Face Of The Monster

***23***

Phoebe Kim is a danger to herself, and she knows it.

She is thinking about death far too often, thinking about the thrill of it. Sudden, eternal darkness. What a beautiful thing it would be to disappear, to exist no longer. To endure a last moment of pain and then, nothing.

Phoebe Kim is a danger to herself, but she will not check herself into the hospital like she did last time she felt like this.

She remembers the day: bright and fragrant with the curdling edges of summer. Chloe was away visiting family in Nebraska; Phoebe had been alone for two weeks. The air felt thick with unease. She stopped eating, stopped answering her phone, stopped changing out of her pajamas. She drank coffee and cried, only crying harder when she realized she had no idea what she was crying about. She couldn't stand the happy shrieks of the children outside, the yipping of dogs behind fences. In the worst of it, she almost rammed her head into the wall to knock herself out. That was when she realized she needed help.

But this time, Phoebe doesn't want to go back into the hospital. They'll tell her she's crazy, she knows it. And god knows how long it will take her to get out of there once they've got the fact of her insanity lodged in their brains.

Right now, she is lying on her back on Emma's bed. Her skin feels raw from her shower, from the washcloth ripping up and down on her limbs. She is wearing Emma's husband's sweatshirt and a pair of Emma's underwear that is a bit too wide for her at the waist.

The boy is here, too. He is pressed against her, sleeping, but she knows that if she drifts off, he will awaken and wind himself around her, inside her. He looks almost sweet, untroubled in his slumber. His cold breath chills her neck. She lays rigidly, so terrified of him that she dared not shift. She can't stand the thought of being alone with his abuse again.

Emma is showering, now, despite Phoebe's pleas for her to stay. She needs someone to be here, someone to cling to.

A low moan of renewed pain leaks out of her. She thinks of her empty house, of the empty indent in their mattress where Chloe used to sleep. Her clothes are gone from the closet. Half the plates and some of the silverware has disappeared from the drawers. She will be back for the rest later.

But right now, she is on a plane to Omaha and her possessions are on a separate plane, being shipped to her parents' house. Or, perhaps Chloe has already arrived. Phoebe isn't quite sure when their plane left.

Chloe cried when she said goodbye. Phoebe didn't understand. If she would miss her so much, why didn't she just stay? Promise you'll call me every day, she begged. Phoebe had escaped upstairs and locked herself in their bedroom until she heard the door close and click locked behind them, keys left under the front mat.

Phoebe isn't sure just what they are right now. Are they broken up, are they separated, are they long distance? Chloe does not seem to be planning on coming back, but she doesn't seem to be ready to let go, either.

Phoebe is, she has decided. If she can't have Chloe here, she doesn't want her at all.

Her phone rings, looking strange on Emma's low nightstand. She runs her finger over the screen, over Chloe's glowing name. Maybe, maybe not.

Finally, Phoebe picks up. She hears Chloe's ragged breathing, then the wind of the highway rushing past. "Phoebe?" says a voice that makes her heart flip. "Baby, why weren't you picking up before? Jesus, you scared me. I've been so worried."

"Sorry," Phoebe says. She feels a tight cage of anger descending upon her. How dare she? How dare she leave her helpless like this and then claim to care?