How to Love a Monster

by Lyssa Dering

  “Yes, yes!” the man shouts.

  I flinch at his sudden increase in volume.

  “This is your specials’ Heaven!” he screams, his voice bouncing off the walls of the cell. “Poor, naive Wish thought he’d have the run of things, but I do.” The man laughs. “I am the King. I am the hunter! And you are my prey.” He dips once more and trails his nose along my sticky, drying cheek. “And what appealing prey you are.” His hot breath puffs against my skin with every word.

  “I—” I cough, my throat burning with acid. “Please, I want…” But I don’t know what I want anymore, except maybe to die. “Kill me. Just kill me.” And I don’t mean with a cock this time.

  The man smashes his nose squarely against mine and stares into my eyes. “Stop this, Seraphim. It’s not time for you to die yet.”

  I’m shivering again, my eyes burning as more tears leak out.

  Is this really Wish City? Is this really what it’s like? With how powerful Wish is, how could he have fucked it up so badly?

  “Now, now. There’s no need to cry, darling.” The man licks at my tears, the pressure of his tongue too intense against the delicate skin beneath my eyes. “Pretty soon, those butterflies will start to fade. You probably think you’ve been high for hours, but Love doesn’t work like that.”

  I do a mental check of my insides, and to my surprise, the butterflies have weakened a bit, though I’m still nauseous. I sniff.

  The man finally lets go of my wrists and strokes my cheekbone. “I didn’t do this to be cruel, my sweet. You must understand.”

  I don’t use the freedom of movement to struggle anew. I’m too tired. Not thirsty, and not sore, but exhausted all the same. He must be right about the high wearing off.

  “I did it to show you why Love won’t be worth chasing,” says the man.

  I wouldn’t take another hit of this stuff willingly if someone paid me, so there’s that.

  The man traces my bottom lip, his excited gaze roving over my face. “Let’s get out of this dank little cell. I’ll get you a bath and a comfy place to sleep. How’s that sound?”

  Instinct says I can’t trust anyone here—especially not this man on top of me—but I picture clean, blue water in a claw-foot bathtub anyway. White sheets. Soft blankets. I ache for that now.

  The man strokes my forehead. “Yes. You like that idea; I can tell.”

  The man stands, displaying that gorgeous torso. Sex is now the very last thing I’m interested in, but those muscles under smooth skin are still a feast for the eyes.

  The man walks over to my head and presses his shoe gently onto my cheek.

  I grimace.

  “You can stand and follow me, or I can carry you,” he says. “I’d rather carry you, but it’s your choice.”

  I don’t move. I just…can’t.

  After a few seconds, the man dips and wraps me up in his coat. He lifts me and secures me in a bridal hold.

  I close my eyes. The sweep of the man’s shoes on cement is oddly comforting as he takes me out of the cell and down the hallway with the buzzing fluorescents. Beads tickle me as we pass through them. Eventually, the dewy night air kisses my skin.

  “You are so precious,” says the man, “like a sleeping child. I can’t wait to taste every inch of you. Before I tear into that beautiful brain, I’ll make you feel much better than Wish ever did.”

  Wondering how I could have heard the man correctly, I clamp my eyes shut even more tightly.

  3

  Fiend

  I want Seraphim so badly. As I lower his soft, inviting flesh into the warm bathwater, I’m bursting with hunger, not sure if I want his body or his brain more. I’m nearly shaking with the desire to crawl under his skin, but I must keep my composure so he doesn’t learn the truth. At least, not the rest of it, and not yet.

  I’ve never played with my food before. Yes, I had a little fun with Thisbe, but it was only a conversation. I didn’t touch her except to finger a lock of her pale pink hair (natural, because of her power to alter her appearance at will). Usually, I have my prey earmarked. Then one of my soldiers fetches them for me, and the next I see them, they’re either a brain on a plate, bloodless in the morgue with an empty skull, or tied up.

  Perhaps I’ve been missing out, however. I’ve never had as much fun as I had in that cell half an hour ago, rolling around with Seraphim. His partial reluctance, his adorable squirming, his need to disappear into Love-induced memories while I wouldn’t let him—Oh! It was delicious. Perhaps I will drug all my prey from now on.

  I wish I hadn’t let slip I was going to eat him, though—I believe I said I’d tear into his brain? But I’m hoping he was too strung out on Love to remember.

  Poor thing. He’s really been through a lot tonight. He hasn’t said a word since I took him into my arms and carried him out of the holding room. Huddled in my lap, he was quiet for the whole car ride, and he didn’t make a peep when we first got to the house or when I fed him a little more blue juice. But he’s been obedient, which is more than I expected (Thisbe put up quite the struggle).

  I keep the bathroom dim, which is how I like every room, but the neon lights always buzz and glow. It is as if Wish City at night is inside with me, where I like to stay when the sun is high. I’m able to go out in daylight, of course, but is there anything more unpleasant in the Universe than natural light on one’s skin?

  The neon strips in here line the ceiling, and they’re blue. They reflect softly off Seraphim’s white skin, making him look like a ghost from another dimension. I suppose, technically, that’s precisely what he is.

  I dip a sea sponge into the bathwater. “Are you toasty enough, Seraphim?”

  He doesn’t answer me, instead staring straight ahead as if there’s a movie going on in his mind’s eye.

  I can’t have that. He must be here, with me, where his job is to entertain me, or else he’s useless outside of a meal!

  I scoop up some water and pour it over his shoulder. “Seraphim.”

  He finally gives me his attention.

  I smile. “Are you warm enough?”

  “Yeah. Is Wish here somewhere?”

  Oh, no-no-no. I hiss softly. I shouldn’t have given him more blue juice! It has obviously overenergized his brain cells.

  “Wish has not yet arrived,” I lie.

  “From where?”

  “From Earth!”

  Seraphim flinches and looks away. “Damn, I just asked you a question. You’re so intense.”

  I press my lips together, forcing myself to be calm. As I coat the sponge in soap, I repeat a phrase Wish and I learned from his mother. “‘A leopard cannot change its spots.’ I am what I am.” The monster in the closet, the monster under the bed.

  Thisbe knew immediately. When I forced her to tell me what tipped her off, she said it was how ugly I am. I nearly slapped her.

  “Do you find me ugly, Seraphim?” I put the soap bottle back into its holder.

  “Most people call me Sera.”

  As if I don’t already know that. “Answer my question, please.”

  Seraphim shifts his gaze lazily onto mine, his bewitching green eyes giving him the appearance of some kind of fairy, probably an evil, child-snatching one. Right now, a tired one. “No, I don’t find you ugly.”

  He said no! Jittering helplessly with excitement, I finally touch the soapy sponge to Seraphim’s skin. I have never given anyone a bath. I don’t think Wish has either (so I could pick up the skill from him), but it seems straightforward enough. I start at Seraphim’s shoulder, rubbing in gentle circles down his arm. At first he watches me, but as I circle a wrist and clean between each of his fingers, he exhales, closes his eyes, and leans his head back against the ceramic tile. Trust. I hope it is that and not merely exhaustion that has him relaxing in my presence.

  I continue to clean his upper body, getting rid of the sweat and dirt he acquired in that mangy Love house. It turns out I like giving baths. A soapy sponge, my prey’s pretty skin,
no one bothering me. It’s the picture of serenity! I clean Seraphim’s peaceful face, careful not to get the soap in his eyes. I follow the line of his bared throat and dip the sponge into the hollows of his collarbones.

  I don’t share every one of Wish’s memories, but I know certain things. Like how Seraphim enjoys having his nipples played with. I pay special attention to them as I soap up his chest. Unlike me, he has body hair, but not much—just a tasteful patch of light brown hair between his pectorals and a little on his lower stomach. He has less muscle than me and more of a pinkish hue to his skin. Of course, he’s flushed with the heat of the bathwater at the moment.

  When I give his nipples a third pass, Seraphim parts his lips.

  I can’t resist. Letting the sponge float in the water, I use my hands on him. He tenses when my palms connect with his pectorals but relaxes again almost immediately. I rub slow circles over his nipples with the heels of my hands. Then I roll the stiffening buds between my fingers until they are rock-hard and red.

  As I massage him, Seraphim’s breathing grows labored, his sudsy chest rising and falling more rapidly. I flick one nipple harshly, and he whimpers, licking his bottom lip, sending the soft pink flesh glistening.

  A broken sound leaves me that I don’t recognize; it crawls up from somewhere dark and untouched deep inside me. Saliva swells on my tongue. Suddenly I’m unable to continue stimulating Seraphim unless I’m allowed to do so with my mouth. As the supreme conqueror of Wish City, I can do most anything to anyone, but I’d rather not get in the water right now. We won’t both fit comfortably in the tub anyway.

  I retrieve the sponge.

  Seraphim’s eyes snap open. “Why’d you stop?” The way he looks at me—adorably confused and obviously yearning—does something funny to my guts. His eyes are glassy. His cheeks sport twin, rosy stains.

  “I… I’d rather taste you is all. But we have to finish your bath.” Maybe once he’s clean, I can touch him some more, feel those hard nipples against my—

  “You mean lick me.” Seraphim grimaces as if there is nothing in the Universe more revolting to him.

  I frown deeply. Yes, he fought my attentions earlier, but I hoped it was due to Love compelling him to be penetrated. How unfortunate that I was wrong.

  I take my frustration out on the sponge, dunking it and squeezing it. “Yes.”

  “Why do you like that?”

  “‘A leopard can—’”

  “Yeah, yeah. I know.”

  There’s no reason I should be embarrassed about wanting to taste my prey. This is how I was created; this is my nature. And yet, the room gets cold under Seraphim’s judgment, and suddenly, I’m not as hungry for him in particular.

  I slide the sponge down Seraphim’s slight abdomen.

  He stops me with a hand on my wrist, sliding his thumb along the bones in a gesture that puts white noise in my brain. “Let me do my bottom half. Okay?”

  A flare of possessiveness tightens my grip on the sponge. I stare at where our skin connects, at where he’s touching me with his terrifyingly unknown motive. “I want to do your toes,” I whisper.

  “That’s fine.” He holds out his free hand. “Give me the sponge and turn around. Please.”

  I scoff but do as he says, taking my arm out of his intimate grip. Behind me, the water splashes; Seraphim is probably making a mess.

  I try to figure out why he’d want me to touch his nipples but not his secret parts. Is it because we talked about licking? Does he really hate it so much? Maybe I ought to eat him right away after all if he isn’t going to enjoy our time together. Reluctance is thrilling, but I do so want to try mutually sought-after sex. Wish and Seraphim were smiling when they made love. It’s a wonder Wish only took him once since unlike me, he wasn’t plagued with hunger for Seraphim’s cerebrum. And Seraphim obviously wanted Wish again.

  I cradle my own wrist, rubbing my thumb where Seraphim stroked me.

  After a few of minutes—longer than it should take anyone to wash below the waist—Seraphim stops splashing around. “Okay. You can do my feet now.”

  I turn and snatch the sponge. Then I move my chair closer to the foot of the tub. “Hand me the soap, please.”

  Seraphim puts the bottle in my hand, and our fingers touch briefly during the exchange. I squeeze more gel-like soap onto the sponge. It smells like crisp night air, a scent I doubt any perfumer could have captured so accurately in the Earth dimension. I scrub Seraphim’s calves, his shins, his heels. His feet are pretty—coarse on bottom, silky smooth on top. I clean between each of his toes, enjoying the way he spreads and clenches them.

  “Is there anyone else here?” he asks, his tone easy.

  I’m a little bit sad the bath is almost over. “It’s just you and me here in the house.”

  “I mean in Wish City.”

  Why am I not allowed peace for more than few moments?

  “Wish said Wish City would be for people like him and me,” Seraphim continues. “Thisbe and I got captured at the same time, so—”

  “She’s not here.” Here’s another thing I know: Seraphim and Thisbe were friends. Or if not friends, at least allies in the quest for freedom. Seraphim can’t know what I did to her. “You’re the first one to come here. I’ve been waiting.”

  “Then who are the people who drugged me? Who’s that girl with the green hair?”

  I sigh, frustrated. It is tiresome to lie. Even though I can tell the truth about this part, it is a slippery slope indeed because Seraphim must not learn my true origins or my plans. If he does, I’ll have to kill him right away for sure. Then it will be back to the same old business of waiting for the next specimen to arrive. Which I don’t mind too much, but having a specimen in hand makes everything brighter. I do hope we can work things out.

  “New people show up all the time,” I explain. “But they are not like you; they don’t remember before.”

  “You seem to know a lot, though, so where did you come from?”

  I grit my teeth. Why must he be so curious? “Wish made me.”

  “That doesn’t make any—”

  “Wish makes things!”

  Seraphim pulls his chin back, eyes wide and accusatory.

  “People and places,” I continue in a quieter voice. “He has been doing this since he was small. His subconscious goes on and does things without him knowing it. If he has created the thing, it is real. It lives!”

  Seraphim creases his brow, looking lost.

  I tap his glistening cheek. “Wish City is a city, yes? And what does a city have? People, places, nighttime, daytime. Wish says, ‘Make a city!’ His brain knows what this is. It makes streets, cars, businesses. It makes inhabitants, and Romy with the green hair, and all my other loyal soldiers.” I slap my chest. “I am one of his oldest creations. I know everything. I am in charge while he is away.”

  Seraphim scrunches up his face and hums doubtfully. “I guess that makes sense.”

  I stand and put my hands on my hips. “Bath time is over.”

  “So those were your goons who manhandled me earlier?”

  Universe! His questions are never-ending! I click my tongue against the roof of my mouth. “I bet it would hurt their feelings if they knew you were calling them goons.”

  Seraphim laughs, but it’s an ugly sound, just one rough syllable. “I doubt that.”

  I yank one of my white, fluffy towels off its rack. Keeping my eyes politely averted, I hold it open in front of the tub for Seraphim to step into.

  He makes no tell-tale splashing sounds. “I’d prefer it if you left the towel on the chair,” he says.

  I lock my gaze on him. “I’ve already seen it if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “Seen what?”

  I roll my eyes. “Your penis.”

  Seraphim laughs again, this time louder and somehow more bitter. “So? Maybe I want a few minutes to myself.”

  I exhale as if I can push a little of my rising anger out with my breath. “No
. You might escape.” But damn! I shouldn’t have said that.

  Seraphim’s nostrils flare as he glares at me. “I’m a prisoner?”

  Technically, yes. But does he think he’d be any better off on the streets? I’d order everyone not to take him in; he’d be hungry, wet, and cold. He’d end up back in a Love house, no doubt, with his little jaunt before permanent death completely wasted. I’d let him suffer at least a week before putting him out of his misery.

  Neisha says all my smiles are creepy, but I try to make a nice one. “You are a guest. However, I must keep an eye on you at least for a few days. You’re not yet prepared to deal with your surroundings.” Ha, a few days. Not quite! I’ll keep Seraphim for as long as I wish, and he’ll spend all his time here, under strict supervision.

  “Did Wish tell you to keep me prisoner?”

  His continued use of the word “prisoner” is blatant defiance, but I refrain from scolding him. At least he’s engaging with me now. But yes, why don’t we blame everything on Wish? “Of course. He wants you safe and sound. I’m to help everyone like you have a smooth transition.” It is becoming easier to lie.

  Seraphim stares off into space for several moments. I continue to hold the towel, waiting with curled toes for more hard questions I must dodge like arrows. Instead, he stands—too quickly for me to look away—and rends the towel from my grasp. I catch the tiniest glimpse of his cock, soft between his legs, as he covers all his pretty flesh.

  “Where can I sleep?” he asks.

  This is a question I’m fully prepared for. I spin on my heel. “Come, my sweet. I will show you.”

  Seraphim follows. He is back to being obedient for now, but I am no longer under any illusions that he will be easy to contain.

  Sera

  This bed is nice, I have to admit. It’s the biggest, comfiest surface I’ve ever curled up on, miles above hard, dirty floors with my hoodie as a pillow and standard-issue gurneys and hospital beds. It’s wide enough to fit four men, and the comforter is fur-lined, softer than any material I’ve ever touched. The man didn’t give me any clothes, and the bed lacks a top sheet, but the fur is heaven against my bare skin.