Page 1 of The Monster and the Masochist

11 Years Old

Alexa Play: A Dark Heart Silhouette by Vendetta Red

He was going to touch me again.

I knew he was.

Dread began to stir in my gut as I followed Father Samwell through the halls of St. Andrew’s Catholic school.

My hand was throbbing from punching that bitch Kenny Samuels in the face for calling my brother a faggot, but the pain was a comfort.

It helped ground me as the familiar feeling of helplessness churned in my gut. The halls slowly emptied as we walked. Kids filed into their respective classes, and I could hear them whispering to each other as they stared.

‘Theo’s in trouble again.’

‘What’d she do this time?’

‘Why doesn’t she just wear the girl’s uniform?’

‘Dyke.’

I ignored them. They were the least of my worries.

The truth was, they were right. I did this to myself.

I’d known this morning that I should have just worn the skirt, but it’d been lying there on my bed, mocking me.

I hated it.

I had always hated skirts and dresses and crap. They just never felt like me. I hated them even more now that I’d learned just how exposed they made me to the prying eyes of monsters disguised as men.

I had Father Samwell to thank for those lessons.

So, I caved and pulled on the uniform pants my dad had bought for me, even though he knew it was against school rules.

He’d told me that the rules weren’t inclusive, and I shouldn’t have to wear something I didn’t feel comfortable in.

He’d had multiple meetings with Father Samwell about making an exception in the uniform policy for me, but it didn’t seem to matter.

I was still always punished for it.

“This way, Theodora,” Father Samwell said–like I didn’t already know the way to my own personal hell.

We passed the school’s reception desk, and the administrative assistant smiled at him adoringly as we passed.

Her expression darkened, of course, when her eyes landed on me.

“Detention again, Miss Fairview?” she sneered as we passed, and I made a show of rolling my eyes and shoving my hands into my pockets.

“Looks like it,” I muttered. She just tutted her tongue in a condescending way that made me want to punch her in the face, too.

Shoving my hands into my pockets, I toyed with the tiny Q-Tip I always carried with me.

After my first… detention with Father Samwell, I’d started having pretty bad nightmares. I, of course, couldn’t tell my dad what they were about, so when I woke him up with my cries every night, he started bringing me Q-Tips.

“A… Q-tip?” I’d asked incredulously, and he almost looked offended.

“It’s obviously a magic wand, Theo, don’t be ridiculous.”