Lovely Monster Read online

  Lovely

  Monster

  Shaylee Europe

  Copyright © 2020 Shaylee Europe

  All rights reserved.

  For my mama.

  Because we all have our problems.

  Gasoline

  “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent.”

  Eleanor Roosevelt

  This Is My Story

  ♥

  The first time I saw her, I thought I hadn’t noticed much about her. Now, I know I was wrong. I noticed everything about her. What she was wearing, how her hair was styled, even the shoes she had on her feet, I can remember as clearly as if it were yesterday. I can still see her, walking past me, carrying a box with crayons and coloring books, and not meeting my eyes as she passed.

  A smile had been plastered across her face, as if it were put there permanently. Looking back, I think a smile like that should remain there forever. Smiles that honest rarely come in a world like ours.

  I thought she was smiling because she thought I looked funny. It wouldn't have been anything new. I was used to people snidely smiling at me as they passed. It was the price that came with a face like mine.

  Everyone was against me. Talking about me as I passed, staring at me as if I were a monster, and maybe I am. Maybe I am that monster that parents warn their children about. I fit the image to a tee. When children pass me, I know they’re staring at me as if the boogeyman has just become a man and is walking among them.

  But I wasn't talking about me.

  I was talking about her.

  Her hair was short, but that didn't seem odd to me. She had a slender neck, and a face that I could only relate to an elf. High cheekbones, green, doe-like eyes, and pale skin, all hidden beneath the pixie cut of her dark auburn hair.

  I don't think I noticed the light spread of freckles across the bridge of her nose. They were there, but I failed to acknowledge them.

  She had just been another smiling face, only with crayons and coloring books.

  I knew she wasn't a nurse. I'd been near hospitals enough to know they didn't allow you to dress in jeans or converses.

  Plus, she was too young. Even just passing her by, I knew she was around my age, maybe even a little younger. She had a child-like face, and aura. Really light, and graceful, like she was just air floating through and past me.

  Of course, she had tripped as she had passed. She looked graceful, but falling was one of those things she did very well.

  And quoting, but I'll tell you about that later.

  The box had fell to the floor before she had, and the crayons had scattered everywhere. For just a split second, I wanted to laugh. Not many things in life made me laugh at that point, but that instance had been one where the thought had crossed my mind.

  I wouldn't have laughed about it then. I was too busy being brooding and sinking in self-pity, the same way I had done for seventeen years.

  I had walked a good distance past her by then, but I stopped to see her on her knees, the crayons scattered, the books open, and her palms against the floor. I don’t know why I stopped. I know why I didn’t turn around to help, like any normal person would.

  I wasn't normal.

  I was deformed.

  I turned around to keep walking when I heard her begin to laugh. I stopped again, and turned to stare at her. She was sitting on her butt, looking at her colored mess, and laughing.

  My brow raised as she turned to look at me. Even the safe, twenty foot distance we had between us, her eyes were intense, and they begged me to laugh with her.

  But I didn't.

  I couldn't.

  Not then.

  She bit her lip, though she was still giggling, despite my almost glaring stare. She gave me a smile, kind of a welcoming gesture, I guessed.

  I turned, and began walking away again.

  “You know, it isn't as bad as you think,” she called out, and I halted, turning around.

  Her smile aggravated me, and I was ready to unleash all of my pent up aggression on her. She would make a perfect receptacle to hear exactly how bad it really was.

  But she shrugged, and gave me her sly smile that I would grow very fond of, and said, “Everyone's got to fall sometime. Keeps us grounded.”

  “Yeah, well, falling sucks,” I told her, as if it were some philosophical answer to life.

  She shrugged. “Gives you a chance to get back up.”

  “And what if you can't?” I asked.

  “That's when you need someone to help you,” she answered, as if she had the answer to everything, and every question I could throw at her.

  I looked at her mess, and then looked back to her face. “Trust me, most people would rather keep you down,” I told her. That was when I finally turned around and walked away.

  “Those people are what suck!” she yelled behind me.

  I didn't turn around again, but kept walking with a small smile on my face. She picked up her mess by herself, and I left her there.

  Something I didn't want to ever do again.

  ♥

  The burns that covered my entire body were like a slap in the face to most people, as if I were hurting them by allowing myself to be seen. A restaurant owner had even once asked my sister if she would take me out of the restaurant. Ava had pitched a fit, making a huge scene in the restaurant but eventually, after I had walked out, she had followed me. She told me she would sue them for discrimination, but I told her it was pointless. She dropped the subject, and we started using drive-thru.

  It seemed like they had always been there, though I'd really only had them for five years. I had been thirteen when my mother decided to douse me in gasoline, and light me up like the 4th of July.

  Ava's dad split a few days after she was born, and our mother never knew who my dad was. Some lowly sucker was out there in the world, with my blue eyes and pitch black hair.

  Not that I had hair anymore.

  Our mother worked two jobs. The waitress during the day, and the tricks she pulled at night. The day job supplied the customers for the night job, and it came full circle. Truth be known, my dad was probably one of those customers.

  Ava was seven years older than me, so she had been at college when our mother decided she was tired of my ugly face. Maybe I had played one too many video games, or had gotten a C on too many Pre-Algebra quizzes, but one night, she dragged me into the shed, and lit me up.

  A neighbor put me out, and dear old mother was taken to the mental institution a few states away. All in all, everything was made right.

  Except she gets three meals a day, and plenty of time to think, and my second home is a hospital, and I live in constant pain.

  I was lucky if I stopped to really think about it. But I didn't like to. Actually, I'd prefer to do anything but think about.

  ♥

  When I walked into the office, Ava was already waiting for me. I felt like a child going to the principal’s office because I snuck into the girl's restrooms. There's nothing more unnerving than your older sister and the doctor staring at you because you're late.

  “You were supposed to be here ten minutes ago,” Ava said, her voice just above a whisper.

  “I got side-tracked,” I told her, plopping down in the seat next to her.

  “Glad you could grace us with your presence.”

  “Yeah, well, I had to break away from my many girlfriends. You know how it is for us deformed guys,” I answered. I could feel my sister cringing next to me.

  She didn't like it when I referred to my disorder, which was how she treated it. A disorder, and I was the poor victim of this random bout of violence. I was to be guarded, and cared for. It wasn’t a deformity. It wasn’t a permanent part of my identity. It was a disorder, someth
ing that could be treated and healed.

  The doctor didn't comment, and looked to my sister for a response. She just rolled her eyes and shrugged it off as if to say, 'That's Falon. Sarcasm is his second language.'

  I slumped in my chair, one hand holding up my head as the doctor looked to his folder. He was new. I had never met him before, but my doctor had retired. Old Dr. Huckabee, the man that had been the first person to make me laugh, had decided to go to Florida and soak up some rays with his senile wife.

  The doctor in front of me was maybe a little older than my sister, who was only a few years away from thirty. It was just around the corner, but she didn't like to be reminded.

  I could see my sister flirting with him too. She wasn't aware, at least I didn't think she was, of how she was absentmindedly twirling her hair or exactly how much she was blinking.

  I had read somewhere that girls blinked more than guys. I could believe it too, seeing how rapidly Ava was blinking.

  “Falon?” the good doctor said, and I looked to him. He was smiling faintly. “I'm Dr. Marstens, but you can call me Jesse if it'd make you feel more comfortable,” he replied.

  I raised the one eyebrow I had. “I think I'm good,” I said, and Ava shot me a glare.

  “Dr. Marstens, why I scheduled this appointment is because Falon's been complaining about some pain lately, and Dr. Huckabee had scheduled another skin gra-”

  As my sister went into mother mode, I looked around the office, staring at the plaques, and diplomas. The man definitely made sure you knew he was a Harvard graduate. The diploma was like a huge sign to prove he wasn't hurting for money.

  My college options? The community college or the open road. The open road was my pick, the college, my sister's. She wanted me to have an education. I was barely getting through the minimum, and I was home schooled.

  I had tried going to public school after I turned into a walking matchstick. Things hadn't went to well. A group of kids had started calling me Freddy Krueger, I came back with some stupid joke, and the next thing I knew, one kid had a broken jaw, and I had a broken nose, bruises, and blood all over my knuckles.

  We both got suspended, but I never went back. I saw no point.

  Ava was a good teacher, don't get me wrong, but the whole educational thing never really clicked with me.

  Running, that I was good at. I wanted to buy an old truck, and just drive, no maps, no idea where I was going. Just drive, really fast, away from hospitals, and a normal life.

  But that was the dream. The reality was three days a week at a community college, living with my sister, and working some dead end job to help pay the tuition.

  That's life, you know?

  When I looked back to the doctor and my sister, I realized they had held a conversation about my well-fare without me being involved. She was standing up, shaking his hand.

  I quickly stood, but didn't shake the good doctor's hand, despite the fact that he held it out to me. I turned and walked out of the room, and started to the car.

  I was halfway down the hall when I heard the door to the doctor's office shut.

  “Falon, will you wait a minute?” she called out. I didn't stop walking, but I did slow down. She was my sister after all.

  Ava came to my side, breathing deeply. She shot me a glare with her dark brown eyes. I smiled, and after a moment, she did too.

  “You're not funny,” she told me, pulling the strap of her purse higher on her shoulder. She was still smiling, even though I knew I was pushing her last nerve.

  “I wasn't trying to be funny. I was going for rude,” I informed her.

  “Well, you achieved it. Congratulations.”

  “Thanks, it means a lot.”

  “Falon,” Ava said more sternly. She stopped walking, and like a magnetic force, I did too. “Don't you care at all about this surgery? Aren't you the least bit worried?” she asked.

  I went to roll my eyes, then decided against it. I looked to the wall, and then looked to the floor. I don’t know how I saw it, but a crayon was nestled against the wall. I knew it must have belonged to the girl from before and she had just looked over it.

  “It's not a big deal, Ava. I don't even see any use in going through with it,” I told her.

  I knew my honesty would get her. She stared at me with a dumbfounded expression. “What do you mean, 'not a big deal'? It's surgery, Falon. It is a big deal and it's a very important big deal,” she told me.

  “It's my body. It's not like the surgery will help any. You know that,” I told her, and when her expression turned soft, I realized I didn't want to open that can of worms.

  “I just worry about you. I don't want you to feel so low about yourself,” she replied.

  “Don't worry, I feel peachy,” I told her, cracking a grin.

  She stared at me for a moment, then lost the battle and smiled softly. “Yeah, you always do. Peachy is your middle name, right?” she replied, having known my answers so well.

  I pinched her cheek. “Exactly.”

  Ava laughed, shaking her head. “You're weird,” she commented, and then rolled her eyes. “I've got to go pay out, and then I'll head to the car,” she said.

  I nodded. “I'll be waiting,” I told her.

  She kissed my cheek, which meant I was in her good graces once more, and then left me standing in the middle of that long corridor alone.

  Except for the crayon. It was still there.

  I walked over to it, and knelt down. It was wedged between the wall and a hospital cart, but came out easily when I pulled it. I knew the girl had probably missed it because from where she had been, she hadn't seen it.

  White. Not a very useful crayon, I think. You really couldn't use it for much of anything, and if you did, you couldn't tell. It was white. Most paper was already white.

  I tucked it into my pocket. I couldn't give you an exact reason why. Just felt I needed to, and that was as good a reason as any.

  ♥

  Sitting in the confines of my bedroom, I finally had time to think. I love my sister, I really do, but she doesn't get the idea of a young man needing space.

  Ava would prefer to know what I was doing at every moment of the day. If I was watching porn, the least I could do is let her know, or smoking a joint. Just as long as she knew.

  I'm sure she only has my best intentions in mind (because I would never smoke a joint. Call it an omen, but I'd prefer to not light fires near my face. Just saying) but sometimes, she could get motherly, and that was when I got childish, and we had our disputes. It wasn't often, but it did happen.

  For the most part, I loved being with my sister. She was one of the most amazing women I knew.

  She supported herself. No husband, no trust fund, just her, keeping herself and me okay. Medical expenses could get expensive.

  She had kept me safe, and as healthy as I could possibly be. She was paying hospital bills to the best of her ability. But they would just keep piling up, because my problems would just keep piling up.

  Staring at myself in the mirror, I knew why Ava wanted me to have another skin graft done. The fateful night that I was used as the barbecue, the main damage had been to my torso and above. Most of the lower half of my body had escaped the flames for the most part, or else, had been kept more protected by the pants I had been wearing.

  My head had suffered terribly. I had covered my face against the earth, but the pain had been terrible. I had felt every agonizing second of it, right down the the flames being extinguished and the ambulance hooking me to a gurney.

  The smell had been horrible. It's a smell I'll never get from my mind. It's one of the many reasons I couldn't join the Army. Burning flesh is an acquired smell.

  I'd spent most of my life after the incident in hospitals, or burn centers. Skin grafts had helped change my Freddy Krueger pits to smoother skin, but I still looked like a monster. Most of my neck and chest still looked like charred skin, rather than the smooth flesh with it's scars.

  I think
Ava was wishing they'd come up with a magic wand and make me look like me again. She was still praying for a miracle.

  I'd given up on those a long time ago.

  I ran my hand over my skull, feeling the curved bumpiness of my head. I would never touch hair again, no matter if I wanted to or not. I could stroke my eyebrow if I really wanted.

  The burns covered nearly half of my face, taking one of my eyebrows, and scarring the side of my nose. The burns hadn't been as severe on my face, but they were there. Very visible.

  It was the ones along the back of my head and neck that traveled into my back that looked angry and I could feel. They were the ones that hurt worse than I allowed Ava to know.

  Sometimes, I wished Ava was married. I wished she had someone that she could talk to about how she was feeling about everything. I knew she wouldn't tell me when things got too heavy for her. She'd just smile and keep pushing. I wished she had someone to confide in, so she wasn't keeping it all in.

  I hated being the key source to all of her stresses. I was the main thought in her head, and I knew this for certain. It wasn't just my ego talking. I was the first thing she thought of when she woke up, and the last thing when she closed her eyes at night.

  Even if she just had a decent boyfriend. Even if it meant me leaving so she could be happy, I would. I hated being her burden, even if she had never said as much.

  On more than one occasion, I had thought about ending it. I would guess that would be normal for a person in my position. The only person I had in this world was my sister, and I was forcing her to care for me when she should have been out, going to clubs and out on dates with the good guys.

  And here I was, doing nothing. I wouldn't hurt anyone if I died. Except Ava, but eventually she'd realize I did her a favor.

  But I hadn't yet. I had kept on ticking, taking one day at a time, hoping for a better tomorrow, wondering if I'd ever find that place that Thomas Edison said was beautiful before he died.