You will have to wait for the rest of my story.
My therapist is entering the room, which means it is time to perform.
"Good morning, Arabella. How are you today?" Kaylin Speck asks, with the practiced warmth of someone who is paid to care.
I offer her a smile I have perfected over weeks of observation. Soft. Harmless. Inoffensive.
"I'm fine, Kaylin. Just another day in this strange journey called life."
Selby Leary taught me that answer. Selby has been here longer than I have. She said if you want them to leave you alone, you tell them you're fine. It works more often than it should.
Kaylin sits in her chair and opens her tablet. I watch her face carefully. Therapists pretend to listen, but what they really do is hunt for fractures. Any inconsistency. Any weakness.
I give her nothing.
Silence stretches between us.
"Why are you pretending?" she asks finally. "Your expression doesn't match your words. I sense sadness."
Damn it.
"I'm sad because I'm remembering things."
"What kinds of things?" she presses gently. "You can share them with me."
"I don't need help," I say. "I've always been enough for myself."
That part is true. No one ever helped me. I don't remember comfort. I don't remember protection. Independence was not a choice; it was survival.
"Everyone needs help sometimes," Kaylin says. "If not, why are you here?"
"I'm here to avoid prison," I reply flatly. "Let them think I'm insane. It's safer."
She writes something down.
The urge to leap across the room and crush her throat rises suddenly, vivid and intoxicating. The darkness suggests it eagerly.
I ignore it.
Control matters. Good behavior is strategic.
Still, I wonder what she is writing. One day, I will steal that tablet. I will read every word they have ever used to reduce me.
"Let's try an exercise," Kaylin says.
I laugh.
"What is it? Inkblots? Am I supposed to see genitalia in them?"
She smiles politely, but concern flickers behind her eyes.
"No. Something simpler," she says. "I'll say a word. You tell me the first word that comes to mind."
This is nonsense—but I agree.
"Love."
"Fantasy."
She notes it.
"Hate."
"Life."
"Fear."
"Courage."
"Man."
"Sex."
She pauses.
"Desire," she offers.
"Seduction."
Her eyebrow lifts slightly.
"Success."
"Freedom."
"Women."
"Victim."
"Happiness."
I hesitate.
"Sadness."
"Pain."
"Resilience."
She exhales quietly.
Then she says the word carefully.
"Blood."
The air changes.
My thoughts scatter. The darkness stirs, sudden and sharp.
Attack her.
My hands tremble. My vision blurs. Something massive looms in the corners of my mind—horned, burning, patient.
"No," I shout. "Blood isn't drunk. Go away. Go!"
Kaylin rises from her chair.
"Arabella, what are you seeing?"
The room darkens. The presence presses closer, whispering promises I don't want to hear and desperately want all the same. I fight it with everything I have left.
"I don't know how much longer I can hold him back," I whisper. "I don't know how long before he takes me with him."
Kaylin's voice is calm now, steady.
"You're safe. You're here. I'm with you."
She is wrong.
Safety is an illusion. Control is temporary. And the darkness is very patient.
YOU ARE READING
THE MONSTER INSIDE ME (#ONC2024)
Horror#ONC2024 Round two Ambassadors' pick. :D SHORTLIST ONC 2024 My prompt is number 3: Your greatest fear is monsters in the dark. The last thing you expect is to become the monster in the dark. Arabella Dagon was always afraid of the dark. In the dar...
