Page 38 of Adored by the Grumpy Ghost (Mapletown Monster Mates #1)

Winston

T ime goes by in a blink, or it trudges on like spilled molasses. I don’t know, nor do I care. Nothing matters anymore. My Natalie is gone. It’s what I intended, but the last thing I wanted.

If I had let her say…what she started to say, I would’ve said it back, promised her forever, and as long as I treated her with even a hint of kindness, Natalie wouldn’t have left my side.

She would’ve felt beholden to me, and I won’t do that to her.

I won’t let her know that my universe is in her eyes, her smile.

I’ll never go a day without her filling my mind, but she deserves to be cared for in ways that I can’t.

She deserves this kindness, because of how much she freely gives to others. My suffering is my burden. It’s for the best. I know that.

Hopefully, she’s happy, smiling that wide, sparkly grin of hers, lighting up the sky with it. I hope she’s applying for nursing school, adopting a cat or dog or lizard, whatever she wants. Finding a man who can give her the child she deserves. The life she deserves.

I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to forgive myself for breaking her heart. Replaying it, I have no idea how I got through it. With each word, with each savage lie, I put more distance between our bodies, a brick, and then another, laid in the wall I erected separating our hearts.

What I didn’t lie about was that she deserves better. That’s always been true. I’m not enough for her. I’m a poor, prickly ghost who spent his final years alive pretending he was a member of the upper class, and the century thereafter pretending to enjoy being alone. Bullshit. All of it.

Being alone was only enjoyable until I knew what it was like to be with Natalie. The companionable silence we shared in between the wild laughter and the intimate moans. Now that I know how full life can be, I can’t go back to how it was before.

I try.

I make the rounds, tidying, dusting the shelves, and sweeping the floors. Then I go outside, checking the exterior of the house, and the fence that runs along the edge of the property, looking for repairs. I’ve been avoiding Ethel since Natalie left, and she knows it.

When I spot the bright red lips and dark brown hair, I spin on my heel, pretending to head into the forest, but it’s too late. She’s spotted me.

“Winston! Come here, would you?”

I keep my stride short and slow, delaying this as long as possible.

“How are you, my dear?”

“Fine, Ethel,” I say quickly. “Thank you for asking.”

She’s trimming the ends of a pile of flowers into sharp diagonal points. Next to the flowers is her blooming strawberry patch, the berries a striking bright red beneath the warm sun. “And your lovely wife?”

The word is like a bullet lodging itself in my chest, the tissue necrotizing around it. “Uh, Natalie is doing well, I assume.”

That last part has her gaze lifting to mine. “You assume?”

“She’s gone, Ethel,” I say in a single breath.

“I fucked it up. I fucked it all up. I told her to leave, and she left.” Everything spills out of me.

Every emotion and thought and plea I held back in Natalie’s presence that last day we spoke, it erupts from my mouth.

I fall to my knees, pressing my palms and forehead into the rich soil.

“She’s not coming back. I told her to go, and she’s never coming back. ”

Ethel’s voice is muffled, but I feel her hand on my back as she says, “There, there, dear. Where did she go?”

I try to organize my thoughts and lay it out chronologically for her from the beginning, but my voice is cracking on every word, and my mind is a pile of mashed potatoes. I doubt what comes out of me is more than Natalie’s name and how much I love her.

Ethel’s hand remains steady on my back, rubbing comforting circles. She tells me that Natalie will come back, and “never say never!” but it’s not true. I’ve lost the only person I’ve ever truly loved, and the worst part is that if given the chance, I’d do it again.

Natalie is a beautiful, brilliant woman with a heart full of courage, not lacking in pain, and still, she trusts so openly. I used to see this as a weak quality, but in reality, it’s the opposite.

Her heart breaks, and she puts it back together herself. Then she offers the entire thing to the people she deems worthy, trusting they’ll handle it with care.

I can’t say I’ve ever been that brave. In fact, I’m a fucking coward.

The only brave thing I’ve done is let her go.

Give her the space to pursue her goals and let the right man find her.

I stepped out of the way, allowing her to be found by the one who will not only cherish her the way I did, but fill in all the gaps I never could.

My fingers are stained brown as I dig my hands into the soil.

I end up on my side, and when a whiff of strawberry hits my nose, the last scraps of my resolve are torn away.

Suddenly, I’m pulling myself closer to the strawberry patch, desperate to keep the scent in my lungs because it’s hers.

It’s not the same, but it’s close. The closest I’ll ever get.

It’s better than lying in the shower, running my nose along the faded tiles in an effort to breathe in the leftover tendrils of her shampoo, which is what I’ve done every day since she left.

Natalie took the bottle of shampoo with her, otherwise, I would’ve spent our days apart rubbing it into my skin, little by little, until it was the only scent my nose could register.

“No, Winston,” Ethel says from somewhere behind me. “You’ll see her again. You’ll smell her again. You’ll get to hold her again. Don’t worry.”

I didn’t realize I’d mentioned her scent aloud, but it makes sense. She’s everywhere, despite the lack of her presence. It’s too late. She’s in my cells, my bones, the follicles of my hair, and that’ll never change.

I’m not sure how it happens, but I end up in the middle of the strawberry patch, clawing at the velvety green leaves and the ripe berries themselves. But it’s not the same. Not nearly.

“Not the same. Not at all the same,” I hear myself mumble incoherently.

A wave of anger hits me, and I let it take me, closing my fists around the roots poking out of the ground around my head.

A voice deep inside my head urges me to pull.

I know I shouldn’t; I just can’t remember why.

If I can’t have Natalie, why would I allow this fraudulent scent source to continue to antagonize me?

“Not the same!” I shout. “It’s not the same.”

My cheeks feel wet, and my eyes are stinging, but I don’t realize I’m crying until Ethel wraps her arms around me and pulls my upper body into her lap, wiping my cheeks. “It’s okay, doll. It hurts now, but you’ll be okay.”

She’s talking to me, but I’m not listening. I can’t stop pressing my nose against the berries until they pop. Juice explodes up my nose and across my cheeks, and I breathe it in. But it doesn’t soothe the hollow ache inside me. “Not the same. Not her.”

“No, it isn’t.”

I continue to rip the roots, squeeze the berries, rip and squeeze, rip and squeeze, until the entire strawberry patch is obliterated, and I look like I committed murder.

“Not her. Not the same.”

Ethel continues to rock me, petting my hair, generously ignoring the destruction I just made of her beloved garden.

Some odd days later, I hear the front door swing open, and I feel my heart shoot up into my throat. Could it be her? My sweetheart. My Natalie.

I’m working on a new sketch and forget to leave the sketchbook in the study before becoming mist and shooting down to the first floor. A disappointed sigh tumbles out of me at the sight of Lindsay.

“You,” I seethe. “What are you doing here?”

She shoves her oversized sunglasses atop her head, and her face scrunches like she’s just swallowed something vile. “Trust me, this is the last place I want to be.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “Then why the fuck are you here?”

She pulls a stack of papers from the large bag on her shoulder and throws them to the floor. “Why am I here? Because I’m never going to sell this fucking nightmare of a house. That’s why!”

The only reason I bend down and gather the scattered pages is because I like the sound of that––her misery, and my house remaining mine. I sit down on the first step and attempt to put them in order.

“The zoning laws in this town are bullshit!” She shouts, throwing her hands up.

Her heels clack loudly as she storms into the kitchen, returning a moment later with an open bottle of clear liquor, pouring the booze down her throat as she walks.

Her face scrunches in disgust, and it takes her a minute to swallow and keep it all down before she resumes talking.

“I can’t sell the house to anyone outside the town limits unless they have monster blood, or unless the mayor approves.

How the hell am I supposed to list this place with requirements that rigid?

I’ve never met the mayor. I don’t even live in this state. ”

I’m inclined to pity her, to say, “there, there,” even. But I don’t, because the memory of her listing the ways I’m too much of a loser to be with Natalie is still fresh. Still, I can’t ignore the power she has over the place I call home.

“What happens now?” I ask.

She shrugs as she takes a seat on the floor, and I hear her crying softly. “Got me. It’s not like I can rent this place out with you here. No matter how much I beg you, I know you’ll scare the shit out of any potential tenants I let move in. And I certainly don’t want to be your roommate.”

I laugh. “The feeling’s mutual.”

“Even if I wanted to level this place, I’d have to pay for that, and I can’t afford it. If I turn off every utility and just let the place rot, I’d still have to pay the property taxes, which I can’t afford.” She hangs her head in her hands.

“Why can’t you just rent the place to Natalie? You won’t make as much as if you’d be able to rent out every bedroom, but it’s better than nothing.”