There's a Monster in My Closet (Cricky) | #WattPride |

1| Draw me something pretty.

(A/N: Thanks for the support so far, i hope this story works out ENJOY)

*Ricky's POV*

I'm a man now. I'm thirteen and a half. I practically could live on my own if i wanted to. I gazed at myself in the longstanding mirror before me. I admired my long, lanky arms, and my scrawny shoulders and pointy collar bones that stuck out just enough to probably poke someone if i got too close to them. If that doesn't scream "man" to you, then i don't know what does.

I pulled at the hem of my plain black tshirt, about to yank it over my head when i caught a glimpse of my closet door. "Turn around, pervert. No looking." I announced, voice cracking and fluctuating slightly, an unfortunate side effect of being a man. I chuckling at the little shuffling sounds that one could barely hear. But i was accustomed to them because i knew he was there. He was always there for as long as i could remember. He never talked to me or showed himself but i felt him.

"Are you talking to that damn imaginary friend again, Rick? Aren't you a little old for those games?" My mom scowled from my doorframe. She always thought i was lying when i'd mention the boy in my closet, and told me to grow up. But i knew i was right.

"He's real." I grumbled under my breath,pulling another black tshirt over my shoulders and snatching my backpack from off of my bed only for it to tumble out of my grip and send every one of my papers scattering across the floor. I scooped up as many as possible and stuffed them into my backpack when i noticed that one paper had half slid under the closet door, my drawing facing upward. It was a drawing of what i thought he looked like. I pictured him with fangs and a long tail and horns, but i could never be sure. I went to grab it out of embarassment when it was seized beneath the door.

"Let's go, Richard, you're going to be late!"

*Chris's POV*

I made sure he was out of sight before slithering out from the stifling closet where i was constantly hidden behind hung clothes. I'd always have to stay out of sight or turn invisible when his parents would raid the closet for clothes to set out for him in the morning, but other than that Ricky was respectful enough to leave me be.

I held the drawing kindly in my clawed hands, careful not to punctre holes in the beautiful, although inaccurate, artwork. I can't believe he pictured me with a tail, monsters rarely had tails anymore, they just got in the way. And besides, i wasn't that type of monster. I was more of a demon than anything, even though my mother was half vampire (as ridiculous as that sounded).

With the room to myself, i scowered his drawers for a pencil. If he wanted to know the basics of what i looked like, i'd at least try to give him a better picture. Finally i found one and struggled to keep it clasped in my little claws. You know for an eighteen year old (in mortal years, of course) this was surprisingly demoralizing. I think i dropped the pencil three times before i got a firm grasp on the stupid wood thing. I started with the tail, erasing it completely and replacing it with long wings with frayed black feathers. Everything else seemed pretty accurate, though i made the horns he drew a little shorter. I gently placed the newly corrected artwork onto his bed when i came across a notebook scrawled with little drawings and notes that were incomplete. He wanted to talk to me. I felt horrible, my gut twisting and turning like a snake, because there was no way i could talk back to him, not in person at least. If i were to talk to him then he'd get scared and i can't risk that, not after how far i've come earning his trust.

And then it clicked. I could just write to him...

*Ricky's POV*

School was a drag. The classes were way too long and i just didn't want to be there with those stupid kids who teased me endlessly because one kid got a hold of my sketchbook where he saw some drawings of My monster . "Drawing your imaginary friend again, dweeb? How pathetic" One of them taunted before throwing the sketchbook at me and giving me a fat lip.

But at least i could go home now.

Slinging my backpack onto the kitchen table, i stomped my way upstairs where i examined my bruised face in the dingy mirror, stained with fingerprints and grime that i didn't bother to clean off. Yup, my lip was definitely swollen to double its size and was crusted with dried blood. i'm sure my mom would just love to see all the bruises i've earned today. I wiped the tear that came rolling down my hot cheek with my sleeve and willed myself not to cry. I'm already called a wimp, don't give them any more reason to make fun of you. I sprang on my bed, determined to sleep the rest of the day away and try to forget everything, but i stopped when i saw my notebok open on my bed. I grew angry, throwing the book across the room until i smacked against the wall and all the little loose papers came flying out, including a wrinkled piece of paper that had writing over it one side of it in big loopy handwriting.

"I'm sorry i haven't spoken to you sooner, little Ricky. Your drawing was beautiful and i hope you consider pursuing art in your future. Draw me something pretty.

~C"

I grit my teeth and clucthed the note in my hand before truding over to my mom's room where she sat on her bed looking at bills that were scattered on the matress.

"You think you're real funny, don't you?" I growled

"Ricky, what are you talking about? What happened to your lip?" She gave me an annoyed look before returning to the bills in her hands.

"You're just going to fucking make fun of me like those kids at school." I threw the note at her.

"Watch your language, young man." She picked up the piece of paper and gave me a confused look, how predictable. "I have no idea what this is?"

I snatched the crumble piece of paper out of her hand and stomped back to my room. I can't believe my mom is making fun of me too.

I picked up the loose pieces of paper from my notebook and stuffed them back into the binded pages, tossing it gently onto my desk and wiping at my red eyes. My chest hurt. But then another thing caught my eye from its place on my sheets. It was my drawing that i had lost underneath the closet door this morning. It had eraser marks smudging at the pencil lines but i admired the picture. It no longer had a tail but was blessed with beautifully long wings.

"So, this is what you look like, huh?" I smiled through the salty tears that swam down my frustrated cheeks.

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What do you think? Should i continue this story? What else do you want to see in this story? (i.e. drama, fluff, etc)

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