19. CHAPTER 19
W as it only a dream?
I’m too scared to open my eyes and find out.
I know I’m not where I fell asleep because it’s way more comfortable than the floor.
I’m on the couch, in the little spot my body has created over the past few weeks. But my sleeping bag is on top of me, not Eden’s quilt.
It was never my intention to move, and I think that’s half the reason I’m reluctant to open my eyes.
If he’s taken the quilt and is asleep in his bed without me, it’ll prove that last night didn’t mean as much to him as he made out. It was only the soju and almost thirty days of no sexual contact.
He was just desperate.
It was all about the release, and nothing to do with me.
The more awake I become, the more my senses push aside my thoughts.
I can smell coffee, and fresh bread. But I can’t hear the shower.
I can’t hear any noise inside the cabin, in fact, except for the constant crackle of the stove.
Finally brave enough to roll over, I open my eyes and look straight to the loft.
The bed is made and the curtains at the window have been drawn.
The steel percolator is on the stove's warming tray and the fluffy dome of Eden’s sourdough is in the cast iron pan it was baked in. Beside it is a plate, and jars of peanut butter and grape jelly.
It makes me smile, but it also feels strange.
Eden has always had these fleeting moments of kindness, but nothing like this, and never with so many different moving parts.
He’s always been weirdly devoted to keeping me hydrated, then there was the cup of soup and his clean clothes, but they always came with the caveat that I owed him something—that I should consider myself lucky he even thought about me in the first place.
As I sit up, my hand moves to press against my forehead on its own because, holy crap, my head is spinning and my mouth is drier than the Sahara desert.
I’ve been drunk on soju once before, and it’s not a fun trip the next day. Though, this time around, I wouldn’t swap it for anything.
Eden's kisses are in another stratosphere compared to what came before them, and his breath felt like fire against my skin. But even through the haze of soju, I sensed a reluctance from him. Where I would have let him take everything from me last night without regret.
He could have bent me over this very sofa and forced his way inside me, and I’d have thanked him every second of the way. Yet for a man who's done more things than I ever imagined, he just jerked off.
That’s it.
I figured he’d at least want a blow job. It’s what I thought was going to happen when he knelt up over me. But being pinned down by a hand around my throat made it pretty clear it was off the table.
His words were sending me crazy, and his lips felt like they were trying to devour me whole, yet it was his eyes where I saw the disconnect. It was as though he wanted to believe in what he was saying, but his guts were fighting against it…
Throwing off my sleeping bag, I put my feet on the floor and see a fresh bottle of electrolyte water and a box of Tylenol.
I drink down half the bottle then pop two capsules in my mouth.
Where the extra warmth of the stove is typically so inviting, this morning it’s making me nauseous. So I quickly pour myself a mug of coffee and retreat to the kitchen.
Eden may be able to drink this stuff straight from the pot, but I need to dump half a cup of sugar into it.
In the pantry I bypass the white and reach behind it for the brown sugar.
After scooping three huge heaped spoonfuls into my coffee, I load up a fourth and deliver it straight to my mouth.
I let my head fall back as it starts melting on my tongue.
It’s caramel, and toffee, and soft goodness.
And something I know Eden would find a reason to scold me about, which is exactly why the next time I do this it needs to be in front of him.
Smirking to myself, I put the jar back then stir my coffee.
I really shouldn’t like aggravating him as much as I do. And initially, it was far from intentional. But now…
Now it’s like a game. A game that I’ll be playing more and more if it means he’ll choke me like he did last night.
It was so controlled, but still aggressive.
And when he bit my neck—game over.
“Goddamnit, Eden,” I say aloud and head to the dining table.
The sourdough pan is still hot when I pull it in front of me, and no portion of it is missing.
Looking back at the kitchen and to the drying rack, I see nothing that indicates Eden has eaten at all.
For the loaf to have been made, proofed twice, and baked, he must have been awake for hours. So why didn’t he wake me? And why didn’t he eat anything?
I slice off a round piece of crust, take a bite, then cut two thick slices. While I munch away on the crust I make a PB&J and cut it down the middle.
At the door, I put on Tek’s jacket and the beanie Eden gave me.
Stepping onto the porch, I see his snowshoes are missing, and my heart sinks.
Keeping my head up, I carry the sandwich I made for him down the steps, and make my way around the dugout track only to find that he’s not out here. Nothing has been moved in his truck, the shack’s door is closed, and there’s no extra firewood in the stack out the back.
On my second lap I call out to him, but still nothing. And that’s when I notice the snowshoe tracks leading off down the trail to the lake.
After staring at it for what feels like forever, hoping that I’ll see him coming back to me, I give up, and turn to the cabin.
Every step I take, I count out loud. Because if I don’t, I'll cry.
Inside again, I put Eden’s sandwich on the table and fetch another plate.
The sandwich I make for myself is much smaller—less PB, more J—and I shovel it in my mouth. After washing it down with my brown sugar coffee, I walk to the under stairs cupboard to get some clean clothes.
Since the books have been sitting in piles beside the dining table, I’ve been storing my stuff on the shelf in there. And even though it’s only one shelf in an entire cabin, it’s actually nice to have somewhere that’s just for me. Even if it is hidden away.
I ’ve showered.
Sorted the clean and dirty dishes.
Refilled the hot water tank with fresh snow.
Dusted every surface.
Used the carpet sweeper everywhere.
Washed our cum stained clothes in the tub, and hung them by the fire.
I’ve even watched the first two Mighty Duck movies, and Eden is still not back yet.
It’s past three thirty in the freaking afternoon.
I don’t want to be left alone anymore.
I want him here with me.
I want to look into his eyes and see what they’re telling me today.
I want to…
I want to stop looking out the window beside me at the lake track every five seconds, but I can’t do it from here.
Stopping D3 before the title has even appeared on screen, I turn off the TV and head to the books.
I need something I can get lost in that takes as little brain power as possible.
I pick at the pile until something so flowery, so typically not me almost jumps out.
Period romance…
The book is old, and the blurb isn't overly enticing, but any ship in a storm when you’re desperate, right?
Thankfully my hangover is long gone, so, distancing myself from any window, I toss all the cushions in the middle of the floor by the stove, and lay down.
With another brown sugar coffee by my side, I open up the first page and start…
Romance is really not for me. Though, credit to the author, I guess, cause I have read all the way through to chapter ten.
Closing the book, I reach over to put it on the coffee table before standing.
It’s well and truly dark, and now that I’ve torn myself away from the world of romantic make believe—where the main love interest is established by the second chapter and they fall in love at first sight—my whole body feels like putting on the second pair of snowshoes and wandering off randomly into the trees because what could Eden possibly be doing that has him out this late?
Away from the cabin.
Avoiding me.
Forcing me to go insane in his absence.
Deciding that it’s not like we have any shortage of extra snow, I march to the bathroom.
I need another shower.
Anything to wash away this doubt.