The Ugly Love of Monster Girls-Chapter 40: Someone to tell

Consciousness returned slowly, like dragging myself up from the bottom of a deep pool.

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Light pressed against my eyelids, sterile, too white, too sharp. The brightness felt like it was burrowing into my skull, scattering my thoughts.

My body felt wrong, like it had been carved from stone and left to crack in the cold. Every joint ached with a dull persistence, and my limbs rested heavy beneath sheets that smelled like disinfectant and something vaguely metallic.

I didn’t need to open my eyes to know where I was.

The machines gave it away… the steady, artificial rhythm of beeping that always sounded more sinister when it was your own heartbeat. I’d heard this song before.

Not here, exactly, but somewhere close enough. Somewhere where the bed was beside a window that never opened, and where a chair sat next to someone with an idle, lost hope.

My throat was dry, like I'd swallowed dust. I tried to shift, but a piercing pain shot through my wrist, erupting like a bloody lily, as if someone had shoved a jagged blade straight through it. I let out a strangled noise as voices around started clamoring, which I couldn’t comprehend fully.

“He’s co…”

“Don’t move him… watch the pressure… unstable-”

“...need to sedate… going to-”

A blur of faces swam above me, lights flashing, shadows moving too fast. One of them leaned over, pressing something against the crook of my arm. I tried to speak, ask what was happening, where I was, who-

~~~

The second time I came to life, the chaos had receded. Just the steady hum of something mechanical, a faint draft of cooled air against my face.

It was dim, likely nighttime, the room illuminated only by a soft glow leaking in from behind the closed door.

My wrist burned, wrapped tightly in thick layers of gauze and padding. It was propped up on a small cushion, looking like it belonged to someone else entirely. I tried flexing my fingers, and even that simple movement sent pain crackling through my arm like broken glass shifting under weight.

Then I noticed I wasn’t alone.

She sat in the corner of the room, half-hidden by the pale afternoon light filtering through the slatted blinds. Her shoulders were hunched, arms folded against herself like she was trying to make herself smaller.

Her head hung low, the messy strands of her dark hair hiding most of her face. But I could still make out the faint shine of something on her cheeks. Tear stains.

It didn’t seem real at first, like a hallucination conjured by my brain to distract the pain blooming up my arm. But no, she was there. Tangibly there. Her leg bounced subtly, nervously, like she didn’t want to be sitting still. And her ears, usually alert or annoyed, were drooped low and unmoving.

I shifted slightly, the motion making the sheets rustle. Her head snapped up at the sound.

Her eyes met mine.

She didn’t say anything, but I could see the change in her expression like a wave hitting too fast. Her eyes widened, her mouth parted, but no words came out. Her throat bobbed, like she was trying to swallow something too bitter.

I wanted to say something. Anything. But all I managed was a dry rasp.

“…Hey.”

That single word broke something. Her face twisted like she'd been holding back something sharp and it had finally cut through. She looked like she didn’t know what she wanted to do.

Her shoulders trembled, a shallow breath hitching in her throat before she suddenly buried her face in her hands.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Then again.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”

Over and over. Her voice cracked, each word breaking further, like something inside her had finally cracked.

Tears began to spill freely, trailing down her arms as she hunched forward in the chair, trying to muffle her sobs but failing miserably. The sound of it made my chest twist in a way I wasn’t ready for.

This wasn’t the same girl who called me names, who rolled her eyes at every second thing I said. She just wasn’t the same. Not from anger, not from frustration, but from guilt that was swallowing her alive.

“Hey-hey, it’s okay-” I tried, shifting to sit up, pain burning up my side. “It wasn’t your fault… really…”

She immediately shot up, hands moving to stop me, her voice trembling. “Don’t-don’t get up, please! Ju-just stay still-”

Her hands hovered near me, unsure where to touch, as if afraid she’d hurt me again.

I managed a small, pained smile. “I’m fine. Really. Just… breathe, okay?”

She didn’t respond, just stared at me with those wide, red-streaked eyes, breathing uneven, her lower lip trembling. Her hands curled into fists again, useless and helpless by her sides.

I reached out, instinctively. The motion felt natural. But right as my hand neared her shoulder… I hesitated, my body freezing mid-gesture.

The image of crimson spraying from my wrist flashed through my mind, followed by the sound of screaming, the pain, the way she’d looked then.

My fingers stopped just shy of her. Trembled.

And she saw it.

Her expression collapsed further. The tears came again, quietly now, but steady. She didn’t say a word this time. Just watched my half-raised hand like it hurt her more than anything else.

She didn’t blame me. But I could tell… she blamed herself even more.

My hesitation had said more than I ever could. It told her I was afraid. That maybe, deep down, some part of me still feared her. And watching that realization break her again… I couldn’t take it.

I forced myself forward. I latched my hand onto hers, gripping it tightly, as if to tell her I wasn’t afraid, not of her, not anymore.

She jolted slightly, startled, but didn’t pull away at first. Her hand was cold, trembling faintly in mine. I stared at her, heart pounding, and said as gently as I could, “You don’t have to keep apologizing. It was an accident, Wryn. I know that. I don’t blame you. It was my faul-”

She yanked her hand back with a sharp movement, cutting me off.

“No,” she snapped, more at herself than me. “You don’t get to say that.”

Her voice was raw. Breaking. Her fists shaking as they tightened beside her.

“You don’t get to act like it’s nothing. The doctors told me what I did to you. Your wrist…” Her throat clenched as she looked at it, still bandaged and swollen. “They said you’ll probably never be able to use it properly again. Your dominant hand is… is…”

She looked at me, eyes wide with something between fury and despair. “You won’t be able to write the same. You won’t be able to lift the same…”

“Wryn-” I called, softly.

But she didn’t stop.

“-and it’s all because I couldn’t control myself. Because… because I freaked out. Because of me-”

“Wryn,” I said again, louder this time, getting to my feet. My vision spun for a second, but I powered through it.

Her voice shaky, breaking apart under the weight of it all. “You won’t be able to live normally again, and you’re trying to comfort me like I’m the one that got hurt!”

I pulled her in and hugged her.

She stiffened immediately in my arms, hands still clenched. Her body trembled with everything she'd kept buried inside of her. But I didn’t let go. I buried my face into her shoulder, ignoring the ache running down my back and side, and held her tighter.

“It’s okay,” I whispered again, voice soft, breath warm against her neck. “You’re not a monster. You’re not. I know that.”

Her breath hitched, and then, slowly, her arms uncurled. Pressed against my chest first, resisting. But eventually… they wrapped around me too. Tight. Like if she let go, she’d fall apart all over again.

Her arms clung tighter, her grip shaky, uneven, but desperate. As if she thought the moment she let go, everything would slip away again. Her face was buried against my shoulder, her breath catching on every other sob.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered again, almost inaudibly.

I rubbed her back with my good hand. “It’s okay,” I said gently, voice low.

“No, it’s not…” She croaked. “I’m sorry.”

I pulled back a little, just enough to see her face, tear-streaked, flushed, trembling. “It’s alright.”

She shook her head slowly. Her bangs had fallen over her eyes, and I brushed them aside before I spoke again.

“It’s okay… I deserved this,” I muttered, more to myself than her.

Wryn’s eyes widened, the rawness in her expression turning to confusion. “What…?”

“I’ve done things far worse than inflicting a minor injury like this,” I said quietly. “Things I can’t undo.”

Her mouth opened, but nothing came out.

“I broke my family,” I said. “I caused the accident.”

Wryn looked like she wanted to deny it, but her lips only trembled, waiting.

“Our father’s missing because of me,” I said. “No one’s heard from him. Our mom’s in a hospital bed, because I- because I was selfish. And my sister… she’s barely home. She studies all the time, pushes herself every second, because she thinks she has to keep things from falling apart. Because I can’t, because of the fuck up I am.”

Because of the parasite, I am.

Wryn was still. Completely silent. The weight of it all pressing down into the air between us. I swallowed hard, the sting rising in my throat.

“So believe me,” I said, my voice breaking a little. “I know what it feels like. To be the one who ruins everything. To wish someone, just one person, would look you in the eye and say…”

I paused.

“That it’s not your fault.”

Wryn’s gaze didn’t waver. She looked at me like she was seeing something she hadn’t seen before, something deeper, something more broken. Her lip trembled again, but she didn’t speak. She just stared, tears still clinging to her lashes.

Wryn’s arms wrapped tighter around me, her voice trembling as she whispered the words I didn’t know I’d been waiting for. “You’re wrong… I know you. Someone as kind as you… you could never do something like that. I don’t care what you think you’ve done.”

Her tears spilled again, soaking through the thin fabric of my hospital gown, her breath catching between words. I let out a helpless laugh and offered a small, tired smile.

“You’re such a crybaby,” I muttered with a light snicker.

“Shut up,” she said, muffled into my chest, her voice barely holding back another sob.

I hesitated for a moment, then asked, softer this time, “Can I pat your head now?”

She didn’t answer, just gave a small, silent nod. That was enough.

I gently raised my hand and rested it on her head, fingers brushing through the strands of her hair with a slow, careful motion.

She didn’t flinch this time. If anything, she leaned in closer, her head burrowing deeper against me, as if hiding from the world.

Taking a deep breath, I murmured.

“I don’t know what you’ve been through… or what you’re scared of. But if holding you like this makes it even a little easier, then I’ll do it. Every time.”

She didn’t say anything. Just kept her head buried in my chest. But the way her fingers clung tighter to my shirt said enough.