Chapter 61 The Present
THE PRESENT
AMELIA
The sight of civilization was a sweet relief, a balm for the raw wounds we carried. The first few days had blurred into a whirlwind of confusion and disbelief. In a last-ditch effort to find us, they had sent out a helicopter, and it was successful.
Once we landed, Sabrina and Shane rushed to greet us, their arms enveloping us in tight embraces, their voices bursting with relief and joy that we were alive.
Caiden and I stood off to the side, our clothes filthy and wrinkled, our expressions hollowed by exhaustion and the haunting memories of what we had endured.
I glanced at him, and he met my gaze; we both felt the weight of our trauma. It was too much to process, too surreal to comprehend. Not long ago, we had faced death, and now we stood in fresh clothes, surrounded by warmth and light.
As we recounted the horrors of the cabin and the monster who had lurked within, the police revealed that many had gone missing in the wilderness over the years, with most never to be found again. Somehow, they had discovered the cabin.
Later, we saw on the news that a gruesome collection of bones had been unearthed from beneath the floorboards. The body found in the freezer was identified as a hiker who had disappeared months before.
They also discovered the lifeless body of the killer, his remains grotesquely marred with bloodied gashes.
A DNA test confirmed his identity: Blake Hill. The police files told a chilling story of a boy turned monster. Blake had murdered his father in cold blood after enduring years of torment and abuse.
His father, plagued by psychotic tendencies, had imprisoned Blake in their basement, subjecting him to horrific games. He even kidnapped other children, forcing Blake to witness their torture and eventual demise. The mother, complicit in the madness, was just as deranged as her husband.
Though, she killed herself long before Blake escaped.
Eventually, Blake vanished from society, his sanity eroded by trauma. He retreated to the very cabin that had once belonged to his family, allowing his torment to fester in isolation, transforming him into the emotionless killer he had become.
He was doomed to replay the horrors of his past, desperately seeking validation in the twisted echoes of his memories.
It was a tragic tale, and I almost felt pity for him.
I still possessed the diary I had stolen from the table, though I had yet to open it. Now, it lay in the drawer of my nightstand, a ghost haunting my thoughts. I couldn’t bring myself to throw it away.
Most nights, I sought solace with Shane and Sabrina. I couldn’t bear the thought of sleeping alone; the nightmares threatened to consume me.
Some nights, I envisioned Blake hovering over me, that sinister smile freezing my bones, his predatory gaze penetrating my very soul. His cold hands would close around my throat, and I would wake, breathless and terrified.
Haunted by Blake Hill.
Tonight was no different from most nights since our rescue two weeks earlier. I lay in their guest bedroom, tossing and turning as sweat poured across my skin, fevered tremors shaking my body.
I awoke with a scream, panting, my eyes darting around the room, expecting Blake to leap from the shadows with his knife.
The door creaked open, and I shrank lower in bed, paralyzed by fear. He’s here.
A tall figure stepped inside, and I whimpered helplessly.
To my surprise, the figure settled onto the edge of the bed and flicked on the lamp.
It was Caiden.
“I thought you were Blake Hill,” I murmured, my voice shaky.
A flash of concern crossed his face, but it disappeared as quickly as it had come. Since our rescue, we had barely spoken.
The harrowing moments we shared on that mountain felt like a distant memory, overshadowed by the realities of civilization. Even sharing the same house wasn’t enough to bridge the chasm between us. We only saw each other at night, when I sought refuge from my nightmares.
Since our return, we had both avoided one another, terrified of the emotions lurking beneath the surface. If I let myself get too close to him, I risked being hurt again. There was too much baggage, too many dark feelings that refused to fade.
That wouldn’t disappear just because we had shared some intimate moments while fighting for our lives.
We were malnourished, exhausted, traumatized. We needed to cling to one another; we needed that closeness. At least, that’s what I told myself to alleviate the sudden distance I felt.
Everything was different now. We were ourselves again, and there was no reason to hold onto a distorted bond forged in struggle.
We had faced death together; it was what anyone would do in such circumstances.
“Nope. It’s just me. Blake is dead, Amelia. He can’t hurt you.”
I scowled, hating the way he stared at me, as if I were insane.
“I know that,” I snapped, frustration bubbling to the surface. “But he’s still haunting my nightmares. I wake up feeling like he’s going to jump out and attack me.”
“I heard you scream and thought you were hurt. Good to know it was just a nightmare.” He turned to leave.
“Really, Caiden? Can’t you show at least a little empathy? How come you heard me and not Shane or Sabrina?” I interrogated, feeling a familiar flash of anger.
“A nightmare can’t hurt you, Amelia. I’d rather you have a nightmare than relive that situation with him.
I’m hurting too, from what we went through, but we’re safe now.
” His demeanor shifted, his voice rising with anger.
“I was already awake. I couldn’t sleep. So, I figured I’d check on you after your scream. ”
“Why can’t you sleep?”
He sighed, exasperation etched on his face. “Like I said, I’m hurting too, from our experience and other things. But knowing you’re physically okay, I’ll let you get back to sleep.”
He turned to leave, but a wave of cold dread washed over me at the thought of being left alone.
“Wait.” My voice trembled, a small cry filled with desperation. He paused, his hand hovering over the doorknob but not turning back.
“Can you stay? Just until I fall asleep? Once I wake up, it’s hard to drift off again. I just need to feel safe.” Each syllable was a quiet plea, layered with irony; I was begging Caiden for safety and comfort, even though his presence had kept me alive in that cage.
A part of me clung to that connection.
I expected him to walk out, but instead, he shut the door and turned to face me. He looked at me, and I could see the tension unraveling in him as I lay there with messy hair, my chest peeking out from the covers, wearing a loose shirt and flushed cheeks.
The desperation on my face must have been enough to convey the urgency of my need for safety and comfort.
“Yeah. Okay. I’ll stay.” He tentatively walked toward the bed, sitting slowly, as if he expected me to lash out at him.
He laid down on the other side, maintaining a careful distance.
“Thank you,” I whispered into the darkness. He didn’t respond, so I continued, my voice barely a breath above the silence.
“This reminds me of the time we shared a bed at the motel. I remember waking up in a panic, realizing I had crawled into bed with you.”
He scoffed softly, a hint of disbelief threading through his tone. “Why is that such a bad thing? I’m not diseased.”
“I know… but at the time, I harbored so many terrible thoughts about you. Being that close felt like torture. It filled me with anger and helplessness.” I laid there staring at the ceiling.
I felt the bed shift, and I could sense him turning to look at me. It was dark, but I could always feel his heated gaze, a warmth that wrapped around me like a blanket.
“Can I confess something?” he murmured, his voice low and laced with vulnerability.
He felt too close, yet not close enough.
“What?” My voice came out raspy, barely a whisper.
“That night in the motel, I thought you looked damn sexy in what you were wearing to bed. That thin shirt, those shorts that rode up your thighs… God damn.”
His words enveloped me, stirring something deep within. In an instant, our lips met, the taste of him unexpectedly sweet against my tongue.
The kiss was rapid and heated, not slow or romantic. Hatred and passion fused in an embrace, blending into one, twisting into a complex thread of clashing lips and entangled hearts.
He groaned, flipping me onto my back, his hands roaming freely, pushing his body into mine. I wove my fingers through his thick, chocolate-hued hair, pulling him closer, our lips dancing together in a rhythm all their own.
My thighs tingled again, a red-hot sensation surging through my body, causing my legs to wrap around his waist, yanking him closer. I yearned to immerse myself into his essence entirely, to savor this moment before it slipped away.
“Caiden,” I breathed, my voice a breathless moan as his lips trailed from mine to my cheek, then down my neck, his kisses igniting goosebumps on my skin.
Caiden let out another groan, devouring me with an intensity that left me breathless.
But then he stopped, his dark eyes blazing with barely contained heat, a wild, beastly passion consuming him.
“Shit,” he muttered softly, as if the word itself was a confession of weakness.
His hand hovered over my stomach, fingers flexing in the air. For a moment, I thought he would slam his fist down on me, on the bed, on his own chest.
I reached up, unsure, every cell in my body screaming for his touch, but the chasm between us had grown wider in an instant.
His hunger was rabid and dangerous, and I wanted it to devour me, even as another part of me shrank from its heat. I wanted him to break me open and pour himself inside, to fill the empty, haunted places that nothing else could reach.
His eyes flicked to mine, dark as obsidian, and for a moment I saw the violence there, barely leashed beneath the surface.
He kissed me again. My body arched beneath his, electricity crackling down my spine, my pulse leapt in every inch of skin he touched. The taste of him filled my mouth and drowned the lingering terror.
His hands found my waist, then slid up, one palm braced against the angle of my ribs, the other digging into my hair.
In the half-light, his silhouette loomed above me, all hard lines and rough edges, shadow and heat. I should have recoiled. I should have clawed at his shoulders, spat in his face, told him I hated him.
Instead, I let him in.
His tongue parted my lips, slow and cautious, waiting for me to bite. I didn’t, not this time. I chased him back, lips bruising, teeth scraping, matching his ferocity.
His hand snaked under my shirt, palm sliding over bare skin, and it was like being branded. Too hot, too sudden.
He cupped my breast, thumb rough against the nipple, and the sensation was so jarringly intimate that it yanked me out of the frenzy.
My mind splintered; I was raw and trembling, but not in the way I had wanted.
The room blurred. The pressure on my chest was suddenly suffocating, every touch reminding me of the hands that had pinned me, the ones that had left bruises on my skin and poison in my lungs.
I gasped, a thin whine catching in my throat, and pushed him off me with both hands.
He fell back, stunned, as if I’d struck him.
For a second we stared at each other, both panting, his pupils dilated so wide his eyes looked black and hollow.
“What the fuck was that for?” he demanded, rolling over to the other side of the bed, the sheets rustling in frustration.
“We can’t do this. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let it go that far. You’re Caiden. I’m Amelia. It’s not right,” I stammered, my heart pounding like a drum in the silence of the room.
Caiden had made my young life a whirlwind of misery, but now, everything felt different. A small, persistent voice in my mind nudged at me, trying to make sense of the chaos.
I shook it away forcefully. This was wrong.
“Seriously? You’re using that excuse? Stop being so damn dramatic,” he shot back, his voice tinged with disbelief.
“I thought we were past that. I can’t fucking control this craving anymore now that I’ve had a taste of it.
All the reasons I convinced myself to hate you have flown out the window.
All that’s left is this overwhelming desire to have you. ”
I glared at him through the shadows, my heart caught between anger and longing. Despite his tough exterior, I could see the hurt in his eyes, a crack in the facade he fought so hard to maintain.
“Maybe you should stop thinking of yourself. I was molested by Blake, remember? That’s a big part of this too. In the heat of the moment, it didn’t matter, but reality caught up with me, and now I just can’t do it.”
I hoped he would understand, but this was Caiden. His emotions were a labyrinth I struggled to navigate.
“Fine. I see how it is. I remind you of Blake,” he said, bitterness creeping into his voice.
“No. Well, yes. Sort of. Touching me reminds me of his torment. You’re nowhere near who he was as a person, but I just need space. Okay? I need to breathe and figure out what this means.”
Caiden shifted off the bed, the distance between us growing unbearably vast, each inch amplifying the tension in the air.
“Sure. This is why I was holding myself back. I was afraid it wouldn’t be right or that I would hurt you,” he replied, anger seeping into his words.
“You didn’t hurt me, at least not right now. I just need space to think. This is all too much, too soon,” I whispered, my heart aching with the weight of my words.
“Yeah. Don’t worry about explaining yourself. I get it. Sleep well, Amelia,” he said, his tone resigned.
He dove out the door, shutting it behind him with a finality that echoed in the silence, leaving me alone in the dark, tears slipping soundlessly down my cheeks, each drop a testament to my turmoil.
I wanted him to come back, to fill the emptiness that had suddenly engulfed me.
Yet, paradoxically, I also wanted him to stay gone, to give me the space I desperately craved.