Gods & Monsters(94)

Jesus, I’m gonna come in my pants, but somehow, I control myself.

I don’t stop after that. I can’t. I watch video after video. Until her happy smiles turn into vulnerable ones. Until her needy eyes turn into sad ones.

In one video she holds out her arms, staring at me with such love that in this moment, I’m pierced with it.

“Abel, hug me?” she asks.

Her sweet voice stirs my heart, fucks up my breathing. I ache with the need to bust through the screen and hug her, fulfill her wish. Fulfill all her wishes.

But the jackass in front of me says something completely different, completely bullshit.

“Jesus, Pixie. You look so fucking sexy like this. I can’t mess up this shot, baby.”

I say something else but I can’t hear. I’ve lost the capability. All I know is that I didn’t hug her when she wanted me to. I didn’t give her what she wanted. I was too lost inside my head.

How could I be there with her and not really be there?

It’s like I’m watching myself make the biggest mistake of my life. I’m watching myself jump off the cliff, but I can’t do anything about it. I’m doomed to fall. I’m doomed to slip over the edge no matter how many times I pause the video, rewind it and watch it again.

Dread is seeping into my soul but I have to do this. I have to watch my complete and utter destruction. I can’t look away. I don’t want to look away. I deserve to watch this.

I open the internet browser and search for the Skins website. I hunt down our videos and watch them one by one. Like a madman, I watch them over and over. I watch Pixie, and then, I go back to the beginning and watch myself.

I watch my face, my body, my expressions. I watch how tight my muscles look. With anger. How mean my expression seems. Again, with anger. How black my eyes are. It appears as if I’m running a fever; my flesh is so flushed and sweaty. I hear my words. Obscene, rude, mean words, asking Pixie to look in the camera, asking her to tell me how much she loves me, asking her to tell her parents how much she loves fucking me. They’re not spoken with an erotic intent, no. I’m not trying to create a fantasy like I did that first time we went to that room. I’m not trying to get her hot. I’m trying to vent.

I’m venting my anger.

This isn’t a fantasy anymore. It’s reality. It’s my reality. My anger. My loss of control.

And she’s taking it all, my Pixie.

You’ve lost all control.

You’re so angry, Abel.

Stop running. No one’s chasing you.

Everything makes sense now. Everything is clear. I know why I have started to hate the camera. I know why I never had the courage to look at these videos, even when she was with me.

It’s because of me. It’s because they tell the story of how I truly became a monster.

As Pixie climaxes on screen, I throw up.





I haven’t spoken to Pixie or rather her voicemail in two days.

All I’ve done in the last forty-eight hours is throw up in my new toilet. I thought I was going to die. I didn’t though.

I’m alive. Because I want to suffer. Every single second for the rest of my life, I want to burn but I don’t wanna die. I wanna come back to life every day, so I can burn again.

You see, when two people fall in love, the other seven billion don’t matter. It’s not the world that tears them apart, it’s them. Only they have the power.

It never could’ve been her parents, my parents, or the town, because none of that ever mattered.

It was me. I broke us.

And the cruelest thing is that I can watch it happen with my own eyes. I captured it all, the demise of my control, the demise of our relationship.

Standing at the window of our new apartment and watching the slowly waking street below, I dial her number again. For the last time.

She won’t pick up; she shouldn’t. In fact, she should change her number so I can never bother her again. She should…

A click sounds, making me frown, and then the sweetest sound God’s ever created echoes in my ear.

“Abel?”

I’m stunned for a second. Am I hallucinating? Maybe I’ve been more dehydrated than I thought. Should I say something? But if this is a hallucination, it won’t matter.

Jesus, fuck. I’ve lost my mind.

“Hello? Abel?” Her voice rises in pitch. “You there? Are you okay?”

“Pixie,” I breathe out because what the fuck does it matter if it’s a hallucination or not. She’s talking to me.

“Oh, thank God. I thought…” I hear her gulp. “I-I thought something happened to you when you didn’t call. I didn’t know what to do. I—”

“You picked up. You… I…” I press a fist on the glass of the window, trying to ground myself. “Are you real? I can’t tell.”

There’s a rush of air and when she speaks, I can hear a slight smile in her voice. “I’m pretty sure I’m real.”

“It’s okay if you’re not. I’m not afraid of losing my mind.”

Her intake of breath tells me that my Pixie is real, and I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t deserve to say these things now.

But she’s real.

She picked up my call.

I’m afraid to move, afraid to spook her. Afraid to do anything but listen to her breathe.