Page 24 of Below the Shadow of the City

My obfuscation of the details definitely made it seem like he’s an old man or married, but I’ll leave things vague for now. Attraction has been a sticky thing regarding “Adam.” My heart flutters when I picture his monstrous form, and it’s a sickly combination of fear, lust, and confusion. He’s not human, and I’ve repeated that fact to myself over and over to suppress any feeling.

“The heart wants what it wants, babe,” Matthias quips with sincerity. What if the heart wants a seven foot tall monster, what then?

I lower my eyes at the comment, the realization of what I want settling in. “Ugh, so cliche, and I don’t know if I actually want this. I don’t know what it even feels like to want someone, especially when logic tells me I shouldn’t want him. But I can’t stop thinking about him. He’s more or less giving me another chance to see him tomorrow night.”

“Do you actually want to pursue something with him or do you just fantasize about the idea of him? Maybe because it’s a little risky and taboo in your eyes?”

That’s the thing, I don’t care about the risk of it. Him being whatever he is seems like such a small challenge to get over. I want him, and none of the inevitable complexities that come with falling for someone. “I feel like I’m risking a lot for something that might fizzle out.”

Declan reaches for my hand, “You can’t keep being afraid things will end the same way they did with Perrie. She was horrible to you towards the end, you were blindsided by the breakup because you refused to see her for what she was.”

“A monster?”

“No, a fucking bitch,” he laughs.

“So you think I should see him?”

“I think you should let your panicked mind take the backseat for a little bit. And, selfishly, I want to eventually meet the guy that has you so wrapped around the axle that you’re hoofing it to Dumbo on a random Saturday afternoon.”

CHAPTER 11

SUNDAY, LATE SEPTEMBER (SEPTEMBER 30, TO BE EXACT)

Something about “Adam” had overtaken me. Maybe he holds mystical powers that make me little more than a marionette on a string, or maybe I’m still chasing the high of actually feeling like I like someone for the first time in forever. I'd made cookies for him. Again. Baking is easy when it’s a substitute for an apology. I might not know the words I want to say to him, but I know how to make cookies. The first time I’d made them it was uncomfortable and stiff, my body relearning how to do it. This time it was much easier, and it feels like a dance I’ve only now remembered the choreography to.

My peace offering sits in my hands and the second I round the corner in the laundry room I slow my pace towards him as he leans casually in the doorway. He smiles at me, a sweet, crooked expression that makes me wonder why I even was scared of him in the first place. The plastic container holding my apology cookies sit in my hands that are now growing clammy. The fear I’d felt when I first saw him has been replaced by something else entirely, something strange that I can’t make myself unpack in this exact moment. The checkered tiles of the laundry room floor separate us like a vast ocean and I’m paddling in a rowboat trying to cross.

Then, in a flash, I’m moving without any conscious decision to. My body is on autopilot, my legs are trekking across the floor faster and faster. I’m still clutching the cookies, my sweaty palms are slick against the plastic container. My brain has shut off any logical thought, it instead thrusts me to him. He seems to anticipate my approach, he turns and opens his arms wide. I drop the box to the floor and meet him for what I assume is a hug that quickly turns to him lifting me off of the ground like I weigh nothing to him. Logic hasn’t caught up to me yet, so I find myself willingly clutched in the massive arm muscles of a literal monster.

“Hi,” I mutter, still held by him. I have half a mind to lean into the dramatic greeting we’ve just had and kiss him.

“Hi,” he parrots, and my stomach turns over.

He smells incredible, like fresh pine with something smoky and warm lurking beneath. I rest my hand on his arm, then jerk it back quickly once it hits me that it is literal fur I’m touching.

In the split second I feel him, I do make the observation that the thick mahogany fur is incredibly soft. Though, I don’t touch the exposed parts of him again, being especially careful not to pet him like he’s some animal, he’s not an animal right? Fears of this being a semi-immoral relationship cross my mind, but a chuckle from within his chest quells them.

My fingers settle across his forearm, right above where the sleeves of his canvas jacket have been rolled up. I thought most monsters wore tattered shreds and cloaks, not this. Is monster even the right word for him?

There’s a rumbling from within his chest, so strong I can nearly feel it. Fear clenches my gut. Is he hungry? Was he luring me down here to eat me?

“You came back,” he says with such hope in his voice that I can’t fathom him wanting to tear me apart limb from limb and feast on my insides. He sets me down and I take the smallest step backwards.

“I did. This is,” I shakily inhale, “really, really fucking weird for me.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” he says sweetly. “Nothing’s changed, it’s been me this entire time. It’s my fingers that have texted you and my voice on the other end of the phone.”

“You’re just so…real?” Normal words have seemed to escape me completely, I’ve turned into some sort of bumbling idiot.

“I am,” he agrees.

I have a bizarre primal urge to climb him like a tree. There’s a twisting in my stomach that’s curled down between my legs. I’m not about to fuck him in this basement a minute after our first real meeting, but I fantasize about him tossing me over his shoulder and throwing me atop the line of laundry machines.

And suddenly there is a complete magnetic pull of my face towards his, an unstoppable force that would not let me hold myself back. I’m about to kiss him, and I don’t quite know the logistics of how.

My eyes graze over his pursed lips, and track to the two points of fangs that stick down on either side of his slightly upturned mouth. I have to go for it and dive right into the deep end here. I reach my hand around the back of his head and tangle my fingers through his incredibly soft dark mane. His eyes flutter backwards a bit and that same deep rumbling noise comes out of him. Listening again I realize the sound reminds me of almost a purr that vibrates deep within him. My heartbeat quickens and he wraps his hands around my waist, pulling my body dangerously close against his.

Our mouths collide, not quite a car crash, but like two bumper cars. It’s slow, and strange, and neither of us quite know what to do. We’re both hesitant at first, our hands desperately grasp at the other with careful caressing. It’s like we’re two teenagers in a parked car after a football game. Then, with a sharp inhale, we find our rhythm.