As the class begins to shove books and notepads into their backpacks, I turn my back to the room and drop my boob coverings—a scratchy sheet of paper that left very little to the imagination. Quickly, I pull my favorite pink bra on, covered in tiny black bats, and throw a solid black shirt over my head. It contrasts rather nicely with my hot pink skirt.
By the time I’m dressed, the rest of the monsters have already left the classroom.
“Have a great day, Violet,” Mrs. Talling says, smiling pleasantly. Immediately, I bare my fangs at the teacher and hiss menacingly. I made the mistake of trusting a teacher once, only to have her quite literally stab me in the back.
Never again, Satan. Never again.
I shrug my backpack over my shoulders, remove my phone from my jacket pocket, and head into the crowded hallway. I have Practical Theory with Mr. Pumpkin next, and I’d spent all night completing a twenty-page thesis for him.
Have you ever wondered about a monster’s internet search history?
Don’t.
Seriously, don’t.
A text from Mason appears on the screen, and a giddy smile immediately comes to my face, as it always does with him. He makes me feel like a fucking child, not the most fearsome monster in all of existence.
Correction—the daughter of the most fearsome monster in all of existence. Daddy wears that medal proudly—and I’m being literal. The award ceremony took place in Prague.
Mason: thinking of you. Dinner tonite?
Violet: Not if you don’t learn how to spell.
Mason: weirdo
Violet: Takes one to know one.
Mason: so, seriously, dinner? I’ll eat your pussy
I pause, thumbs hovering over my phone as I read his most recent text. And reread and reread and reread.
Mason: damn autocorrect. I meant I’ll buy you pizza.
Snorting, I shake my head as I sidestep a group of students hurrying in my direction.
Violet: sureeeee you did. But I can’t tonight. Meeting with Bar and Cal. You wanna come?
Mason: I always want to come when you’re around. You can’t taunt my little Mason, baby
Violet: you talking about your dick?
Mason sends me back a dozen eggplant emojis and heart-eyes.
Mason: I’ll be there
Still smiling, I slip my phone back into my pocket. That smile abruptly fades when I spot Vin and Gills—aka Cheryl—together on the other side of the hall. As I watch, she takes a step closer to him, and he bends his head down. I can’t hear what is being said, but her face puckers in annoyance and something akin to hurt.
He’s not your boyfriend, Violet. He can do whatever he wants when he wants with whomever he wants.
Then why does the sight of them together kill me?
Before I can make my hasty retreat, Gills’s eyes flicker towards mine, and the hurt in them quickly transforms into avarice. She turns back to Vin, pushes herself onto her tiptoes, and kisses him.
The room begins to spin rapidly like I’ve been caught in a whirlpool. I place a hand against the wall to steady myself, remind myself where I am. Conversations from passing students enter one ear and then immediately exit out the other. My heart hiccups once before stilling as pain bombards me. It’s like he tied a rope around my neck and hanged me from the gallows.
Gills sashays away with an exaggerated sway to her hips, but I barely notice her. I barely notice anything, actually.
Don’t care. Don’t care. Don’t care.
You are a strong and mighty warrior, Violet. You will cut off his penis and give him a severed cock blowjob as his tears bleed life into you.
Vin finally turns in my direction, and the anguished expression marring his face claws at the black hole where my heart should be.
“Violet,” he pleads, but I’m already backing away.
I feel…betrayed, almost. And something else, something I don’t want to put into words.
Dammit, I’m jealous.
His face twists, settling into a determined frown, as he begins to eat up the distance between us.
“Violet!” he bellows, shoving aside a passing werewolf.
But I can’t be around him right now. For a while, I thought he liked me. As in, liked liked me. That sliver of hope pierced the painstakingly constructed shelter around my heart.
Now? That hope has shriveled and died, leaving behind impenetrable barriers that I’m not sure anyone can ever conquer.
Fuck, did Vin break me?
I refuse to believe that. There was a reason I swore off men and cocks. I’m stronger than one broken heart, one bad day, one depressive episode. I’m stronger than the world—than the monsters and humans alike—give me credit for.
With a burst of speed, I race away from the rapidly approaching Vin Van Helsing. I have to remind myself who he is. Namely, my sworn enemy.
I’m done being pushed around by idiotic boys. If Vin wants to break my heart, good for him. He can have the entire organ.
Fuck him.
And fuck me too for developing “emotions” for him.
It’s just a giant fuck party. The only problem? There’s no lube, and the world has deemed it fitting to repeatedly fuck me in the ass.
WHAT MAKES A PERSON A MONSTER?
And no, I’m not being sarcastic.
Is it their genetics? An intrinsic part of a person that they have no control over?
Or is it their actions—the things they do, words they say, lives they take?
I don’t believe one person is inherently good or bad. Everybody has darkness nipping at their heels, swirling around in their stomachs, and demanding an outlet. At the same time, those people are capable of acts of good.
Maybe that’s what makes us monsters. One day, we can be slaughtering cities, and the next, we’re building shelters for the homeless. There are numerous facets in every aspect of nature, and human nature is no different. The unpredictability, however, is what terrifies people. We’re fallible monsters capable of horrendous acts. But we’re also capable of expressing love and kindness, and showing compassion to those
