They call her a monster.
Not behind her back. Not with whispers. They say it plainly, like fact. Cold. Harsh. Heartless. The kind of woman who’d let the world burn as long as the fire kept her warm.
But Rhea knows people. Knows them better than they know themselves. She sees the fault lines in their voices. The cracks in their posture. She notices the way someone’s hands shake when they pour coffee, or how a laugh can be just one decibel too loud to be real. She doesn’t need a sob story to know someone’s breaking. She just needs silence.
Ezra corners her after work. The sky is bruised purple. The air smells like rain that’s changed its mind.
“You knew Lara was going to fall apart today,” he says.
Rhea lights a cigarette, exhales like she’s been holding something in for years. “Yeah.”
“You didn’t say a word.”
“I wasn’t supposed to.”
“That’s the problem with you,” Ezra snaps. “You see everything and still choose to be cruel.”
She turns to him, face unreadable.
“I’m not cruel,” she says. “I’m real. I don’t rush in with bandages and lies. I don’t tell people they’re okay when they’re clearly not. I don’t perform comfort for the sake of optics. I give space. I give truth. And when it matters, I give help, but never in the way people expect.”
Ezra folds his arms. “You’re mean, Rhea. You tear people down with the way you speak.”
She nods slowly. “Yeah. I’m mean. I’m blunt. I don’t hold hands through disasters. I hold people up when it’s time to rebuild. You think I’m wicked because I don’t sugarcoat reality. Because I don’t coddle grown people through their consequences. But ask the ones who’ve been at rock bottom. Ask them who showed up when everyone else left.”
He doesn’t answer.
So she keeps going, this time softer. Raw.
“They call me a monster, but monsters don’t stay up till 3 a.m. talking people down from ledges. Monsters don’t drop groceries at doors without names. Monsters don’t notice the quietest kid in the room and ask if they’ve eaten. I’m mean, Ezra. But I’m not cold.”
She flicks ash into the wind. The cigarette is nearly burned out. Her voice isn’t.
“I care more than people deserve sometimes. I just don’t wear it like a scarf around my neck for applause. I help how I can. I don’t advertise it. I don’t smile while doing it. But I do it. And I always will.”
The silence stretches between them.
Ezra studies her like he’s seeing a new language in a familiar book. Something misread for too long.
“Maybe you’re not a monster,” he finally says.
She shrugs. “Maybe I am. Just not the kind you’re used to.”
Then she walks away.
And Ezra, for the first time, stops wishing she’d change and starts wondering how many people she’s quietly saved without ever asking for thanks.
Rae’s Quill
10PM
24th May 2025
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