Gods & Monsters(78)

Those two are the only ones who are allowed inside with me and Abel. My husband won’t let anyone else — namely the shaggy-haired guy who got mad the first time — come inside. My big, fierce protector. Nick and Gavin are friendly, and sometimes I catch a light of appreciation in their eyes. They even compliment us sometimes. It makes me laugh. I don’t know why but it does.

Most of all, it makes me feel validated. In fact, it’s the ultimate validation of our love, affecting people the way we do, getting a positive reaction out of them. The ultimate stamp of approval that our love is not wrong. That the way we love, crazily, madly, without limitations, is okay. Loving Abel like this is not a sin.

Loving Abel Adams might be the purest and truest thing I’ll ever do.

After every shoot, he carries me out, like he did the first time. He takes me home, washes my hair, presses a kiss on my tummy, and then we cuddle. There’s no sex or lust, only companionship. His movements are so gentle, his fingers such balm to my aching soul, and thoroughly vandalized and pleasured body.

He’s so layered, my Abel.

He is a product of this society. He’s a product of all the hatred and narrow-mindedness of my hometown. It makes me think that monsters aren’t born, they are made. Not that my Abel is a monster, but still. We make them, through our actions, through our thoughtlessness. We make them with our own hands and then, point fingers at them.

It makes me cry. It makes me see how capable my husband is of being hurt, of being angry over his past. It makes me realize how angry I am, and how my fury has been growing over the years.

It all comes out now, in front of the camera.

So this is basically our own fucked-up version of therapy.

But when I see other couples on the street, laughing, kissing like they have no care in the world, like they don’t have any burdens, I wonder. I wonder if we will ever get to their place, all happy and care-free.

I wonder if we will ever get to a place where we’re not angry anymore. Will we ever move on?

Where does this fantasy end?





I’ve been married to Abel for seven weeks now, and not once have I talked to my parents.

Well, obviously.

They don’t care about me. They don’t even know that their only daughter’s married. They probably pray to God that I’m dead, while I’m showing them the finger with my clothes off.

I shouldn’t be thinking about them, but I am. Today’s my dad’s birthday and it makes me realize that I’ve been in the city for about three months, but it feels like forever. It feels like I’ve lived here longer than I lived in Prophetstown.

I’m melancholy and Abel isn’t home to distract me. He’s hanging out with his friends. And even though I’m sad, it makes me smile that Abel is socializing.

My husband is a classic loner. He doesn’t make many friends but he’s made some ever since he started working at the studio. Both he and Ethan are out so I have the apartment to myself.

I call up Sky. Usually, I don’t ask about my parents when I talk to her. But this time, I drop the question: “How’s my dad?”

“Fine. He’s fine,” she says, quickly. “So, how’s married life treating ya?”

I’m not fooled by the false cheer in her voice. “Sky, how’s my dad? My mom?” Do they ever ask about me? I can’t say that, but I’m silently asking the question.

“I said he’s fine. They’re fine.”

I plop down on the bar stool in the kitchen. “Sky, tell me.” I sigh. “I know, okay? I know they hate me. I’m prepared for the worst. So just, lay it on me.”

She’s silent for a few beats. “I don’t think you’re prepared for the worst.”

I sit up, my heart slamming in my chest. “What? A-are they okay? Is my dad okay?”

She scoffs. “Oh, yeah. He’s fine. I saw him just the other day. He was at the church with your mom and they were chatting up Mr. Knight and that asshole I’m gonna murder: Duke.”

A broken laugh releases from my throat. God, I miss my best friend and her bloodthirsty ways. She’s getting ready to go to college. She’ll leave in a few weeks. I haven’t thought about school in so long; it almost feels like I’m too grown up for it, or maybe not grown up enough.

“You still hate him, huh?”

“Well, yeah. It’s only been a few months since you ran away. Not that long. Besides, I’ll always hate that asshole. He’s my enemy number one.”

“Really?” I prop my chin on my palm, thinking back to the conversation I had with Duke on prom night. “Because I think he might like you.”

She sputters and I can’t help but laugh. “He does not. Ew. That’s the most disgusting thing ever.”

“Is it? Because I think you hate him a little too much.”

“Hey, you know? I think you’ve lost your mind,” she says, mimicking my tone. “Besides, there’s no such thing as too much hate. The more, the better.”

I laugh again, but then stop because it turns sad. I wish I could see her. I don’t know if I ever will. I wish I could… go back and see my town.

No. Bad Evie.

I don’t want to go back. But sometimes I think what if…

What if I tell them that I’m married and I’m happy? I mean, I know they are angry but what if they come around? They are my parents, they are biologically programmed to love me.