Page 47 of Beautiful Monster

SUNNY

I wake up to the smell of pancakes on my birthday. Instead of getting up right away, I lie in bed for a moment and try to soak in this new sensation. Being twenty doesn’t feel any different than being nineteen, except for the fact that I’m one step further into adulthood but feel no less like a clueless teenager.

I climb out of bed and walk into the en suite bathroom. Standing at the counter, I smile at the sight of floral-scented shampoo in the shower and mascara next to the sink. I’ve infiltrated Alexander’s life, making his home my own.

It’s scary how nice this feels. Ever since that first night, we’ve fallen into a routine. He sleeps on the left side and me on the right. We never touch, except for sometimes in the middle of the night when I bury my cold feet beneath his legs.

We don’t even really flirt anymore. We’ve found our rhythm together and while some people might find this arrangement strange, it works for us.

For how long…I have no clue.

When I do finally walk out of the bedroom, he’s standing there with a smile, flipping pancakes in those practically illegal-looking gray sweatpants.

“Birthday girl!” he chimes when I sit down at the counter. I love Alexander’s warm moods.

I’ve narrowed down his behavior to warm, cool, and neutral, like the tones on a color wheel. Warm tones are when he’s most alive. Passionate like amber. Lust-filled gold. Anger in crimson. I’ve only seen him truly hot once, and it was exhilarating, scary, and attractive. When he looks into my eyes, I find the warmth, the life, the real Alexander in an array of tones.

Warm is when he lets his guard down.

Alexander’s cool moods are the ones that I notice when he doesn’t know I’m watching. When I see him relaxing by the pool, still and quiet for the smallest moment, and I see the ocean blue shade of his contentment. When we curl up next to each other on the couch, and he doesn’t pick a fight, test the boundaries or relentlessly punish himself, he fades into something between blue and green.

The ones that frighten me the most are his neutral moods—not because I’m scared of him but because I’m scared of how lost he is to me. He fades into the background of his own life, hoping he won’t mess anything up. The expression melts off his face, and he’s convinced that by doing nothing, he’s doing the world a favor. I want to shake him when I catch these moods on his facade. I want my warm and cool Alexander back, the one with life in his eyes.

“I made you birthday pancakes,” he says as he licks the batter off his fingers. Then, he piles four flapjacks on a plate and tops them with a mountain of whipped cream and syrup.

The attention warms my heart. This new Alexander, the one who wants to be domesticated and settled down, makes pancakes, and he’s doing it for me.

“Thank you,” I whisper as I take a big bite. They’re perfect.

“You are very welcome.” He turns to wash the dishes in the sink, but I feel the silence in the room like a heavy weight. I know there are words on his lips. When he turns back around, he heaves a heavy sigh and speaks. “How are you feeling about the party tonight?”

“I feel fine,” I answer, avoiding his eye contact as I keep my stare trained on my plate.

“Sunny,” he says, and it sounds like a warning. Butterflies dance in my stomach when he says my name, and as much as I love his pet name for me, I do love hearing that one on his lips.

“I was thinking…” I confess after a bite when he passes me a cup of coffee.

“What?”

“I’d like you to come.”

He doesn’t waste a second. “Then, I’ll come.”

I want him with me, to walk in with him, sit by him, touch him and talk to him, claiming him as mine, but I don’t want him there when Fischer makes an inappropriate pass at me, which no one will scold him for, or when my mom drinks so much she makes an even more inappropriate comment about my virginity or my dad or how I was a mistake but they chose to love me anyway.

I don’t want Alexander around for that part. But I don’t want to face it alone.

While I finish my breakfast and scroll through my phone, he comes out of his bedroom freshly showered and dressed, smelling like a million bucks and doing things to my insides that I don’t exactly give him permission to.

“Get dressed. Before the party, I have a little surprise for you in town.”

My head immediately snaps up to see him in a button-up shirt, rolled to his elbows over a snug-fitting pair of chinos. I wish Alexander knew that when he’s dressed like that, he drives me insane.

Without another question, I hop up and run into the shower. Not one thought registers as I get ready, putting on a thin layer of makeup and grabbing my favorite dress and wedges from my bag that I purposefully packed in case of a special occasion. I am blissfully worry-free and happy. And I can’t remember the last time I felt this way.

As I come out, he’s sitting on the couch, one leg folded over the other, and I wish I could snap a picture of him, but he moves too quickly. I don’t know where we’re going, but I crave being seen out in public with him. Not because he’s locally famous but because he’s radiant and, as far as everyone else is concerned, mine.

After a short car ride where he lets me pick my favorite songs—which are mostly ones he’s opened my eyes to—we pull up to a parking lot by the river. It’s mostly for joggers and walkers on the paved pathways, but as we get out, he doesn’t walk down the paths. He heads up to the buildings along the main street.