I'm lying in bed now. Resting. The therapist finally left.
Kaylin isn't a bad person. She wants to help me. I can see that. But some things exist beyond therapy, beyond questions and charts and concerned looks. I've accepted that what lives inside me doesn't respond to kindness or techniques. It listens to something else.
In the quiet, the demon speaks.
His voice slips into my thoughts like smoke, curling around my doubts, feeding on everything I try not to feel. He knows where I'm weakest. He promises relief through destruction, power through surrender.
He is tall and massive, red-skinned, horned. His eyes burn crimson, darker than the rest of him. He tells me he wants to help me, tells me to be strong. I don't trust him. I don't trust anyone. I pretend to trust him, and he believes it.
He's stupid.
He appeared the same day I slept with Adrien. I let myself be dragged by his cruel words, by the way he made me feel small and wanted at the same time. I knew it wasn't good for me even as it happened. Therapy didn't reveal anything new—it only confirmed what I already knew. There is nothing virtuous about what I am becoming.
The world feels like a trap disguised as a home. Every hand reaches with intent. Every smile hides a price. I don't know how to protect myself except by becoming something worse than what hunts me.
Enough of this.
I'll tell you something real.
I was still working at that miserable grocery store. One afternoon, when the aisles were empty, one of the regulars—an old man who had already crossed lines before—came behind the counter.
His hand grabbed my ass.
I snapped.
He pressed closer, one filthy hand on me, the other fumbling with his belt. My body reacted before thought could intervene. Rage, disgust, terror—all of it collided. I shoved him hard, my heart hammering, my skin crawling.
The demon whispered, Finish him.
I didn't need him.
I kicked him between the legs. He folded, groaning, but even then he didn't stop. He grabbed me, dragged me down, tried to pull me onto him like I was nothing more than meat. Adrenaline exploded through me. I broke free and punched him. I felt bone give under my fist. The sound was sickening. Satisfying.
I wrapped my hands around his throat.
I would have kept squeezing.
The store owner walked in.
Mrs. Jenkins froze, her cane slipping from her hand as she stared at the scene. She rushed forward, shouting for me to stop, for me to let go.
"But Arabella," she cried, her face twisted in disgust, "what is this? You're a slut!"
"He tried to rape me," I said, my voice steady, my hands still trembling.
"But what will Mr. Thomas do to you?" she snapped. "He's an old man."
I laughed. It came out sharp and ugly.
"Old doesn't mean harmless. He's a pervert. And you're blind. Take your job and shove it where it belongs."
I walked out and never came back.
As I left, something inside me hardened. Not relief. Not victory. Just certainty.
People will always choose comfort over truth. Silence over justice. And if that's the world I live in, then I'll survive it my own way—even if it costs me what little humanity I have left.
The demon smiled.
And for once, I didn't look back.
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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...
