Page 32 of The Monster and the Masochist

What if I’d done something to make him do that to me?

I never told him no.

I never said stop.

I just stood there and took it.

Maybe if I’d told him to stop, he would have.

Maybe it was my fault.

I’d made it too easy for him.

Maybe he thought I liked it.

The thought of him thinking I’d wanted any of that made me so sick I literally retched.

Curling to the side so I wouldn’t puke directly on my dad, I heaved, and whatever was left of the vodka I’d consumed left me in a burning rush of clear fluid.

After several more soul-crushing rounds of dry heaving, my body finally allowed me to relax, and I shuddered.

Wiping my mouth with the back of my wrist, I turned my gaze back to my father’s headstone.

“Sorry, Dad,” I whispered, though I knew he didn’t mind.

I glanced down at the lonely Q-Tip and rolled it back and forth with my index finger.

“I tried. I tried to think of three good things, but… It’s not working anymore. I don’t… I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to be like this. I just… I want it to be over. I just don’t know how to make it stop.”

Tears stung my eyes, and I hung my head, feeling pathetic, embarrassed, and ashamed that I’d allowed myself to end up here, yet again, begging my dead father to help me with something I’d never asked for help with when he’d been alive.

“I wish you were here to tell me what to do.”

A warm breeze wafted through the bright, quiet cemetery, and as it tangled with my hair, I imagined it was my father doing what he could to comfort me.

As if on cue, my phone–which was miraculously still in my pocket–vibrated, and I slipped it out, half expecting to see my dad’s old contact number on the screen.

It wasn’t my dad. But it was someone just as good.

Cass:

Where the fuck are you? I came by your place last night, and you weren’t home. Cal says you’re still out. Did you fuck that bartender?

A surprised laugh burst out of my chest just as that warm breeze rustled through the trees again, and a leaf fluttered down to land directly on my phone.

I smiled. Why did that feel like some kind of sign? If my mother were here, she would have told me it was an omen.

As much as I liked to poke fun at her for all her witchy shit, it was somewhat comforting to know that the universe seemed to have some sort of plan for us. Iris had proven it to me time and time again with her strangely accurate predictions.

Hell, she’d been telling us Callum was coming for Ryan since we were both little kids.

Maybe this tiny, unassuming leaf on my phone when I’d received a text from Cass in one of my greatest moments of need was my father’s way of trying to tell me something?

Or maybe that was the biggest stretch in the world, and I was just desperate for something good to happen to me for once.

What did I know?

All I knew was that Cass was looking for me, and I was so excited about it that it almost made me forgive myself for being such a mess.