Nightmare Fuel, Day the Fifteenth - The Monster

I got the days wrong, so I'll number this, the sixteenth prompt, as fifteen. Because why not?

We have kids from both Samantha Dunaway Bryant and Kary Gaul.

From me, not kids. Just a tiny scrap about your standard, garden-variety monster.

The Monster's Face

The monster lives with you.

Not everyone knows that it's a monster, but when it comes home it takes off its human face, and you see it for what it is.

You seem him for who he is.

You remember the first time he took off the false-face, and what was beneath it. The slightly rounded nose, the full lips, the bit of stubble on his chin. That dimple that you saw when he smiled. Then he peeled it off, to show you what was beneath.

He hung the outside face to dry, and the secret face - his true face - looked at you. Slightly rounded nose, full-lips, a bit of stubble. No dimple, because this face doesn't smile much. It's still a good face.

The voice he uses at home, when he's taken off the face he shows to the world, is an honest one. It's the voice that reminds you that you're weak. That you're stupid.

That you can't live without him.

On your birthday, he gives you a gift - your own face, to wear outside. Smooth and clean, its lines match yours, save for the tear stains, and the bruises.

Outside, nobody knows that he's a monster, but you know. And you know that you need your monster to keep you safe.

Don't you?