My Monster

Chapter Eight: I Hate My Phone

Chapter 8: I Hate My Phone

"Hello?"

"Come outside," says a guy's voice on my stupid mobile phone at 4:20 in the morning on Thursday of the second week of school.

"Sorry, you've got the wrong number," I say automatically, and hang up.

Three seconds, and my phone vibrates again. I furiously press the button with the green icon and hold the tiny phone to my ear. "Who is this and how'd you get my number?" I demand.

"Calm the fuck down, Fee," he says.

"Shawn? Why're you calling me? What do you want?" My voice is rapid and cracking since up until a minute ago, I had been sound asleep. Even for me, this is too early.

"I'm outside your house," he says slowly with the tone of someone hanging on to his last reserves of patience.

What the hell? I take the phone from my ear and crawl out of my bed, marching over to my bedroom window and moving aside the heavy green curtain. I spot a black-and-silver BMW i3 in the street down below, illuminating the misty morning gloom with its white headlights.

I put the phone back to my ear. "Why are you outside my house in the middle of the night?"

"I screwed up, Fee. I really need your help."

I find every single part of that sentence hard to believe. I let the curtain fall and hang up the phone.

Go away, Shawn.

The phone buzzes again. I decline the call. Ring. Decline. Ring. Decline. Ring—

I press the green button this time.

"GODDAMIT, SOPHIE, I'M FREAKING OUT!" Shawn's voice yells at me even before I manage to bring it to my ear. "Please come out." There's a desperate whining at the edge of his voice, like he's on the verge of tears. "I'm covered in blood."

Oh. That gets my attention. I'm awake now. Any normal person would rush downstairs then and there, no more questions asked. I'd do it too—out of curiosity. But most people are sentimental idiots.

"Whose blood?" I ask.

"Mine," he replies.

Good. See? One simple question rules out me getting entangled with a murderer. I've got a career in medicine to think about. I can't afford to have a criminal record.

I assess the situation. "Okay, Shawn, I'm coming out. But if you're lying to me, you're dead."

"I wouldn't have it any other way, Fee," he says, but his heart isn't in it. His voice is strained.

I hang up without a word and pick up my Converse from where I set them out the night before next to my closet. Barefoot, I tiptoe past my parents' room and rush downstairs, unlocking the front door. I throw down my Converse and slide my feet into them, running down the path toward the road.

I knock on Shawn's window, and he rolls it down for me. While the sky is beginning to grey, it's still very dark. I bend down so I can better look at Shawn's face.

He wasn't kidding.

His eyes are wide and glossy. His skin's chalky white, making the black splotches of blood that mark his nose, mouth, chin, and the whole front of his white T-shirt stand out even more.

"Nice," he says, looking down my T-shirt. "You're not wearing a bra."

I instantly straighten up. "And you've just worn out your welcome." I make to turn back to the house.

"Sorry! Sorry! I'm sorry!" he quickly exclaims, reaching out through the window to grasp my arm. "I need you, Fee. Please."

I wasn't actually serious about going back to the house. But I'm not completely sure this isn't all a game. Just to keep on the safe side, it's better to continue playing.

I begrudgingly look down at him. "So, what's the story?"

"I was spending the night with Ola," he begins.

"Which one's Ola?" I ask, because I love to show Shawn that in all our evenings spent together, I've never listened to his stories.

"Number eighteen," he says. "College student from Poland."

"Okay."

"Anyway, we were sleeping, and I get up to get a glass of water. And this guy barges in, punches me in the face, and kicks me when I'm down. And then Ola tells me to leave. But that's when it all became creepy."

I wait for more, but all I hear is crickets.

"That's it? You got beaten out of your sex-buddy's place by an angry boyfriend?"

I make to pull my arm from Shawn's grasp, but he holds on tightly, turning his head to look down the street. "When I tried to leave, the door was still locked and the key was still on the table by the door right next to Ola's phone. How'd he get in, Fee?"

I shrug my shoulders. The hell would I know? Even though the story is somewhat improved, it still doesn't explain why Shawn is here.

"And then?"

"I unlocked the door and drove straight here."

I exhale, exasperated. "Why didn't you go home? Or the hospital?"

"Do you know what my dad would do to me if he knew I drove my car after curfew?" Shawn snaps.

"Shawn, I can't even imagine Bob scolding you. How do you think you turned out like you did?"

"He'd confiscate it, and I'd have to take the bus to school," Shawn continues, ignoring my comments as always. He tugs on my arm.

"What about all your friends? You've got a million of those."

"And have them see me like this? Do you have any idea what that would do to my reputation?"

"Oh my God, you're such a drama queen."

He looks up at me with a face covered in gore. I have to say, I like the look. "Help me out, Fee, just this once. Just let me get cleaned up. I'll even take you to school."

I yank my arm from his grip. "You get in, and you leave. You can't show yourself to my parents, understood?"

He gives me a lopsided grin crusted with blood and gets out of the car. I notice right away that his legs are all wobbly. Just before he topples over into our neighbor's hedge, I manage to grasp a handful of his soiled T-shirt. He sways on the spot for a moment, leans into me, and then regains his balance.

"You're drunk?" I ask. This keeps getting better and better.

"Ola thinks vodka is a type of water," he says as he begins shuffling toward my house. "We had a couple of shots hoursago."

"Just . . . Shut up." I feel a very firm tug of regret as I let Shawn into my house.