The Mates of Monsters

Chapter 17

When I enter the bedroom, David is already sitting on the edge of the bed, on his side. He looks up as I continue to the opposite side. These past few nights, we've formed a routine of sorts. I get ready in my room and come over to the master where David will be waiting for me. I get in bed, he turns off the lights and settles down as well. We talk for a little before I eventually fall asleep, not remembering where the conversation ended. This night feels different, however.

Lindsey is tucked away in her private guest house; I thought she would enjoy the extra space and seclusion. So as usual, we are utterly alone. Maybe it was the children then—the talk of motherhood that's throwing me off. Something pulls in my gut as I lay down, and when he shuts off the light, the feeling worsens.

David lowers down and I turn to face him. He lays on his back, his chest open to the ceiling, and I feel my hand stray from my body. My fingertips brush against the bed and travel through the sheets so quietly that he's is entirely unaware. I hold my breath and dare myself to do it—to touch him, even if it is simply a pat on the arm. Suddenly, I reach his skin, and his head turns to me. My eyes are large and innocent as if my brush against him was completely on accident, but I know he knows otherwise.

"What is it?" He asks softly.

My lips part. And my lips close.

"You may as well say it."

"C-Could I move closer?"

David nods and I scoot over a space or two. He watches as I adjust in my new place beside him. Knowing this is not the end of it, he waits.

"Do you remember when I said I haven't loved anyone?" I ask, putting myself out there.

"I remember."

"So," I breathe, "have you? Have you loved anyone?"

David swallows then sits up a little. I push up from the mattress and wait for him to say the worst. What if there was someone else? It isn't unheard of for young people to pursue others before they're of age to find their mates. When we were fourteen, Lindsey was convinced another boy our age was going to be her mate. She said she felt something special for him, but all she felt was the intensity of a crush. There was another pair—two girls three years older than us—who loved each other deeply. When one of them turned eighteen, their dreams of being mated were shattered into a million pieces. So, it's possible David was disappointed as they were. The thought of it sends a wave of hurt through my heart, all the way to the deepest, darkest crevices.

I can tell he doesn't want to match my gaze. I've rarely seen David so hesitant. When he manages to look at me, he does so apologetically.

"Y-You loved her? Who?" I ask, letting my unease show in my voice.

"I have never felt love towards anyone, Brigette. But there was a time a few years ago where..." His words fade. "I knew we would have this conversation eventually, but I didn't expect you to be looking at me like this."

"You didn't love her but you—you what?"

It isn't unheard of to be intimate with someone other than your mate, but it is frowned upon. It is the difference between being angry and being disappointed. I know what he's trying to tell me, and I don't know why I am so eager to hear him say it. It's as if I want him to give me a reason to be upset with him. If he's imperfect, then maybe I don't have to feel so guilty about my own mistakes.

"You slept with her?" I ask quietly.

He reaches out to me, and I don't move back. His hand grips my upper arm then drags down my skin until my hand is held by his. "I did," he says, "with more than one person."