My Monster

Chapter Two: I Hate Shawn Henderson

Chapter 2: I Hate Shawn Henderson

I leaf through the pages of a magazine. I hate magazines—they're a waste of paper and contain nothing but colorful emptiness. But there are no good books in the den, and I'm only doing this to have something to do. I'm so bored. I just want to roll over and stop existing.

Shawn sits on the sofa next to me and twiddles with his smartphone. I'd be doing the same thing, except I don't own a smartphone. They're noisy and annoying; plus, I don't have anything to do with one. I despise being social. I don't need social media on top of it all. I have one of those tiny old Nokia with buttons. It's just for calling. I don't even text.

"I added a new name to the list," he announces without lifting his eyes from the phone screen. I don't look at him, either.

And so, it begins.

"Good for you," I say in my driest voice, letting how I feel drip through those three words.

Good for you, Shawn. You continue to be ridiculous and pathetic. Good for you. You wrote down a girl's name and gave her a grade. Your life is so perfect that you're making up nonsensical games to keep yourself from getting bored. Well: Good. For. You.

"Nineteen," he says. He chooses to hear what he wants to hear because he's Shawn Henderson and he listens with his ass. "That's the number of girls on my list, and senior year hasn't even started yet."

I don't react to this. Everyone has their goals in life. Some are okay, some are boring, some are beautiful.

But most don't even deserve to be mentioned.

"I've already decided who number twenty is going to be." His eyes are trained on my face. He watches me like a hungry wolf.

"It's going to be you, Fee."

My left eyebrow twitches. It always does when I'm extremely annoyed. Shawn has managed to annoy me enough times to know this. His mouth curls into a satisfied smirk as he moves toward me.

"Lay off, creep." I look back at the magazine and ignore him. I hear his arm as it slides over the fabric of the back of the sofa, but I don't look up. "I'll kill you if you do it," I growl.

He doesn't say a word. He just brings his hand up and slides his fingers through my hair, brushing from the bottom of my scalp upward.

I release an involuntary gasp as my legs turn to butter.

I have a weakness, a vulnerability. It's like that sweet spot at the base of a cat's tail or how dogs enjoy when you scratch their ears. Whenever Shawn's fingers touch my hair, my whole body goes into happy-kitten mode.

He found out about my weakness when we were eleven and ever since, he never hesitates to exploit it.

My muscles relax. My face is so warm. If only I could just give in and melt into the sensation of those deft fingers brushing through my hair.

But I won't, of course.

I elbow Shawn in the ribs and spring off the sofa so I can beat him repeatedly with the magazine, wishing it were a sledgehammer. "Goddammit, Shawn, I told you not to do that."

He hollers with laughter, lifting his arms to defend himself. "Oh, your face. You should have seen your face. That was perfect."

"I hope you rot in hell." I throw aside the magazine and go sit in the window seat, staring forlornly outside at the gathering storm clouds. I like summer rain.

Shawn turns in the sofa to face me. I don't have to look to know he's grinning. "Fee, let's be real about this. I know you. You're as horny as a bunny, but you're incapable of tolerating any other guy long enough to actually reach sex. If you don't do something about it, you'll end up dying a virgin."

He has a point—not that I'm going to admit that out loud. I want to have sex so badly that I've seriously considered seducing Shawn more than once. I'm ready for it. I've passed through all the bases with other boys, but I struggled to stay attracted to them. Other people just disgust me, and that includes every single boy I hooked up with. It's quite possible that Shawn is the only person whose touch doesn't make me want to throw up. But—"I don't see how that's any of your business," I snap.

"You're a tragedy in the making, and I want to prevent it out of the kindness of my heart."

"Pfft." I look at my nails.

"You're going to fall for me by Christmas, Fee," Shawn goes on.

Fall for him? Well, he can say whatever he wants. They're his own delusions, after all.

But he's expecting some kind of reaction.

"Whatever." I get up and walk to the door.

"Where are you going?" he asks me with laughter in his voice.

I've had enough. I'm going to hide in the bathroom until dinner. "I'm bored," I say.

I don't have to see his face to know what expression he's wearing. I've done this to him enough times. It drives him to the edge, the fact that I don't fall at his feet and can't spend more than ten minutes in his company. On one hand, it chips away at his fragile self-esteem, and on the other hand, it awakens his competitive side.

I rile him up like no one else can. He believes he controls the world, but I've got my own pull over him. I love toying with him. This kind of power over someone is exhilarating.

I smile when I close the den door behind me. Who's going to be falling for whom, exactly?

I'm not his victim.

He's mine.