Rose 2.57: Monster

     My anger at Abbie slowly grows inside me like a cancer. Months pass, and I see Karina less and less. She doesn't help me like she used to, and she too starts to notice. She says she thinks I'm 'switching,' and she admits to me that she wondered how long it would take. I try to insist that I want to keep seeing her, but I eventually must admit she's right. I'm not the same man.

     I let my hair keep growing. I focus more on my career, and with that and everything else I've done, my celebrity status gets pushed to four stars. I start getting what feels like five thousand calls a day, asking me to make an appearance here or give away an award there. I have to hire an agent or risk losing my mind trying to shuffle everything.

     "Not a chance!" I yell at him through my phone. "It'll be a cold day in hell first. You should know better than to even consider calling me about this. I couldn't give a plum about a women's shelter!"
     With the exception of my mother and daughter, I've decided women are evil creatures bent upon ruining the lives of the men around them. Why should I think any different? Every woman in my life, yes including Tiffany, has either betrayed me or left me. I can't trust the little harlots.
     Don't get me wrong! I still think women do have one very pleasant purpose: woohoo. Of course, the irony is that it's this that they use to control us. I no longer let it. My celebrity status has women crawling over each other to get at me. While I let them have me for a few hours or maybe even the whole night, I take out my anger on their bodies. This is what Karina meant. I'm not overly cruel or to the point of being abusive; sometimes, my chosen torture is pleasure to the point of making them go insane, but they get what they deserve. Then, I send them on their way.

     "Yes. Yes, of course I'll be there and donate to the orphanage. I'm not that much of a monster," I tell my agent. Yes, I am, I correct myself in my head.
     I admit it. Half of the problem of my life is no one's fault but my own, which makes me hate myself even more than I hate the women around me.
     My agent doesn't question my motives. He's smart and good at what he does. He could potentially destroy me with the press, but when I think about it, I've survived worse.

     I see my children less and less. I don't want them to accidentally absorb some of the darkness that surrounds me. Mama cares for them. I go to work, go to one of the bars in town, decide which woman I want, and then I usually take her to a hotel room. On the weekends, I attend varying social functions.

     I try to avoid doing this, but sometimes I take a step back and wonder who the hell I am. I used to be such a nice person, dreaming of having a wonderful life with the woman I love. Now, I know that will never happen.
     Still, I sometimes cry in my sleep. I hate my dreams. 'Everyone hates Donovan' I think of them. I don't blame them. I hate me too. I can't stand it when I cry because occasionally the woman-of-the-night will want to comfort me, which only makes me furious.

      My birthday comes. I don't feel much like celebrating, but I do spend it with my Mama and children. Lorenzo talks my ear off, wanting me to know all about his life. I quietly look at him and see Tiffany.
     I think Camilla is afraid of me. This breaks my heart. I withdraw even more, not wanting to crush my little flower. It's probably better this way; she doesn't need a man like her Papa.

     Tonight, I'm back at the bar where my parents met. Sitting at the bar is a delightfully-curvy blonde woman. I don't recognize her, and she's eating spaghetti.
     Tourist, I think with a grin.

     I laugh quietly in my throat as I think of the fun I'm about to have.

     "Monte Vista is indeed blessed to have among its people such a perfect beauty," I say smoothly to her, audaciously placing my hand on the back of her neck. Her hair feels soft.
     A shaky, happy sigh escapes her before she says, "Why, thank you, Donovan."
     I freeze. I know that voice. I once heard that voice comforting me when I'd had a sudden, intense cold.
     A harsher, unwanted voice says from behind me, "Don't believe a word he says. Get lost, Donovan. She's nice. Leave her alone."
     I ignore her. It can't be.

     The beautiful blonde finishes her spaghetti and sits up. I stubbornly keep my hand on the back of her neck. Otherwise, how will I know that she really is sitting there?
     A very familiar, devastatingly blue pair of eyes shine up at me. "Hi," she says shyly.
     I can barely breathe as I whisper, "Shauna."
     She smiles, and the heart I thought I no longer had breaks. No. Not Shauna, I think desperately, wanting her to disappear, wishing she were anywhere but right in front of me, not me, anyone but me. I can't let her be hurt.
     "You remember me," her melodious voice replies.
     I take a quick step back, and she gets off the bar stool, still smiling brightly up at me. We walk away from the bar to talk.

     "What are you doing here?" I ask. It's a simple question, and she probably expects it.
     "I... I..." She blushes, and I want to get on my knees and beg for mercy. "I... w-wanted to see you. It's been a while. I've read the gossip columns, but you can only half trust those things at best. So, I thought I'd come to Monte Vista." As she talks, her voice gets braver, that voice that would activate my much-younger imagination. She was so good on the phone, her voice coming tantalizingly through the line.
     She really IS here, standing right in front of me. I'm not dreaming. This isn't some fantasy when I try to pretend the world is a good place.
     "You thought you'd come to Monte Vista," I repeat the last thing she said.
     She smiles again. "Yeah."
     The words come out before I can check them: "You don't belong here." She belongs anywhere but here where I could hurt her.

     Her lovely smile evaporates. "Oh." She looks down at her clasped hands.
     I swear to myself under my breath. I can't have this conversation here!!!

    I can't get her out of here fast enough, so pick her up and carry her to the door.
    "Donovan!" she cries out in surprise.
    "I need to talk to you--outside," I reply gruffly.
    "I can walk!"
    "Not fast enough." People don't bat an eye at the scene we probably make.

      "What are you doing here?" I ask again, very lightly shaking her as I do. My arms never unwrapped themselves, and I hold her closely.
      "I told you!" she cries, looking somewhat afraid. Good. "I came to see you. I realize I'm not the first person on the list of people you'd like to see." Not for the reasons you think. "But I'm between jobs right now, and I had a little extra money, so I thought I'd come and at least see you. It's been ages."

     "Yes. It has," I agree -- but not in a friendly way. "And I'm not the man you remember."
     "Well, maybe I'm not the woman you remember either," she counters.
     "No," I argue. "You haven't changed. I can look into your eyes and see it."
     "Must be nice. I can't look into your eyes because of those silly sunglasses," she replies in a smart-alec tone.
     "Which is why I wear them. You don't need to. Trust me. You won't like what you find," I insist. Meanwhile, I'm reminded of how good it feels to hold her in my arms. She isn't annoyingly bony like many women are. Her soft flesh feels magnificent under my hands.

     "Donovan," she says, her voice a little shaky, "you've been through so much pain. I can only begin to try to understand."
     "No. You can't. You can't possibly understand," I snap.
     She keeps going. "I hate that you've had such a rotten life. It breaks my heart to think about it. I wanted... Well, I wanted..." She pauses, and a blush makes her cheeks shine even more in the lamplight.

      She doesn't get to finish...whatever it was she wanted to say. I need her lips for another purpose.
      My arms tightly hold her to me while I take what I need from my precious Shauna. Shauna! My Shauna is in my arms again! I tremble and kiss her with more passion. Yes, my life has been terrible, but for a moment, just this sweet, tender moment, let me live an illusion that everything is all right. My hand strokes her hair, occasionally running my fingers through it while she tenderly kisses me back, her sweetness blending with my ferocity, meeting in the middle like lava into a calm lake.
      I open her mouth wider, needing more. This is my moment. Mine. I will have to live the rest of my life after this, but for now, she's mine. She starts shaking. I might be frightening her. I don't like it, but it will help me for what I'll have to do next...but not yet!
      She goes limp in my arms. I pull back and look down at her while she takes a large breath in, and her eyes slowly open. Her eyes. Her sweet eyes, still so innocent after all these years. I let her catch her breath, and eventually, too soon, she's able to stand on her own.
      "Donovan, I..."

     I jump back, being sure to look furious. "I told you you don't belong here!"
     "W-what?" she asks, confused.
     "You come here and expect me to just fall into your lap?" I continue in a mocking voice, "Oh, yes, Shauna. Save me from my wicked life!"
      "That's..."
      "Listen to me. You don't belong here, and I DON'T WANT YOU HERE!"
      Her sweet face crumples, and I clench my jaw to keep from recanting my words. She pushes me aside and runs from me, what she should do.

     'Liar,' my conscience tells me. I hadn't heard from him in a while, not really.

     Donovan, you fool! I mentally scream at myself, and a few huffing sobs escape me.
     No, I did the right thing. I can't drag Shauna into my life; she's too good. I have to know that there is some speck out there in the large world that is still good. I would do nothing but ruin her.
     I turn around and walk back to the bar's entrance, intent upon finding the woman that told Shauna to stay away from me. I need to reward her for her 'good deed' like the monster I am.

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They never leave him alone. He won this case.

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