Caution Tape (Mutual Monsters Duet Book 1)

by Molly Doyle

I am vaguely aware that there is something wrong with me. Something off-kilter and misshapen that defines who I am on a deep level.

“what if I jumped? What if I oopsie-daisied myself into oblivion without a second of introspection? What if I simply gave in to the cold part of my mind?”

People just want attention. They want someone to tell them all their little idiosyncrasies are genius. That they are adorable, understood, and appreciated. They want to know that no matter how secretly awful they are, someone will accept them.

People are that simple. Give them attention, notice something specific. Remember it. Spit it back at them.

People like to have an animated wall to bounce themselves off of, but not something that demands anything of them.

“Can I see you again?” “Nope,” I shoot back, wiping his cum off of me with a dirty sock. “Now get out.”

With that, I climb back into bed unsatisfied and turn off the light, slipping my hand between my legs to finish the job.

Everyone my age tells me what a nightmare, what a chore, what an awful thing dating is. People are fake, they say. They lie, cheat, and most of all—people play games.

I want to remove the skin from her skull and run my lips along the smooth, bleached white bone.

I’m finally seen. I’m finally revealed. Then I realize she’s not afraid. Not really. She’s turned on.

“Last night, I killed a deer. The blood was so warm. No, no, shh… listen to me... it felt just how your pussy feels right now.”

Since I was a little girl, I’ve always been different. The black sheep in my family. Even though I’d been numb my whole life, I surely wasn’t stupid. I knew that I had darkness lurking inside me.

I thought my Tinder days were over. But here we are. Just another night I never got off, and another man who couldn’t make me feel the everlasting bliss of an orgasm everyone always raves about.

I told myself that I was done with trying to fill the void inside me with random men. It’s never worked before, so what makes me think that it would scratch the itch now?

She thinks I’m still—for the most part—a nice guy. My intensity in the bedroom adds just the right amount of danger to her life. I’m a mirage to her. She’ll interact with only the shiny edges, never fully understanding that there is no depth beyond the mirrored image.

Cora from Target looks genuinely disgusted by the mere fact that I exist.

I feel feverish, a clammy seasickness at the very act of existing.

Oh, no, it was one of those days, you know? Where you wonder what you’re doing with your time. With your LIFE. Ever have that? A little existential crisis during the work shift. You ever have that, babe? Sweetie? Honey?

I’ve always been told that something is wrong with me. That I need help. It’s been drilled into my head for so long now that I’ve almost started to believe it.

He is just another conceited man who believes his shit doesn’t stink. But in reality… he reeks.

“Touch me like that again and I’ll peel your face off to use as my next Halloween mask. Capiche?”

“There’s nothing holy about the way I plan on fucking you,”