Page 88 of Beautiful Monster

Instead of arguing or playing along, I decide to just walk away. Like Alexander said—I don’t owe anyone anything. I don’t owe my mother a conversation or an apology or gratitude for not having a problem with this.

So, I simply pull away from her embrace and put space between us.

“I had a great time, Mom. Thanks for having us.”

Her mouth hangs open as I turn and walk away, meeting Alex in the middle of the yard so we can walk back home alone. My hand slips easily into his.

“You okay?” He squeezes my fingers.

“Yep,” I say, forcing a smile.

As we go through the motions back at the house, getting ready for bed—in his bed since we don’t even mess with the guest room anymore—we talk about the party, and I think about the first time Alex walked over to my backyard. What it was like seeing him in person for the first time. He was so out of reach, so mysterious, and I try to compare that first impression with the man I see now.

They are two different people.

The Alex I met then was confident, a beast I wished would devour me.

What I have now is a man who is healing like me. No matter his twenty years on me, he still feels the same sense of loss, the same torn consciousness, the same daily fight with who he wants to be and who he sees in the mirror.

His age does not intimidate me or place us on different planes. We see each other through the same filter. Being alone with Alexander doesn’t feel like being with my family. I’m no longer guarded, alone, or desperate for affection. For the hundredth time this week, I say a silent prayer that this thing between us sticks, because I need it to.

“What are you thinking?” he asks from across the room, pulling the sheets back from the bed. Wordlessly, I slip into my side and crawl over to him. When he sits down, I run my fingers through his dark hair, with the gray flecks at the temple, and I kiss his lips. I let my lips linger in that position for a moment, drinking in the sensation of his kiss.

When he draws me against his body, we fall into bed together, taking our time with each other. Everything from peeling our clothes off to the gentle way he enters me is delicate, savoring each and every moment.

I push away my worries as he thrusts, deeper and deeper, with force behind every powerful movement, so that when my body unwinds from the climax, I melt into him. We melt into each other, and I try to convince myself that I have absolutely nothing to worry about.

CHAPTER 28

SUNNY

“You’re sure you’re okay with this?” Alex asks, leaning over to brush his lips against my temple while I apply another coat of mascara.

“Of course,” I say, feigning confidence.

He woke me up this morning with news that a friend of his, an art lover from the city, wants to see the finished mural. It’s nerve-racking to imagine someone judging my work, and I keep thinking about the slope of the girl’s nose, worried that I didn’t put enough definition in her complexion and she looks too amateur.

Alexander keeps reminding me it’s perfect.

The only thing scarier than someone seeing my artwork is meeting one of Alexander’s friends. We’ve been good since the party at my mom’s last weekend, but I don’t know if he’s ready to be official with his friends yet.

He answers my question when the doorbell rings, and Alex promptly grabs my hand. It eases my worries, but doesn’t make me feel any more adequate on his arm. He’s grown his beard out, and his hair, which is gelled and coiffed on the top of his head, makes him look so good I want to drag him back upstairs and have my way with him. He’s in a white button-up shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbow, and a pair of snug black chinos. Next to him, in my cutoff shorts and cheap tank top, I feel like a kid standing beside a grown-up.

It doesn't help that the couple standing behind the door is gorgeous and interesting. The woman is dark-skinned with a tasteful piercing through her septum and her hair cut short to her scalp. She’s in a simple black dress that comes down to her mid-thigh.

The man has shoulder-length hair and is also dressed in black. He looks exactly like you’d expect an art lover to look.

I immediately feel like a fraud.

“Gino, this is Sunny Thorn,” Alexander says with a smile as his friend reaches for my hand.

“Such a pleasure to meet you, Sunny. This is my friend, Valerie.”

The woman takes my hands in hers and pulls me in for a tight hug. Alexander welcomes them in and gives them a brief tour of the house, avoiding the rooms that are hiding all the unpacked boxes. For the most part, it looks like he’s actually moved in. The living room, kitchen, and patio all appear to be casually lived-in, which fills me with a sense of pride.

Lived in by us. As if this is our house.

“I’m ready to see this mural,” Valerie chirps, squeezing my hand with a bright smile.