Gods & Monsters

“Abel?” I sit up straight. “How did you buy the phone?”

“The regular way. Went to the store and asked for it.”

“You know what I mean.” I hit his shoulder. “How did you pay for it?”

He rubs the spot. “Damn, you’re bossy. Anyone ever tell you that?”

I huff. “Yes. My boyfriend.” His eyes flare at boyfriend and my heart stutters. But, focus! “Tell me how you paid for it.”

At that, all playfulness vanishes from his face and he sighs. “I can’t lie to you, Pixie. Don’t make me lie to you.”

Now, I’m really worried. My heart’s slamming against my chest, but the rhythm of the beats is different. It’s not excitement but dread. “What did you do?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“It does.” I clutch the silver necklace on his chest. “Tell me, Abel. Please. Tell me what you did.”

“I sold my camera.”

I don’t breathe for a second. It’s like something hard crashed into my chest and I’m jarred.

His camera. He sold his camera.

He got that from his mom. That and the silver necklace he wears. Those are the only things he’s left of his parents.

Sometimes I cry myself to sleep thinking about how lonely he is. I pray for him at church. I pray for him to be less lonely. And now, he’s lost one of the two things that matter to him the most.

Because of me.

I regain my strength because I’m angry — at him, at me? I don’t know, but I am. All those prayers, all the times I cried for him and like an idiot, he wasted everything.

God, I hate him. I do.

I don’t.

“Pixie, now listen for a second —”

“I hate you,” I lie on a screech. “I hate you so much, Abel. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” He grits his teeth, anger flashing in his eyes.

I thrash against his hold with a strength and passion I’ve never felt. “I’m so mad at you. So freaking mad. How could you do that? How could you sell it? It was your mom’s and you loved it. Why would you give it up?”

His hold on my body tightens. It tightens to the point of pain, to the point that I can hardly breathe and I’m gasping. But that could also be because I’m crying right now. God, I never thought my heart could break so much. For anything. For him.

I should be the one consoling him but instead, I’m crying like a five-year-old all because I can’t even imagine the pain he must’ve felt while giving up something so precious.

“Listen to me, Pixie, and listen closely.” His whip-like voice brings me out of my anger. Keeping me flush with his body, he brings up his hand and wipes my tears gently, totally the opposite of the cadence of his voice, rough and raw. “When I first came here, I fucking hated this place. I was all ready to run away the next day until Mr. B found me on the street and brought me to church. Said he wanted me to find peace in God.” He scoffs. “Fuck God. Fuck Him and all His power. He took my parents. He orphaned me. He took my control. I don’t need God. I’ll be my own God. I’ll make my own rules. But then I saw you.”

His voice drops to a whisper, words so thin and air-like that I have to press my palm to where his heart lies, so I can feel that he’s real. That what he’s saying is real. That it belongs in this world and not in a dreamland.

“You were arguing about something. Your voice was so fucking sweet. I knew you were pretty when I first saw you but in church, under those stained-glass windows… Jesus Christ, you looked like a goddess. The entire time I was there my hand was itching. I had to scratch it against my jeans. I wanted to touch you and then draw your face and then touch you again.” He licks his lips and I feel the throb in mine. “That was the first time in days I hadn’t thought of that phone call I got about my parents. I was thinking about something else. About you.”

His hand creeps up and fists my loose hair, pulling at the strands. It stings and I hiss but he doesn’t give me relief. I have a feeling that he can’t. I don’t know how I know this, but I do. He’s feeling too much and his emotions are leaching into his actions. I’ve never seen him like this, or anybody else, for that matter. So agitated and… and aggressive.

“I want you, Pixie. I want you in my life and if I have to sell everything I own, even my soul, I’ll do it. My mom used to say people with no souls are monsters. I don’t mind being one if I get to keep you. And I’m keeping you, Evie.” A current runs through me when he says my real name. “I’m fucking keeping you. Even God can’t snatch you away from me.”