Eliza and Her Monsters by Francesca Zappia

Author:Francesca Zappia [Zappia, Francesca]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harpercollins
Published: 2017-05-29T18:30:00+00:00

CHAPTER 22

Down the back hallway is a set of stairs that lead to the basement. The basement is brick walled, carpeted, and chillier than the rest of the house. Wallace flicks a light switch at the bottom of the stairs that turns on soft, ambient sconces. The room is divided in half by a wall with a large opening. On this side is a moth-eaten couch and a large, old television. Wallace leads me to the other side of the room, through the opening. The darker side. There’s a mattress here on the floor covered with rumpled bedsheets, a lamp plugged into a power strip, and books and papers piled around it, including the Children of Hypnos series and chapters of Wallace’s Monstrous Sea transcription. A pool table takes up a lot of the space. Just to the left of the lamp on the floor is an old recliner. Behind that is a large poster of Dallas Rainer standing on a beach, looking over the ocean, and the words THERE ARE MONSTERS IN THE SEA sketched into the shadow he casts on the sand. Pinned beside the poster is an old football jersey that says WARLAND and the number 73.

From the opening in the wall, Wallace pulls a heavy, sliding wood door and locks it on the other side of the doorframe. It cuts off any residual noise from upstairs, and even from the rest of the basement. He presses his forehead to the door and closes his eyes.

“I am so sorry,” he says. “I didn’t think he would do that.”

I shift from foot to foot. The room is cold, and my jacket is upstairs. “Does he usually?”

“Sometimes. He’s—he’s a great guy, and he’s a good person, but I hate it when he starts saying things are meaningless.” He pulls his head away from the door and starts to pace. “Sorry. Sorry, I don’t mean to freak you out. I didn’t think he would be like that if you were here.”

“It’s fine. I get it.” I’m just glad I can breathe again.

Wallace balls his hands together at his sides. I’ve never seen him so angry. Not like this. He looks like he could break something. Maybe the pool table. “What’s the point of being alive if you don’t do what makes you happy? What good is a career that makes you money if you hate yourself every day you do it? I don’t have a family to support, I don’t have bills to pay, at least not right now. Sure, I’ll have to pay student loans, but we only have enough money for me to go to community college anyway, so I’ll pay it off with whatever job I get after that. I don’t need to be a doctor, or a lawyer, or whatever important job he wants me to get. I just want to write.”

I watch him pace and feel myself growing to the floor, feet rooted in place, uncertainty creeping its way through my veins. I’ve never seen

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