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Monster Boy, Monster Man

Wolf in Sheep's Clothing

By Dezi GoldenPublished 3 years ago 10 min read
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Wolf in Sheep's Clothing, A Narcissist

Wolf in Sheep’s Clothing

Monster Boy, Monster Man

By Dezi Golden

5/1/2015 Friday

Layla is up early. It's 7:05 a.m. and she stumbles out of bed to stop her brain from spinning. Overthinking as it were. She despises the head space she’s in. She’s not surprised. It’s year number seventeen, nine of them married to “the monster boy”. She calls him that because he’s far from the man he promised to be. A boy is all he is. All he’ll ever be.

You see, Layla has only known “unlove” in this particular relationship. Don’t misunderstand, she certainly poured her entire heart into it, into him. She’d never admit it out loud. No one would listen. Even her own mother said, “you made your bed, now sleep in it.” Of course the horrid woman is as awful as his very own mother. Layla never EVER saw it coming. Never saw that she was marrying her own mother just in the male form. And now? Now she knows that the only thing they both had in common, upon meeting, was similar childhood wounds from two “unhealed” mothers who perpetuated their pain onto their children. Layla washes her face in soothing warm water reminiscing how lovely it would be if parents started healing and becoming self-aware before entering into a life with children. She looks in the mirror, looks deep into her tired, sleepy reflection wishing she’d known to heal herself before even thinking of having a family with him.

She scuffs along the bathroom floor in her old worn out slippers, making her way to the kitchen to heat the water in the teapot. Derrick hasn't talked to their fifteen-year-old, Bodhi, nor she for that matter, since Wednesday. It’s now Friday. And typical. Derrick plays the victim often and usually explains that he “doesn't want to upset” using some gaslighting crap explanation for his silent abuse tactics. Layla notices it’s actually easier now, the not being spoken to part. It’s almost like a day or two off from the abuse when he pouts, a nice reprieve from his game playing for narcissistic supply. Admittedly, she sometimes hopes their arguments will result in him putting himself in “time-out” so she and the kids can get time off from him. He is a full blown malignant, covert narcissist. Diagnosed and all. But she and the kids are never aloud to mention it without hearing his wrath. He blames her, them, the world, just as his mother does in her own life. He never has to see the truth of his internal fraudulence when blaming everyone else externally. And what an actor! An academy award type actor for sure.

Wolf in Sheep's Clothing, The Narcissist...

Layla huffs a tiny laugh pouring the water into her coffee mug. An illustration of a wolf in sheep’s clothing dancing around in her mind. To think she used to dream of how he’d grow…of how she used to give a shit, especially of what others thought. That is no longer her truth.

Layla sits down at the table, each hand cradling a side of the coffee cup, the aromas of Earl Grey herbs swirling in her nostrils. She thinks about escaping with Bodhi to Texas, hiding out at Christina and Alex’s house, even building a new life with the help of her cousins. But how fair is that? It’s not fair to involve others and burden their lives because of her own misguided decisions. She may not have known how or why she was targeted but that doesn’t mean others should be brought into it. She thinks of renting a moving truck, driving the ten hours there, only to be followed by him when he decides to come calling. Tears form in her eyes, burning them as fatigue win while her dreams diminish. She thinks how hard it is to leave a life she worked so hard for, for a piece of shit like him. Monster. She wipes away an escaping tear drop as it tickles her skin. She’d been attempting daily to manifest the best, quickly realizing defeat. It’d become exhausting to stay optimistic in the environment of his soul-sucking negativity along with his energy vampire of a mother.

Layla stands walking over to the counter to grab the tissue box. She sits again knowing she needs a far away place to heal. Her cousin Christina gives her security, but just from a distance. Living together, taking Bodhi there, it could ruin the relationship. She’d feel safe there but only until he comes to try and take Bodhi. Narcissists always try to take that which is most loved. Layla dreads moving too, why should she have to go? It traumatizes her and it could very well do the same to Bodhi. All this…because of him, because of his own childhood abandonment, his mother not wanting him, having a psychotic breakdown finding out her shameful secret would get out and her catholic faith couldn’t save her from the realities of sleeping with her boss. Then wanting only a girl and giving birth to a boy, a child who represented all she’d done wrong in her entitled mind. All these snowballing events created him, the boy monster who now tortures his family…because he hates his own very existence. Layla cries into her tissue. She cries for the tragedy he endured that makes him hurt her so. For all that makes him want to hurt those that are closest and will tolerate it. She thinks of her own father. Oh how she misses him now. She misses what a man is, what she’d been promised by her monster in the beginning. She misses home. The very feeling her father gave her. Her monster had promised her that very same “home” in the beginning, enticing her with commitment to get her into his bed, then again when she was with child. She misses the innocence of being able to believe. Lies being how life is lived now.

Layla takes a large gulp of the warm tea persuading herself to think of positives. She runs down her list negotiating at how she’s not only licensed in the state but also licensed in the state her cousins live in. She thinks of how she’d have a calm, safe, loving place to heal with them while she and Bodhi go through all the changes. How the weather can be so nice there. How there is potential to make a lot of money for her to take care of Bodhi. She could finally lose weight, maybe get her self-esteem back. She could be the mom Bodhi deserves instead of the scraps that are left over after he’s sucked the life out of her. Layla smiles at the thought of establishing herself in a new city…a fresh start. She thinks how she could get into a CPTSD survivors group or a Law of Attraction group and further heal by helping others. She could work and purchase a new car, simplify life enough so that it feels manageable. Layla thinks dark, about how when he kills her, how it wouldn’t burden others or her children if she simplifies her life now.

She squeezes her eyes tight, opening them to reset her overthinking mind. Stop! You must keep it together. This is year seventeen for Christ sake!! She pushes her chair out standing to demand her mind stop this nonsense. Looking around, the house quiet, nothing changed, she decides a hot bath will balance the right and left hemispheres of her mind that seem to be in a standoff. She does love her life, her baths, her career, everything except the monster. The monster ruins everything good. He’s a destroyer of love.

Layla thinks about all the good memories, she looks around at the beautiful house she created, but she’s not allowed to enjoy it unless the monster deems it so. He doesn't want her to have anything. No joy. Just like when he was little and he didn’t want his cousins to have any freedom to enjoy his toys. He was encouraged to be a taker, not a giver. He doesn’t want anyone to have more than he…and yet he is a nothing. He wants “nothing” for everyone around him because he’s a sick, twisted little boy. Monster boy.

Layla pulls the nozzle to the shower and pushes the handle so the water begins to fill the tub. She thinks how he hates himself so much that the only way to justify or feel better about that is to hate her even more. The wolf must eat the weak sheep. She shakes her head back and forth watching the water bubbling. Narcissists always take out their fury on the ones that loves them most unconditionally. The dysfunctional truth about them is that they want their empaths to suffer because empaths have the very ability to feel and love. This is what they themselves are incapable of.

Layla thinks back and remembers his words just a month earlier, “the day I left to go get lightbulbs at Home Depot, I hated you.” He actually admitted he hated her so much he left the house and fucked Tammy in the parking lot of Home Depot, then retracted and said he couldn’t really go through with it. Layla brings her hand to her mouth to shield a sound that might escape. It hurts so bad because the evil within him said those words, not for admission to heal her, but to further inflict pain. Monster pain.

Layla stands removing her clothing slowly. Stepping into the scorching water she thinks of how he must have been placed in her life to teach her some sort of warped, colossal lesson. She thinks of how life might be different if she’d never stopped in his place of business that fateful night. How a fleeting glance would have been so much easier than seventeen years of psychological, soul-wrenching abuse. Long, torturous, drawn out failure.

Layla sinks down muscle by muscle into the water, leaning back she exhales, tears burning the back of her throat. All she wants in this life is to love. Freely. Real, honest, love. The kind you’re shown or promised as a child before the monsters come.

Narcissists force one to wear a fraudulence mask as they do...

She thinks Why? Why does he get so much pleasure out of destroying love? Why are these types walking the earth? Layla turns in the tub bringing her knees up and curling into a fetal position. The memories of all he’s done won’t stay away. Marital molestations, abandonment, cheating, watching another woman bully her, standing by watching and dishonoring, not coming home, laughing when she got punched in the skull, broken promises, beating her children without her knowledge, committing a hit-n-run to quiet another, getting her drunk on her birthday and letting things happen to her, pressuring her for a threesome for his birthday only to turn around and blame her for being amazing and superb at it later, faulting her for an emotional affair when he allowed another to treat her better, using her as his cover because he’s too cowardly to live outside of his self-imposed bi-sexuality closet. Blaming her for all of it when she can only be responsible for her parts. MONSTER BOY.

She brings her hand up to cover her face. Layla tries to cover up the guilt, all the years of unsuspecting shame followed by forced forgiveness so the family wouldn’t be exposed. She sacrificed her soul for everyone on the outside. Losing the best parts of herself. The torture of having to go on and pretend it wasn’t so bad that “it could always be worse” didn’t pacify. Having no “home” to retreat to if she did get the nerve to leave kept her cowering in the corners. She tries to swallow the pain, force the breakdown to stay inside, convincing herself there is no time for this. That the day must go on, her peptide addicted mind will only stay with him, her captor. Enslaver. There is no time for her, just as her own mother had taught her. You’re invisible, only for my insatiable need for attention. There is simply no time for her to escape. Monster Girl.

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About the Creator

Dezi Golden

Dezi Golden is from New Jersey. After careers in emergency medicine, law enforcement, and healing arts self-employment, Dezi retired where she now writes full-time. Dezi resides between Florida and Las Cruces and has five published books.

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