Chapter 8 - Aspen
EIGHT
ASPEN
Owen Humphrey III is everything his dating profile claimed he is.
The third generation of bankers—that’d be the very Humphreys of the Humphrey National Bank Corporation.
Something he speaks of extensively by the time the main course of dinner arrives, as though it’s supposed to impress me.
Despite the tens of thousands of dollars of student debt I have to my name, wealth doesn’t sway me.
He’s straight-laced, polite, and everything a name like his suggests. Neatly trimmed hair, a shaven face, an impeccable suit costing more than my rent—all paired with a charming smile. He should be every woman’s dream.
If he weren’t so fucking boring.
Boring—and nothing like what my heart actually wants.
But the man who haunts my dreams, even twelve months later, isn’t available.
When the desire to write again to him grows too strongly, when his mysterious eyes and cocky smirk consume my mind day in and day out, I scour the dating apps to distract myself by going out with the exact opposite.
It’s masochism at its finest, and truthfully, I return from each date feeling grosser than when leaving home. It feels like I’m cheating on my heart, but since my desires aren’t even out in the real world, I have to distract myself so I don’t go insane.
Although, I think I already am. He’s made me insane, putting me on this vicious cycle I’ve been living for the year.
I’m so ready to call the date quits because there’s only so much distraction my brain can handle—and I’ve reached my limit.
“So then, the other day at work, when…”
Since he’s insisting on talking so much, more wine may be required. Once I’m home, I’ll chase it down with pain relief for the impending headache caused by every syllable that spews from his mouth when he refuses to. Shut. Up.
My fucking god, will this ever end?
By the end of the main course, Owen offers dessert, which I politely decline, eager to get the hell out of here and home and never do this again.
“You sure? Working the long hours the corporation demands can be exhausting. I’m enjoying our time, and dessert stretches this out. Perhaps a stop at a café on the way back and I’ll tell you about the craziest request we’ve ever gotten?”
Yet again about the job.
I smile tightly, my back teeth pressing together. “Caffeine past four p.m. is a bad idea, sorry.”
“Another time then.” He hides his disappointment—a literal pout—behind the sweeping motion of helping me to my feet and placing my coat over my shoulders.
“I can walk home by myself. It’s not far,” I tell him as we leave the restaurant. Anything to not have to hear him talk about work for a second longer.
Owen glances up and down the dark downtown road before shrugging. “Alright. Have a nice night.”
“You too,” I say as he heads towards a silver BMW parked nearby. Without another glance, he gets inside and drives off. If I cared even the slightest amount, it might bother me. “Why do I do this to myself?” I groan aloud, turning towards home.
A year of wanting to undo my goodbye letter to Cade must be unhealthy. For that reason alone, I don’t. It’s a reminder of why a friendship with him could lead to other problems.
Besides, writing to him may not accomplish anything.
I was merely his pen pal, and by now he’s presumably forgotten about me.
I’ve been reading too much into it. Plus, there’s the obvious fact of him being in in jail, and I never learned the reason.
There are a million and one possibilities—none of which lead to a stable friendship.
With a year gone by, I wonder if he’s close to freedom, or if he’s already out. If he’s forgotten the silly woman who entered his life for those couple of months and is now back around people he actually wants to be near.
Still…I have to stop using strangers on the internet to distract myself. Dealing with the pain of not seeing him is better than living with the stomach-churning, misplaced guilt those dates lead to.
All of them—not only Owen. Psychology major or not, I’m a walking research paper for another professional. Surely, I should be studied at this point.
As I continue towards home, my gaze wanders in the direction the prison is in. I wonder what he’s doing right now.
If he’s thought about me at all in the past year.
If he’s been reassigned to a new pen pal.
A chilling green clenches my muscles at the thought, but I remind myself it’d be positive if he was.
Either way, this needs to be the final time I think about Cade.
Obsessing over him isn’t healthy.
Home means removing my makeup and the shoes that are now my worst nightmare, thanks to the blisters they formed. A hot shower washes every mistake away—Owen, and the others whose names I genuinely cannot recall.
Finally slipping into bed with Millie, my body thanks me profusely, even while my mind considers work tomorrow. It’s the day before Valentine’s Day, which means it’ll be crazy busy, something I don’t look forward to.
There are only a couple more months of working at the florist until my job in the university’s mental health clinic begins. I’m excited because it’ll give the practical clinical experience that’ll fluff my PhD application that much more.
With thoughts of all the flower orders needing to be filled, I doze off. The blanket constricts around me, a prison of my own making. My hand slides beneath my cheek, and I can practically feel his lips pressing into my cheek—even a full year later.
A crack from nearby twitches me into consciousness. Without opening my eyes, I turn my head towards the door and gently move my foot back and forth, checking for Millie. She probably jumped off my bed for a late-night snack or to use the litter and made the floorboards crack.
But when my foot nudges her, she jumps off the bed with a low, irritated meow. So she isn’t where the noise came from. Sleep taunts me again, but the prickle in my neck tells me I need to get up and check it.
Silly really. It’s February and freezing outside. The place is old, and old houses creak and crack and respond to wind. It’s not the first time I’ve woken to such noises during the winter or stormy nights.
Except when roughened pads gently stroke my cheek, my heart clenches with a sudden jolt. Someone is here in my house and touching me. Someone broke in.
Terror clamps my nerves, rendering movement impossible when survival means reacting—grabbing the nearest weapon, which, embarrassingly, is a kitchen knife in the next room. Not useful in this instance.
The touch glides down my cheek and over my lips, pushing into my bottom one. My brain races with every possible solution, but fear frazzles those very thoughts too. What do I do, what do I do, what do I do…? If I pretend to be asleep, it might anger the intruder, but waking means fighting.
Then there’s Millie to consider. Whoever this is better not touch a single strand of fur on her body or else there will be hell to pay.
The touch disappears, leaving an unexplainable electrical current through my limbs. An awareness that tells me he’s standing above me.
This is it. I’ll open my eyes and—
Lips press down on mine, and with a lurch, I shove my hands into an impossibly wide chest and push upright, practically flipping myself over to the other side of the bed to get away.
My room is pitch-dark, and my head is still sleep-dazed, so everything is a blur of motion that’s difficult to keep up with.
A muscular arm bands around my waist, stopping my escape before it fully goes anywhere.
A scream rips from my throat as the chilling reality settles upon me as his body comes down on top of me.
Chances are, my strength won’t get me out of here and I’ll exhaust myself too soon, but my instincts that scream escape don’t care, sending arms and legs careening into the form.
His knees encompass my thighs as his hands cuff my wrists, pinning them to the side, doing exactly as I predicated and leaving me stuck. My screams shift to a sob, ready to plead with whatever humanity may linger within his soul as shapes become visible.
And then I wish they weren’t when I come face-to-face with my past.
The obscure soul kneeling above me. The eyes filled with chilling darkness that visit my dreams almost every night and stalks me through my day.
The tattoos up the side of the neck I’ve been dying to make out are now concealed by a black leather jacket instead of the orange jumpsuit.
His hair’s longer and messier, with the very signature smirk that once made me breathless.
It does again, but for a few reasons this time.
My heart thuds against my sternum as I try to get free from his hold and sit up, only to be pinned down in ways no different than he’s affected me for months.
There is no freeing myself from the man who once stoked such a strange visceral reaction within me when we sat across from one another in a prison’s visitation room.
The prison he’s no longer locked inside of.
“Y-y-you’re here. You’re back… You’re… Cade.”
Cade is inside my house.
Cade is out of prison and broke into my house.
The sick parts of me jump, eager, and want to embrace the reunion. They’re the parts that took his request for a picture and showed up in person instead. But the logical side that once wrote the goodbye letter urges me to get free, run away, and to call the cops.
Trepidation drips chilling doses of reality down my bloodstream when he hums. “Fuck, I’ve missed your voice, sweetheart. Missed the way you say my name. My memories never could get it quite right.”
“What are you… Why are you…?” Nothing comes out right. I should be running and screaming, not that it did me much good the first attempt. I should be fighting his hold, yet his touch numbs me.
“I’m here for you. Obviously.”
Because I fucked up a year ago. I stopped by for a final visit, only he never realized it was the last one, not until he received my letter. Our goodbye was written, and only one-sided. I was a coward without speaking the words.
Which means, this whole time of wondering if he’s moved on…he hasn’t.
“Light,” I gasp out, needing this much. I roll to the side and into his arms, tipping my head to the lamp beside my bed.
Cade’s eyes seem to almost glow as he studies my face, before conceding with a sigh. He releases my hands but doesn’t move off me to lean over and pull the cord to my lamp, bathing the room in a soft glow I have to blink through as my vision adjusts until able to take him in fully.
The fire in his eyes is manic. Almost…possessive? It can’t be right, but there’s something alluring and dangerous in his expression. Something my psychology degree would love to dissect and remind me to run from.
That’s when I notice what the night hid from me: the specks of dried blood on his shirt and cheek, and his hands smudged with it.
My feet push into the bed, scrambling until my back hits the headboard, somehow able to get free from beneath him but in no way less trapped either. “Wha…” Words are lost within a dry mouth and rough swallow. “What—who’s blood is that?”
Cade brings one hand up to his face, twisting and turning it in inspection, as though only seeing the blood for the first time himself. There’s a tattoo on his knuckles I don’t recall from last year, but the bloodstains conceal whatever it is.
Then he grins. A little feverish, a click of his tongue against his upper teeth. “Next time you decide to become mine, don’t go on dates with other fucking men.”