top of page
Writer's picturekaitlynseabury

Arm Wrestling My Monster




I arm-wrestled my monster last night. It started out as an action in jest, nothing serious. She’s usually a little playful; sort of coy and always clever. I didn’t mind it too much. We have arm wrestled many times before.


She grabbed my hand and spoke quickly, eyes shining as bright and as blue as my own. “Katie, let’s just see who’s stronger, whoever wins can get a prize!” That seems almost egregiously sly, and very suspicious (because she’s a monster, after all.) But I know her well, she’s been in me for years, so I knew she wasn’t one for tricks or deception. One of the things I hated most about her was that she always spoke truthfully, no ribbons or bows tied to her words.


So I arm-wrestled my monster.


As we knelt across from each other, I pictured the sky in my mind, light breezes, gentle sunlight. A world without monsters. She smiled at me pleasantly. I smiled back. I always do.


She gripped my hand tightly, both our elbows placed firmly on the table. Our eyes met. Her’s were no longer blue, they were as black as coal now, but still bright—still shining. I hated her in that moment. I hated her glowing eyes, the upturned corners of her mouth, her silky hair that fell gently on her shoulders, and her perfect body. I hated her.


I let my eyelids drop slightly, as I prepared myself for our battle. Every feeling was an exploding contradiction—familiar, yet confusing; terrifying, but soothing; isolating and comforting—causing streaks of light to fly back and forth between each chemical in my brain. I felt my fingers shake as they clenched her knuckles. The corners of her mouth turned up even more. I hated her. She was so beautiful. I loved her. I blinked a few times quickly and willed my hands to steady themselves, with all the strength I could muster.


“Katie, are you ready?” My monster was almost laughing, nothing but glittery eyes and smirking teeth. I took a breath and counted to two. Two has always been my lucky number. Too bad luck has never done anything for me.


“I’m ready, you stupid fuck.” I gasped.


She threw back her head and laughed at my language. Big gales of laughter, one right after another came out of her monstrous mouth, and when she brought her head back down to face me, I saw tears streaming from the edges of her eyes. She loved when I cursed at her, when I called her names. She got a kick out of it. Oh, I hated her.


“I read something today,” she said, once she had calmed herself. “There is something called ‘opia’…it’s a word that means ‘the ambiguous intensity of looking someone in the eye, which can feel simultaneously invasive and vulnerable’…do you think that’s a real thing?” She wiped away her hilarity-induced tears with the hand that wasn’t gripping my own, and waited for my answer. She was testing me. A battle within a battle. Oh, I loved her.


“I read something, too,” I said, making sure to stare directly into her stupid invasive and vulnerable eyes, “It’s called ‘lachesism’ and it supposedly means ‘the desire to be struck by disaster—to survive a plane crash, or to lose everything in a fire’…do you think that’s a real thing?”


“Do you think you have lachesism, Katie?”


“Why would I need to have lachesism? Disasters have already happened to me, and they probably will continue to happen to me.”


For a moment my vision faltered and I saw my mother in my mind. Weeping on the floor, too far from me for me to help, but just close enough for me to clearly see her. Her weeping turned to a strangled cry, and then a full-on scream. I could barely breathe.


I was startled back to (is this reality?) by my monster’s loud chuckle.


“Of course disasters have happened to you, but you have survived. And you love that you survived. And you’ve built your whole life on the fact that you survived. That foundation was set and you molded your character. Where would you be without that survival. Who would you be without those disasters?” She paused, to make sure that her words weren’t only going into my ears, but were resonating within. This was an unnecessary gesture—everything she has ever said has always stayed with me. “Maybe you do have lachesism. Maybe I am your lachesism.” She stuck her tongue out at me.


“Maybe you’re an asshole,” I said. I wanted to hear her laugh again.


“Really, though, are you ready?” She had finally stopped smiling; her eyes were the darkest they had been all night. I nodded, while tightening my grip. My hands had become sweaty, my palm sliding across her’s as she clenched back, matching the increase in strength of my hold. This is all a joke anyways, I thought to myself, even though she won’t win this, she will win in the end. At the very end, it will be her and no one else.


No, no, no. I shook my head slightly, as if the very motion would throw those thoughts into the surrounding atmosphere, ridding me of them completely, until they were picked up by someone else’s unfortunate mind. I nodded again, for emphasis, and the corners of her mouth turned up once more.


She started rather slowly, almost gently, just a slight pushing of her hand against mine. I pressed back and as I did so, that curious thing happened to me, which happens sometimes. I’ve never been sure if it’s an occurrence that is common with everyone, or only a few, or only me. I suddenly became overwhelmed with emotion. As if a tidal wave of feelings broke through a floodgate and barreled all at once into my veins and through my bloodstream. I choked on a sob as I gripped her hand with even more force.


She didn’t seem phased by my outburst of ostensibly unprovoked emotion. She never was. Why would she be, though, I suppose she was a part of them. She made a shushing sound with her mouth as I felt her hand press harder still against mine. My sudden sadness became anger and I felt like hurting her. I pictured myself pushing her into a stone wall, slamming her head against it repeatedly, watching her life disappear as I crushed her skull. I saw myself stabbing her, seeing her cry as her white blouse turned the color of roses. I wanted to bite her, scratch her, hit her, kill her. I hated her. Why did she always play these games with me? Why wouldn’t she just leave me alone?


I leaned my weight into my arm, my breathing coming out in short, quick wheezes, tears streaming from my eyes, down my cheeks, and on to my neck. I felt sweat drip to my wrist from my palm as I dug my nails into the back of her hand. I heard her sharply inhale, and looked up to see surprise in her dark, luminous eyes. She was always taken aback when I fought back, something that didn’t make much sense to me because I always fought back, no matter what contest or battle we were having. That’s the only reason she hadn’t won an arm wrestle yet. At least not completely.


But she will win in the end, remember? The thought resurfaced, and I tried once again to shake it away, but any efforts at self-control were futile now. I didn’t control myself. Not when I was with my monster.


I pressed with everything that I had in me. Bright red balls of color danced on my eyelids, as I squeezed them shut. My arm shook violently, and I recognized the coppery taste of blood in my mouth as I bit down on my tongue. My nails were at least a centimeter deep into her skin at this point, and my breathing had turned into a succession of choking coughs and gasps.


My mind catapulted itself from one thought to another. The night I first met my monster, sitting on my bed alone in my room. Seeing her pretty smile from the shadowy darkness of the corner. Hearing her soothing voice, looking into her piercing eyes, all for the first time. Our first arm wrestle, passionate, exhilarating, horrifying. All our battles, our fights, our conversations. As soon as one thought had stayed long enough for me to become acquainted with it, my brain shifted itself to another. I couldn’t keep up.


Just when I was about to give up, let her win this time, let her get the prize, let her be the stronger one, I felt her hand give out. Both our arms slammed down on the table with so much force it flipped over onto its side, bouncing back up once, then resting silently on the ground. I caught myself before I followed suit, and quickly put my hands on my knees, bent my head, and worked to regain composure. Sweat, tears, blood, snot dripped slowly from my face, through my legs, and to the floor. I closed my eyes and counted to two over and over again as I steadied my breathing. One, two, one, two, one, two, one, two…


When I summoned the energy (courage) to look up and face her, to see those bright, horrible blue eyes, she was gone. I was alone in an empty room, with a knocked-over table and almost no breath left to take in. I sighed. Of course she would leave now.


“I’m stronger! What is my prize?!” My voice broke on the last word, as I started to cry again. I leaned back slowly in my chair and waited.


“You get to go to sleep now, Katie, I’ll see you tomorrow.” I heard her say from somewhere. Though I couldn’t see her, I felt her. I felt her hand on my forehead as she pressed it back and suddenly I was in my bed, and she was pushing my head down onto my pillow.


“Thank-you” I whispered.


And then I slept.


37 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All

Comments


bottom of page