Have you ever thought of the monsters that you were once scared of hiding in your closet. Lurking in the dark depths, beneath the clothes and the empty hangers. The glowing eyes, that you swear you can see ever so clearly, making you huddle beneath the thick covers of your bed. Making you shiver in fear as you feel said eyes peering at you with disdain.
Well what if those monsters weren't what we thought of at all. What if those monsters were truly that piece of ourselves that we've kept hidden away, like a pirates treasure. Only this time there is no map with an 'x' that marks the spot. Oh no, that map was buried along with said treasure. It would risk everything if that map were to ever be found by anyone other than the owner.
Everybody has their fair share of secrets. Not everyone can be fully trusted. We all have those monsters in our closet. Hiding amongst other thing to keep hidden. Some people's closets are more organized. They're more open about their monsters with those trusted few that were deemed worthy.
But for me? My closet is half-hazardly thrown together. Clothes piled up, both dirty and clean, to ensure that my monster can never be shown. I can't risk it. Not in this town where I live. It'd be too dangerous.
I live somewhere between the middle of no where, and the road to Right Wing city. It's a small town. Population about 3,000. Everybody knows everybody else. Word spreads faster than a wild fire during the driest of the L.A. heat. If anyone were to find out about my monster, my whole life would be in ruins.
I've known I was different from a young age. Only ever being interested in the girls in my class, the boys only ever seeming like an after thought. Sure, I thought the boys were fun to hang out with, but to look at? God, no. Why look at boys when beautiful women exist?
In 4th grade, my parents got me a baby sitter. I, at the time was stubborn. Claiming I didn't need one and that my 9 year old self could be trusted to be alone. I remember throwing this tantrum, letting out what could only be described as blood curdling screams, in protest.
And being as stubborn as I was, and still am, I persisted until it was time for said babysitter to metaphorically start sitting on the metaphorical babies.
A knock was heard from the door. My mom, who has already given up on making stop my antics, shwooped off the grown in one quick motion. Making a beeline for the door. The sound of the door opening making my crying self immediately stop.
I stood up from the muddy brown carpet, and carefully walked near where my mother stood at the entrance of the door way. I peeked my head around the corner, feeling the texture of the floral patterned wallpaper on my finger tips.
That's when I first saw her. She looked around 15, just the right age for babysitting someone as young as I was. Her ombré hair flowed down her back in neat waves. I was struck with this feeling of awe, the only thing I could hear was my own heart beating through my chest.
Budum. Badum. Badum.
I saw her lips moving, curving up into a smile as she talked to my mother in front of her. Her head slowly turns in my direction, her eyes following. I quickly flew my head back around the corner.
I put my back against the wall, hand going to my chest as I feel my face heat up. I was so confused on what I was feeling, a feeling that my 9 year old brain couldn't quite comprehend. And wish I never found out that information.
YOU ARE READING
The Monsters in Our Closets (GxG)
RomanceDo you ever just know that something is out of place in your life? And do you ever wonder what that thing is? Well, so did Lauren, but she happened to have found out at a young age what that something was. Now older and onto her last year of high sc...