Mathew wakes up in a clammy puddle of shame, and sharp scent of urine. Sometime during the night, he's wet the bed. For a second, he lies there, then tries to escape, fumbling and falling from the bed as the sheets tangle around his legs. He hits the floor with a thump, and freezes, listening for if his Papa heard.

Papa did hear, and he arrives at Mathew's bedroom in short notice, concerned face appearing in the doorway and taking in Mathew's guilty face and position on the floor, and melding into understanding as he sees the bed. There's a lump in Mathew's throat, impossible to swallow past, but not big enough to choke on.

"Mathieu... Again?"

He quails under his Papa's disappointment, heart racing. He's not scared, though. It's always disappointment, never anger. Mathew thinks that the disappointment should be worse.

"I.. I'm sorry... I didn't mean to!"

His Papa gives him a look that makes Mather wish he could swallow his tongue. "I know, Mathieu." And with a heavy sigh, his Papa crosses the room to start stripping the bed, as he continues. "Just... You're not a little child anymore, Mathieu. You're almost a teenager. This has to stop."

And the ants are back, raising little goosebumps on his arms. Papa never used to say that. He used to ask about whether Mathew had a nightmare, or say he shouldn't drink before bed, or (back when he was much younger), that it was okay, they Mathew was still little and it was okay if he had an accident. But Mathew's Papa is right, Mathew's not little anymore, and the accidents aren't that easy to excuse. He knows the other boys his age at school don't wet the bed, he knows he'd be teased and bullied mercilessly if they knew he did. He dips his head, partially in shame, keeping his gaze on the floor so Papa doesn't see his face.

Papa can't - doesn't - know that it's not always an accident. Because, sometimes, after Mathew wets the bed, the monster doesn't come for a few nights. Sometimes, he can sleep without the nightmare, and wake without feeling gross. But Papa...

His Papa finished stripping the sheets and blankets and turns to Mathew wearily. "Take your Pajamas off, I'll need those too."

Mathew feels a shiver down his spine, not skin-deep, but deeper inside. Right, of course. His Papa needs all the soiled laundry for the wash. He nods, and starts to head for the hall.

"Where are you going?"

His Papa's voice stops him in his tracks, and Mathew gazes timidly back over his shoulder. "To the bathroom? To change?"

There's something in his Papa's face, not quite a denial or curiosity, but something in-between, like his Papa is calculating something. Mathew doesn't like that look, so he stops.

"Just change here." His Papa has a strange note in his voice, a bit off from annoyance, "It's not like I haven't seen it before."

A part of Mathew wants to protest; "I'm almost thirteen!" and throw his Papa's words back in his face, but Papa is giving him a look like he's being ridiculous, and Mathew remembers a different set of rules, the one he uses when the monster visits. To act normal, to act asleep. He flushes with shame, but obediently steps back into his room, and doesn't object. He has to make sure Papa thinks everything's normal, because if he doesn't, he might ask Mathew about it. And Mathew doesn't want to talk to his Papa about the monster.

Mathew pulls his shirt over his head, pretending the shiver he feels is from the sudden coolness of the air, and not the eyes on him. He still feels the monster's gaze, even in the day. He takes a deep breath to calm himself as he reaches for his pants. The monster only visits when he's asleep. (But the monster has been changing its rules, these days.) Mathew steps out of his pants, feeling exposed and tries to move quickly and get it over with. He scoops up the pajamas and shoves them at his dad, moving in a whirl and rushing for the door.

"I'm going to shower."

He prétends he doesn't hear his Papa's rebuking "Mathieu!" when he suddenly gets urine-soaked pajamas to the face.

The shower doesn't help. It's stopped helping a long time ago, but Mathew still pretends it does, scrubbing every inch of his skin so hard his skin feels like it might scrub off. He wishes his skin would peel right off, and then all the ants could escape, and the monster wouldn't come anymore because a Mathew with no skin was just gross , and maybe-

Mathew doesn't let himself finish that thought. The monster has been coming ever since he was six, it hasn't stopped yet. He won't let himself hope that it will. It's much to late for a dead and silent God to answer his prayers now.

Breakfast is awkward, more so than it should be because of Papa's even gaze on him through the whole meal. Mathew picks at his pancakes and tries to avoid meeting his Papa's eyes and hopes his Papa will drop it. Nothing is ever that easy for Mathew.

"Mathieu," His Papa leans forwards on the table, his voice gentle and even, but low and serious, "This has to stop."

Mathew's ants panic, running up and down his spine and under the skin on his arms and neck. Mathew does not panic as he timidly glances at his Papa's face before sliding his eyes away, back down the much-stained table cloth.

" 'M sorry."

The tablecloth isn't any more helpful than the heroes in the books Mathew used to read when he was little.

Mathew's Papa does not accept the apology.

"I'm serious, Mathew. You're well past the age this can be excused. I don't care if you have to set an alarm to wake you up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night, or if you sleep on the toilet, but if this doesn't change, I'll have to take of it myself. "

Mathew flinches despite himself, flashing his gaze back to his Papa's face.

"Take care of it?"

His voice is much to thin for his liking, trembling slightly. His Papa makes eye contact and holds it.

"I can't constantly be washing your bedding and pajamas. If I have to take away your blankets and sleep clothes until you learn not to soil them, I will. Do you understand?"

Mathew wishes he didn't. He feels his blood turn so hot it's icy in his viens. The implications are too clear to ignore. Either he stops wetting the bed, or he sleeps naked. Mathew doesn't know if he can't handle enduring the monster naked. He doesn't know if it's possible. He drops his head.

"I understand."

This isn't the first time Mathew's protection has failed. He remembers, back when he was seven, when he used to refuse to bathe and wipe properly, and he would throw tantrums when his father tried to get him to. He'd thought the monster wouldn't come if he was stinky. But Papa had scooped him up one day, struggling and yelling and fighting though he was, and forcibly stripped him and shoved him in the bathtub, before climbing in too. And Papa had bathed him himself, like Mathew was a baby. He still remembers the feel of his Papa's hands rubbing the soap on him.

It wasn't gross, but it felt like it was, the ways Papa's hands sometimes lingered, especially over the sensitive places, and even dipped into the entrance in his rear after that part was cleaned. Mathew had protested, but Papa had said "It needs to be cleaned properly". It felt bad. Not just because it hurt, but because of something else too. After that, Papa gave him an ultimatum. Either Mathew washes and cleans himself properly, or Papa would, for as long as it took. Mathew's never gone a day without showering since. He still feels dirty anyways.

Papa sighs, and leans back in his chair, giving Mathew a tired look. "Ah, Mathieu, what am I to do with you?"

Mathew chooses to avoid this question altogether, pretending to be shocked by the stove clock instead.

"Ah! I have to go, I don't want to miss the bus!"

Papa sighs, but lets it go as Mathew grabs his lunchbox from the fridge and shoves it in his shcoolbag.

"Have a good day at school, Mathieu."

Mathew doesn't answer and bolts for the door.

Somehow, he makes it to the bus stop ten whole minutes early.