Abigail

For the first time ever, after years of waiting… hoping… the monster catches me in my dreams.

He catches me and hoists me off my feet… and his cock is thick and studded with metal…

And then he kisses me…

The monster kisses me and I want it.

I’ve always wanted it…

And then I wake.

The room is empty. The sunlight making patterns on the wall through the drapes, just like always.

But nothing is just like always.

My belly is still aching, my thighs still clammy from the promise of him, and I’m more desperate for the beast than ever.

I flinch as I grab my laptop, my heart in my throat as I log in to my profile.

I said I’d delete it, but I won’t. I can’t.

His messages are still greyed out. His profile is still listed unknown.

Fuck.

I take a breath, trying to contain my running thoughts.

It’s over. Done. Just one crazy experience for the memories.

I wince as I get to my feet. Wince again as I hobble to the bathroom.

The monster really got me good.

I grit my teeth as I take a piss. Ow, I’m fucking sore.

I should be thinking about getting tested for nasties, but somehow I know I’ll be alright. I couldn’t justify why if my life depended on it, I just know it.

Unfortunately, I don’t have to be thinking about getting the morning after pill, either. The operation that saved my life took my fertility away in the same breath. Scarring. An unfortunate complication, they said.

Even the thought brings tears to my eyes out of nowhere.

The odds that I’ll get pregnant again are… slim.

Virtually nil.

There’s still a chance… more surgery… but no guarantees. Nothing even close to a guarantee.

I’ve transferred my medical notes to the local practice from back home, but the hospital referral… that’s still in the process of moving to another health authority. The waiting lists make it not worth thinking about imminently, so I don’t. Or try not to.

Just like I try not to do so many things.

Walk amongst families. Hear a baby cry. Watch a little kid run after their parents.

I avoid it all.

Another part of the reason I left. Selfish, but true.

Friends getting married, having kids. Friends with kids meeting friends with kids and inviting me along – the woman that can’t have one.

I wipe myself and flush. There is a tiny flash of pink on the toilet paper. A minor injury all considered. I expected worse.

I expected him to be a lot less… considered.

I expected him to tear me in two without a moment’s hesitation.

I fantasised he’d take my ass once he’d done with the rest of me. I imagined him pressing his forehead to mine while he took everything I had.

I’m half glad he didn’t when I have to use the handrail for leverage to get up. The aftermath of what he did do requires enough recovery to be going along with.

I grab myself some toast and eat it in bed. I flick on the TV I haven’t watched in ages and keep my profile open on my laptop, just in case.

And finally, when I dare risk it, I rub my clit until I come for him all over again.

It’s different today.

The way I come is different today. The way I picture the monster in the darkness is all about him.

It always will be.

From now on, it always will be.

My fantasies couldn’t go back to yesterday if I tried. They’re different. They feel different.

And that’s alright.

It has to be alright.

Because today I’m different, too.

 

* * *

 

Phoenix

 

I usually carry Cam everywhere out of habit, but today I let him clamber down from the truck on his own. I take his hand and let him walk alongside me. Encourage him to open the park gate on his own.

I push him on the swing with a lump in my throat. Push him higher and higher, faster than usual, just to see if he’ll squeal.

He doesn’t.

He doesn’t make a single sound.

I watch him on the slide with a fake smile on my face. I hoist him onto the springy metal horse with a giddy-up and a laugh.

But I’m breaking inside.

I wonder if Serena is done packing her things. I wonder if she’s already called Jake to ask for a ride.

She’s been staying with us for twelve months, my domestic crutch through a workload that would have swallowed most people alive.

It nearly swallowed me.

I trusted her. Needed her. We both did.

Still do.

Fuck.

I force that under the surface with the rest of the shit down there.

And I stare at my boy. My boy.

My boy who looks like his mother and not like me.

My boy who has the same cow’s lick as Jake had when he was a boy.

Cameron looks my way and smiles, rides that metal horse a little bit harder. He’s mine.

He has to be mine.

Because if he’s not…

I force the demons back in the pit. Kicking back on a bench as Cameron keeps playing.

I pull my phone from my pocket and call up my hookup login, and I’m so close to reactivating my profile. So fucking close.

But I can’t.

I don’t trust my demons. I don’t trust hers either.

I don’t trust where this insanity will end.

I don’t trust where I’d want it to.

When I look back at my boy, he’s going too fast. Rocking that horse as though he’s in a fucking steeplechase.

His eyes are on me, his mouth unsmiling, and I don’t understand why it hits me so hard in the gut, until I do.

I’m already poised for action when I realise the obvious.

My instinct is to run to him and sweep him off there before he hurts himself.

My instinct is to baby him like the baby I’ve let him be these past twelve months.

The baby I’ve made him be.

But today I don’t.

Today I let him keep rocking.

He’s tall enough that his feet easily reach the foot bars. His grip is strong and his balance is good. He could dismount if he wanted and I know it. He knows it, too.

His expression turns to a grimace as I don’t react to him. He rocks so hard that the metal springs squeak and lurch and my stomach squeaks and lurches with them.

And then he falls, loses his footing and tumbles onto the woodchips below. He rolls onto his back with his face scrunched with tears that make no sound, and I hate myself.

I hate myself and I hate Serena for opening her stupid fucking mouth with her stupid fucking theories.

If only they were fucking stupid.

I’ve scooped Cameron from the floor in a heartbeat. He’s tight in my arms before the horse has even stopped rocking.

He’s tense, flailing, his face screwed in agony as the tears roll down his face. But I see no injuries.

I tug his trouser legs up and there’s not even a mark, there’s not even a graze on his elbow. Nothing.

“What hurts, Cam?” I ask him, but he keeps on silent-crying. “Tell me what’s hurting, champ,” I try again, but he doesn’t even point.

I sit back on the bench and hold him tight, and I’m asking him with my eyes right on his. My soul is on my fucking sleeve as my world goes to shit, and I’m begging him. I’m fucking begging him.

“Please, Cam, please just say something. Please, just say something, bud. Anything. Just talk to me. Make a noise. Anything.”

I’d feel like an idiot if it wasn’t for the way his eyes sharpen on mine. I’d call Serena out for spouting bullshit if it wasn’t for the way his fake tears dry to nothing.

“Cam, please…” I try again. “Talk to Daddy. Please, just say something. Come on, champ, please.”

But he doesn’t. He sniffles and stares at his muddy boots, and then he points at the pond behind my back, accident forgotten.

“Ducks?” I ask. “Say it, Cam. Ask Daddy for the ducks.”

He stares blankly ahead.

He acts as though he doesn’t hear a word.

Deaf as well as mute today.

I sigh and brush his hair from his forehead. “Alright,” I say, “let’s do it.”

And we do.

I lead my little boy to the duckpond and dig the food from my pocket. I squat on my haunches to help him throw the pieces. I smile like this is just another day, just like yesterday, just another fun day at the park like all the other times we’ve been here.

But it’s not.

This isn’t yesterday.

Today my demons have broken from their cages and my eyes are open wide.

Things will never, ever be the same again.

And I’ll never, ever be the same again either.