My Ex and Other Monsters

Chapter One

He’s here.

‘How – how—’ I stammer, gaze fixed on the Instagram Story Sam is holding in place with her thumb.

As usual, Tyler looks bone-achingly gorgeous, wearing a puffy jacket, his long dark hair squashed under a baseball hat as he smiles slightly at the camera.

The wall behind him could be any red-brick building in Washington, DC, aggressively spotlit with security lights, the sidewalk slick from the rain.

If not for the geo tag at the bottom of the picture.

‘He’s not supposed to be here,’ I say, grabbing Sam’s phone and holding it so close to my face, the white glow in the darkened room makes my eyes water. ‘How is he here right now?’

‘He probably also has a best friend that bought him tickets to see,’ Sam swallows, dropping her voice to quote the online poster, ‘the world’s greatest Cure tribute band.’

But Tyler is obsessed with the Cure. He’s seen Robert Smith live twice. Which is exactly why he shouldn’t be here, braving the rain on a Thursday night to see a tenth-rate version of his favourite band, especially when their name is as unforgivably bad as the Qure.

‘We should find him,’ Sam blurts suddenly.

The suggestion is so insane, so unbelievably out of the question, that for a second, I just blink at her, stunned. Sam misinterprets my pause for contemplation and not as a sign that I’m on the verge of fainting.

‘It’s perfect,’ she insists. ‘It’ll be your official meet-cute.

We stand next to him and then you be like, Oh, hey, don’t you work at that record store Breakneck?

And then he’ll be like, Yeah, I know you!

You’re the girl that always rolls in and stares at me.

Come hang out with me and my hot friends. ’

Even the thought of getting anywhere near Tyler, the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen IRL, makes my stomach plummet somewhere into the range of my knees.

‘We have to go.’

I shove Sam’s phone into her chest. It was me who insisted we go to the second floor and stand against the railing overlooking the stage. We would’ve had a perfect view of Not-Robert Smith, but now it means we’re completely boxed in by a crowd of two hundred pseudo-eighties goths.

‘Wait, what?’ she says. ‘Indie, we’ve had these tickets for like, a month.’

There’s movement on the stage, a group of guys adjusting their instruments. The opening band. The crowd whoops appreciatively.

‘I know, I’m sorry,’ I shout over the noise. ‘But I – I feel really sick.’

I clutch my stomach to sell it, even though this part isn’t a lie. I do, in fact, feel like I’m going to puke. I think I’ve lost all feeling in my hands.

When Sam gives me an incredulous look, I spin on my heel and start sidestepping through the crowd, not waiting to see if she’s following.

I know leaving her here would be at least a 9.

5 out of 10 on the Heinous Crimes Against Friendship Scale, but staying would be infinitely worse.

I cannot, under any circumstances, be near Tyler.

It’s a wall of stomachs, chests, backs and the occasional dewy glass of beer shoving against me as I push my way towards the glowing green EXIT sign at the back of the room.

On his Instagram Story, Tyler was standing outside the main entrance, which means he’ll come in the front.

There has to be a back door, somewhere I can slip out without having to get anywhere near him.

Still, I know I’m cutting it way too close.

The staircase leading down to the ground floor is eerily silent. Without the constant press of warm bodies against my own, my teeth start to chatter. Sam shoves through the crowd with a final indignant gasp.

‘Are you serious right now?’ she demands. Our footsteps thump down the stairs in sync. ‘Indie, I was kidding. You don’t actually have to talk to him, my God.’

‘I know, but like,’ I say over my shoulder.

My voice is on warp speed, every excuse I can think of flying out of me in double time.

‘Now that I know he’s here, I’m just gonna be looking for him the whole time, and it’s gonna be weird, and I’ll be distracted and awkward.

And I told you, I don’t feel well. It’s too hot in there, and everyone smells like strawberry vape juice. ’

Sam finally manages to catch up with me just as I reach the bottom platform of the staircase.

She spins me around. ‘What is wrong with you?’ she says.

Her tone is furious, but there’s concern flashing behind her dark brown eyes.

And like, I get it. I’m running away from Tyler – the boy whose Instagram pictures I’ve looked at so many times, I can basically quote every caption – like he’s an axe murderer.

My mouth drops open. A voice at the back of my head, one that’s been there for the last two months, whispers fervently, Just tell her.

It would feel so good to tell someone. To not be totally alone with this any more.

But I blink the voice into silence like I always do, shake my head and stumble into the main room. This is nowhere near the right time.

The opening band has started playing, the lead singer’s wail echoing through the cavernous room.

Standing on tiptoe so I can see over the wave of bobbing heads, I scan the space for another way out, one that’s not the front entrance.

After a few panicked seconds, my eyes finally land on a single door beside the bar, its EXIT sign like Lady Liberty’s torch in a sea of middle-aged men.

I race towards it. Mercifully, no sirens wail as Sam and I push open the door and are spat out into an alleyway that’s lined by tall brick walls, a fine sheet of rain misting around us.

The alleyway doesn’t lead to the street in a straight line. I hug my denim jacket tighter around me and take off around the corner, too frantic to think about directions. We’re almost there.

‘Indie, where are you—’ Sam starts to say, her voice fading behind me.

My breathing ragged, I follow the lights, but the combination of the high alleyway walls and my panic has turned me around, so that when I reach the pavement again, I’m not on the next street over, like I expect. I’m standing directly beside the club.

‘No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no,’ I mutter under my breath, searching the sidewalk for Tyler, his friends – anything.

When I don’t see either, a swell of hope fills my chest. Maybe Tyler already went inside. Maybe he wasn’t ever really here. Maybe I was freaking out over nothing. Maybe—

‘That,’ Sam appears beside me, panting, ‘is one … big-ass dog.’

Just as she says it, my eyes lock on the massive black shape that’s crossing the street.

There’s a wave of surprise, people who are still in line watching as the animal snuffles towards a row of garbage cans, no leash or owner in sight.

As if noticing everyone’s attention, the dog swings its massive head around before picking up its pace and trotting down the street away from the club as its long, shaggy tail swings behind it.

I let out a long breath that ends with, ‘Shit.’

Obscured by shadows, the animal doesn’t actually look that big.

It’s the size of a St. Bernard, maybe, or a freakishly big mastiff.

Only I know that, when on its hind legs, it’s way over six feet tall, its paws as big as my face and its claws like medium-sized fishing hooks.

That underneath all the fur are two stubby horns, beady eyes that look yellowish in the glow of lanternlight, fangs that are each the size of one of my pinkie fingers.

That it’s not even a dog, but a beast – a ‘monster’, actually.

Only I know that the creature in front of us is Tyler. Well, what he always turns into if I get too close to him. Him, or anyone else I fall in love with.

Ever since my life was ruined by a stupid freaking curse.