indeed.

  * * *

  At school, the reaction to Shawn and me is minimal. You can say that people have already seen that. It’s great—I’m still always early for my classes.

  I hardly see Landon around school. Maybe he gave up and went to wherever it is crazy monsters go.

  Except sometimes he is around, and he watches me like he’s waiting for something.

  The bell rings. I look up from my book just as Shawn enters the classroom. Behind me, I can almost feel Landon's eyes.

  Shawn's walking stiffly, and he groans when he sits in the seat in front of me. He twists his body and turns to me with a smile. "Morning, Fee," he says in a hoarse voice.

  "What happened to you?"

  “Basketball practice. Coach is PMSing and just broke up with her boyfriend. She killed us yesterday." The basketball coach in our school is notorious for being a crazy dictator, but the team has been winning games for a change, so no one dares complain.

  "Ouch," I say, demonstrating the human emotion of sympathy, but what I want to know is if Shawn will be able to perform tonight.

  Shawn grunts at my expression and lowers his voice. "You're undressing me with your eyes again, babe. Don't worry, muscle fatigue or not, I'll show you a good time."

  I'm not comfortable with this talk in the classroom. I couldn't care less about everyone present, of course. No one with normal ears can hear our conversation, but I strongly suspect that a certain boy sitting directly behind me has abnormal hearing.

  I turn my head and meet his light-brown eyes. He cocks his mouth into a small grin. Yes, he knows I just looked at him to see if he heard, and yes, yes, he heard it.

  That grin, though, I haven't seen it in a long time.

  Shawn touches my hand. I turn back to him, only to meet his frown.

  "What?" I mouth.

  He raises his eyebrows at me, nodding his chin at Landon behind me.

  I shrug.

  He rolls his eyes.

  I wear a blank expression.

  He leans over his
chair and kisses me in the middle of the classroom in front of everyone.

  But most of all, in front of Landon.

  I stop myself from pushing him away, because I know that he's just being jealous and this will at least save me an argument later. I let him kiss me. I even kiss him back.

  There are a few cheers and catcalls coming from our classmates.

  I'm kissing you, Shawn, not him. Okay? Now calm down.

  Mrs. Clint walks in just in time. Shawn breaks away.

  He looks unhappy. I tried, but we both felt it.

  That was the first kiss we’ve ever shared that was stone cold.

  * * *

  My dad raises his wineglass in the air, my mom blushes, and I reach over and awkwardly lift my water up.

  "I would like to make a toast," Dad says while beaming at Mom, who beams right back at him. Seriously, from all the beaming they've been doing tonight, I'm surprised no one has gone blind.

  "My beloved wife, Lizzy," Dad says to Mom. "Or should I call you Professor Green?"

  Everyone present chuckles politely. Except me. I stretch my mouth into what I hope is a smile, but that's all they're getting out of me.

  "There were ups and downs in your career," my dad goes on. "I'd know, I've endured them all—"

  More chuckling.

  "But you are and have always been a great woman, and you always knew what you wanted." He winks at my mom. I know the story behind that wink. Apparently in his day, my dad had been a hot stud, and during junior year of college, my mom had shamelessly stolen him from his fiancé, who he had been dating since high school. "And I would like to say that I've been honored and privileged to be at your side when time and again you showed me the meaning of motivation and dedication. Like the champ you are, you met every single goal you set out to pursue. And now I can brag. My genius wife is a tenured professor at Columbia University, and I couldn't be more proud of you." Dad raises his glass. "So let's drink to accomplishing dreams!"

  "Cheers," everyone cries, and drinks and claps. I sip my water, watching my mom, who is never very sentimental, blink back tears and kiss my dad.

  "Your parents are adorable," Shawn says into my ear.

  They're really not going to stop with that kiss? My parents had me, so I know perfectly well they must have had sex at least once in their lives. They probably still do it sometimes. Why, then, does watching them in any form of intimacy—they're just kissing—make me want to run out of the restaurant screaming?

  "Fee, you're embarrassed?" Shawn observes quietly by my side. He then starts sniggering.

  "Oh, wow, Shawn, really mature."

  "I like seeing you blush," he says to me in a low voice that's supposed to be sexy.

  "I'm not embarrassed." Everyone around us is eating the sushi that's been served to the center of the table and talking amongst themselves. Most of the people present are my mom's colleagues from work, so I either don't know them or don't like them.

  After the sushi, there's a debate about dessert. Shawn's hand on my thigh informs me what he'd like to have. I lean toward him. "Do you think it's safe to leave already?" I whisper.

  "I don't know. If it were my mom, you'd have to stay until the last guest leaves."

  I look at him. "You know, I've always wondered about that. Do you think your family's cursed?"

  He scrunches his nose—I like it when he does that. It makes him look, for a very short moment, like a Pekinese. Yes, Shawn has his adorable sides, and I get a kick sometimes when I watch them, so sue me. "No, my mom's just crazy,” he says.

  I wear a look of mock concern. "Now I'm sure your family's cursed."

  "Maybe my mom's actually a zombie." He gasps, playing along with me.

  "Maybe she is." Meanwhile, it seems like the vote for dessert already concluded, and everyone's in.

  "I'll just go ask my parents if I can leave," I say. Because my family doesn't have any silly rules. If we don't know what's expected of us, we just ask up front.

  * * *

  "Did you apply to Columbia?"

  "Yeah. I get free tuition because of my mom." I shrug. "But that's only if I get in."

  "You'll get in. Why'd you make NYU your top priority?"

  "I just . . ." It’s like we're acting a script. There's a fat elephant on the table, and we're both trying not to look at it. "Shawn, I didn't like what you did today."

  "I know," he says quietly. He always has this careful, controlled voice when the conversation strays toward revealing one of his insecurities. “I . . . I got jealous, okay? Jealous people do stupid things. If you don't want me to do stupid things, don't make me jealous."

  "Your logic is so messed up. I turned my head. That's all I did. How the hell was I supposed to know that that would make you jealous?"

  “You don't give a shit about what other people think. Why would you even turn your head?" Shawn's hands are very tight on the steering wheel. The set of his shoulders is tense. "If he wasn't in the room, you would have just behaved like yourself."

  I don't say anything. Silence stretches between us like the empty nighttime road we're driving on.

  "If you tell me I've got nothing to be jealous of, Fee, then I won't get jealous again." His soft words twist my heart. Just when I have Shawn all figured out, he always does or says something that's surprisingly mature. It's as if inside Shawn, there's the future Shawn who's less of a douche and more of a prince.

  It makes me feel . . . stuff.

  Suddenly, I can’t breathe. I finger the high neck of my dress and crack open my window. "Shawn, can you pull over? I think I ate something bad."

  He shoots me a look of concern before quickly veering into the parking lot in front of a travel agency. I get out of the car and slam the door behind me. I just start walking briskly in a random direction.

  "Fee? Are you okay?"

  "I'm fine," I say, but I don't stop walking. The lot is dark. It's next to a used car agency. I continue walking past it toward a few warehouses.

  Shawn follows me. He doesn't say anything until I reach the end of the lot, turn left, and begin walking around the warehouse. "Fee, stop, where are you going?"

  I break into a run. Am I needlessly dramatic? Yes. I don't know. I’m like a wild animal right now. I just want to get lost until I lose my mind.

  Shawn catches up with me pretty fast. He grabs my arm and pulls me around, forcing me to face him. "What the hell, Fee?"

  Don't ask me that.

  I shake off his hand. I shake my head. "I've been thinking, you know? About what you said,” I say. Is this what I want to say?

  No, it isn’t.

  "What I said when?"

  "About how I treated Landon . . ."

  "What?" Shawn's arms fly up into the air. "That was more than three weeks ago!"

  "Well, I guess I've been thinking about it this whole time."

  He covers his mouth with his fingers. "I shouldn't have said that."

  "No, you shouldn't have." I shake my head. "But you did, and I can't stop thinking—”

  "You can't stop thinking about him?" His eyes flash with unmistakable jealousy.

  "Not like that . . ."

  "I can't believe this."

  "You're the one who said—"

  "Yes, and you know why I said that?"

  I shake my head.

  "I was scared that this is how you treat the people who love you," he says. "I didn't want you to do the same thing to me."

  I can hear my heartbeat in my ears. I don't know what's happening right now, but my mind is passing through a dark tunnel. I don't say anything.

  His eyes shine in the lamplight. I’m stunned that Shawn is so close to tears. "It's not just sex between us. It never was. Do you even know how to have a rebound? I've seen you every day for two whole months. I've touched you, fucked you, talked to you, laughed with you, slept with you every single day. Fee, this is a relationship. We’re a couple even if you choose not to call it that.”

  I blink at him. It's been
over two months, and yes, it crossed my mind that I needed to see him less or stop seeing him altogether. It crossed my mind that this is dangerous, that there's much more than sex going on between us.

  It crossed my mind, but I didn’t want to do anything about it. I didn't want to think. I just wanted to be. The enjoyment outweighed everything else. And I liked everything that was happening to me, inside and out.

  "You've got a terrible personality. It's not that you don't notice other people; you just choose to hate everything, and you're so stubborn," he says. "But even though you drive me insane, I love being around you. I love hearing the crazy things that come out of your mouth. I get turned on just by thinking about you. And it shouldn't be great because you're a horrible person. But it is great."

  "Are you confessing, Shawn?" My voice trembles. I want to continue running aimlessly, and also give him a hug.

  "No. Yes." He shakes his head. "Isn't it obvious? Do you need me to draw a map?"

  I take a deep breath. "That was your confession, and you expect me to . . . what? Confess back?"

  "Is that so wrong?" he snaps, walking a step away from me, his face hard with frustration. "I'm in love with you, Fee." His voice softens significantly, and he sounds alarmingly defeated. "Is it weird that I want you to love me back? You scare the shit out of me because I know you're going to hurt me. But I can't stop loving you."

  Whatever Shawn thinks he's doing, it's working. It’s like I've been hit by a ton of bricks. I want to call him out and tell him that “love” is too strong a word, but I don't think he's lying.

  He means it.

  Don’t fucking put me on the spot like that, Shawn.

  I just can't match that up with anything, not yet at least. On the inside, I'm a mess. A big confused mess. I don't know what’s what. I’m still figuring it out. I need more time.