Even monsters need a place to hide, but they can never escape themselves.
Even Monsters
I sat on our usual bench.
The sky was painted with hues of amber and lavender as the evening slowly settled in. I hadn't been to this spot in a while. There was something about the solitude here that always helped me breathe a little easier, if only for a while.
That's when I saw her.
Jo approached, her steps quick and full of energy, her grin wide as always. I couldn't help but feel a little lighter seeing her, as I always did. She had something under her arm, and I could already tell from the glint in her eyes that she was bursting with excitement.
She unwrapped the bundle she was carrying and held it out to me, revealing a stack of papers. "I have something to show you!"
I raised an eyebrow, curious.
She flipped through the pages, revealing a series of sketches—vibrant landscapes, portraits with a pulse of life in every line, and the kind of artwork that seemed to come alive with every glance. Each drawing felt like it held a piece of her energy—bold, wild, and unapologetically her.
"Look at this one!" Jo practically bounced in her seat, pointing to a particularly striking piece. It was a landscape of the very bench we sat on, but the trees were painted in golds and purples, and the sky was a blend of deep oranges and soft pinks. The bench itself seemed to glow, as though it were the heart of everything around it.
I couldn't help but stare at it, my breath catching for a moment. "This is... incredible," I murmured, my voice a little softer than usual. I could almost hear the wind and feel the warmth of the sun in the way she had painted it.
Jo's eyes lit up when she saw my reaction. "Really? You think so?" She beamed, a proud flush coloring her cheeks. "I wasn't sure if I'd captured the magic of this place, but you've always said it had a special feeling to it."
I nodded, my gaze still fixed on the painting. "You've definitely captured it, Jo."
She leaned in, her voice dropping to a more thoughtful tone. "I wanted to show you because it's our spot, Shay. You know?"
I nodded, feeling the weight of those words. Our spot. It wasn't just any bench. It had become something more over time, a place where memories were made, a place that felt like home in the middle of everything else.
"I'm glad you like it," she said, her voice a little softer now, but still full of that unmistakable joy she carried with her.
I smiled at her, the warmth in my chest growing.
The painting sat in Jo's hands, and her expression softened as she looked at it one last time. Then, without warning, she gently pressed it into my hands.
"Here," she said, her voice quieter than before, almost shy. "For you."
I stared down at the painting. For a moment, the world seemed to stop. It wasn't just a gift; it was a memory, a piece of her soul captured in the strokes of paint. I couldn't remember the last time anyone had given me something like this—a gift that wasn't just an object, but a feeling.
"You... really want me to have it?" I asked, my voice a little unsteady.
She nodded, her eyes soft. "It's our spot, Shay. It's yours, too."
The words wrapped around me like a blanket, and for once, I didn't want to hide from the warmth that followed. I felt a small, genuine smile tug at my lips.
"Thank you, Jo," I said, my voice quieter than usual, sincere.
. Then, unexpectedly, Jo reached out, her hand brushing against mine. She didn't let go, her fingers curling around mine in a simple, uncomplicated gesture.
For a long moment, we just sat there, hand in hand. Her hand was warm, soft, the kind of warmth that reminded me of the parts of humanity I often forgot to appreciate. I didn't need to say anything; the simple connection, the feeling of someone there, was enough.
I wasn't used to feeling this... human. Too often, I had been wrapped up in battles, in the cold isolation of being someone who had seen too much, done too much. But with Jo's hand in mine, I realized how much I missed just... being. Being seen. Being present.
There was something in that warmth—something that made the weight of the world feel a little less heavy, even if only for a while. I closed my eyes for a moment. We stayed like that for a while, just sitting in the quiet. I could feel her warmth, not just in her hand, but in her presence—constant, steady, and real.
As I sat there, my fingers entwined with Jo's, a thought lingered in my mind—a thought that Alistair had planted in me not long ago. He had said it so casually, almost as if it were nothing more than a simple observation, but it had stuck with me.
Humans are fragile, Shay. But in that fragility, they are beautiful.
I couldn't shake the words from my mind, and now, as I sat with Jo, the truth of them felt heavy. The fragility of humans was undeniable. In their moments of joy, they could burn bright like stars, their lives full of hope and potential. But they were so easily shattered, so easily lost. Life could slip away in the blink of an eye.
I looked down at Jo's hand in mine, the warmth of her touch a stark contrast to the coolness that often gripped me. It was as though her very presence in this moment, so alive and real, was both a gift and a reminder.
What if one day, I turned around and she was gone? What if this warmth, this feeling, was nothing more than a fleeting moment that slipped through my grasp, like sand through my fingers?
I closed my eyes, trying to push away the thought. I had seen how fragile humans could be, and it made me terrified. Terrified that I would blink and this, all of this, would slip away from me.
But then Jo squeezed my hand, a simple gesture, but it was enough. The warmth of her touch was steady, constant, and I realized something in that moment. I tightened my grip on her hand, holding onto the warmth.
I watched Jo stand up, her fingers brushing against mine before she let go.
"I'm cold," she said, wrapping her arms around herself and shivering slightly, as if to emphasize the point.
I raised an eyebrow in concern, but she just smiled, a playful grin tugging at her lips. "I think I go back to the lessons, you know?"
"Yeah, yeah," I said, giving her a small nod. "I'll stay for one more cig."
"Okay," she turned, her footsteps light and easy. My gaze lingered on her for a moment as she made her way toward the path that led to the classroom, her form getting farther with each step. The world suddenly felt a little quieter, a little emptier as she moved away.
I took a cigarette from my pack, the motion automatic. . I flicked the lighter, the flame briefly dancing to life before I inhaled deeply, pulling the smoke into my lungs. The taste was bitter but familiar, and I let the weight of the moment settle over me. There was something soothing about this.
As the smoke curled up into the air, something shifted in the space around me. It was subtle at first, a small disturbance in the air. And then, without warning, Simon appeared.
He was just there—like a ghost fading into existence, his form materializing out of thin air. He stood a few feet away, his gaze locked on Jo's retreating figure. His expression was unreadable, though his focus on her was sharp, intense. I couldn't help but follow his line of sight.
I let the cigarette burn low between my fingers. I couldn't shake the feeling that something deeper was going on between him and Jo. The way he looked at her, like there was some unspoken understanding. It unsettled me, more than I cared to admit.
I turned to Simon, my voice steady but laced with curiosity. "Did you know her? Before… before you died?"
He shook his head almost immediately, the motion sharp and final. "No," he said, his tone clipped. "I didn't know her."
The tension still lingered, thick in the air between us.
"Then why do you look at her like that?" I asked, my voice a little more insistent.
For the first time since he'd appeared, Simon met my eyes. His gaze was piercing, as though he could see right through me. He seemed to hesitate, just for a second, before his mouth opened, his voice lowering into something darker, something raw.
"She's the reason I didn't kill you." His words hung in the air, thick and heavy, like they were carrying the weight of something much older, much more dangerous. "I wanted to kill you, Shay. Just like they killed me."
His words hit harder than I expected. The meaning behind them wasn't lost on me. He was talking about the vampires, the ones who'd killed him.
"You wanted to kill me?" I echoed.
His eyes were steady now, unflinching. "You're like them," he said, his voice almost gentle, like he was explaining something obvious. I felt a chill run down my spine. The air felt colder, heavier. There was something in his words, something that made my blood run a little too cold. "The ones who took my life. And yet… you are completely different."
I swallowed hard. My pulse quickened, and the cigarette burned down to the filter between my fingers, but I hardly noticed.
Simon's eyes flickered, not with anger but with something deeper, something more unsettling. "You are a monster just like them." His gaze softened for just a moment, almost like a flicker of regret, before his focus sharpened again. "But... when I saw you, how you fought for that girl… Kill for her. When you killed those vampires who wanted to hurt her… I knew, you were different."
His words hung in the air, heavy and full of emotion that I couldn't quite place. "I envied her so much."
"You envied her?" I repeated, not sure I understood.
Simon didn't break his gaze from me, and for a long moment, there was silence.
"I wanted you to save me too," Simon said, his voice raw, like it came from a place deeper than even death. "I wanted someone—anyone—to do for me what you did for her. But I was already dead." His voice cracked, just a little. "I couldn't be saved."
I sat there, my chest tight as I tried to understand.
"I couldn't save you, Simon," I murmured. "I didn't even know you then."
Simon's face twisted, a mix of sorrow and something I couldn't quite grasp. "I know," he said quietly. "I didn't know you either. She's the reason I didn't finish what I started with you." His gaze flickered to where Jo had disappeared into the distance, his eyes almost haunted. "Because she showed me who you are."
The air felt thick with what wasn't said. It was something much deeper—something that cut into his own tortured soul.
"I'm dead," Simon continued, his voice almost distant now, as if lost in the thought of it. "And no one could save me. But I want you to save others. Save the ones who still can be. Don't let them die the way I did. Don't let them fall into that same darkness."
"It's too much to ask of me, Simon," I said, my voice tight. "I'm not even sure I can protect one human. How am I supposed to protect... all of them?"
I sat there, the cigarette now a distant ember in my hand, feeling the cold air seep through my skin.
Simon's eyes lingered on me, and for a moment, it felt like he was searching for something deeper, something beyond what I had said. Then, with a quiet, almost imperceptible sigh, he spoke again.
"You're the only one I can ask," Simon said, his voice low but steady.
I crushed the cigarette under my boot, feeling the cold sting of reality. There were no easy answers. There never were. Then I got another cigarette from the pack and lit it. I took a long drag from the cigarette, the smoke filling my lungs as the weight of Simon's words lingered in the air.
"You don't get it, Simon," I said, my voice harsh, barely above a whisper. "I'm not a hero. I'm a monster. That's what I am. And that's all I'll ever be."
The words came out bitter, as though I was trying to convince myself as much as I was trying to convince him. But it didn't matter, did it?
I exhaled a cloud of smoke and watched it drift in the night air. It felt like I was suffocating in it. "I'm not some shining knight on a white horse. I'm the kind of thing that walks in the shadows. And shadows don't save people."
His expression remained unreadable, but I could see the edge in his eyes. It wasn't anger. It wasn't frustration. It was something else. Something I couldn't place.
"I know what you are," Simon said, his voice low but firm. "I've seen it. But that doesn't change what you can do, does it?"
I shook my head.
"Even monsters can make choices, Shay."
I wasn't sure if I wanted to keep arguing, if I wanted to dive deeper into this conversation or walk away from it entirely. With another long drag, I stared at the ground.
Simon didn't say anything. He just stood there, watching, waiting, as if he understood exactly what I meant without me saying another word.
And maybe he did.