Chapter 6
AMELIA
I hadn’t seen Caiden since that night, when he showed up drunk, but my mind was stuck on the text message that he sent, the words cycling through my head.
‘I’m sorry for last night.’
It was cryptic, like a puzzle that I needed to figure out. Was he sorry for showing up? Or sorry for what he said, in a way that meant he didn’t mean those words? Or was he sorry for everything about that night?
It gnawed on my brain, and I desperately wanted to ask, but I didn’t. I only replied with a ‘thank you’ and left it at that.
The beach trip was coming up tomorrow, and I would have to face him. I was pulled into the calming waves of Alex, somebody who tasted of feathers and sunlight.
Then, there was Caiden. His presence was a tempting darkness, a swirling vortex of deep violet hues that painted a blurred canvas of fear and attraction across my senses; I could almost taste the bitter-sweet tension.
I buried my face in the silk pillow and groaned. Sometimes, the ghost of his kiss still scattered across my lips, and I reminisce about that night.
Yet, the cold rage on his face when he faced his mother halted the sweetness, and I remembered how treacherous he was.
To pass the time away from the horrors of my current reality, I lost myself in Blake’s journal.
The chill of autumn has settled into the Colorado wilderness, the leaves turning a vibrant red, reminding me of the blood that I spill.
Today, I found myself at the edge of my forest, savoring the stillness that envelopes this place.
My ‘pets’ are restless, their whimpers echoing through the damp air, and I feel an insatiable hunger rise within me, not just for sustenance, but for the exquisite pleasure of their fear.
Each time I hear them scratching the walls of their confinement, I am reminded of my own cage, crafted by the hands of my father.
He was a man who reveled in power and pain, and as I sit here, the ghost of his laughter lingers in the corners of my mind.
I wonder, does the blood of my victims cleanse me, or does it bind me closer to him?
I feel as though I am both the master and a mere reflection of the wretched soul who raised me.
Today, I chose a new subject, a woman with eyes that sparkled with defiance.
I will snuff that defiance out slowly, with care and precision.
I’ve prepared a feast for her, a grotesque mixture of culinary delight and horror.
I can almost taste the satisfaction that will wash over me as she realizes the true nature of her ‘meal.’
The winds howl through the trees tonight, a chorus of despair.
I have spent the last week engaging my latest subject in a delicate dance of despair.
Her name is Emily, and she has become a canvas for my artistry.
I find her attempts to negotiate, to plead for mercy, almost amusing.
She is unaware that the hope she clings to is but a mirage, drifting further away with each passing day.
I’ve crafted elaborate scenarios for her, each designed to evoke the deepest fears that lurk in the shadows of her mind.
I’ve allowed her brief moments of comfort, showing her kindness when I offer her food, albeit a morsel that hints at its gruesome origin.
The psychological torment is, after all, the most delectable flavor.
There are moments when I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the blade of my knife, and I see the fear of my father lurking behind my eyes.
I shudder at the thought of becoming him, yet I cannot suppress the thrill of control that envelops me.
I am both the victim and the victor, trapped in a cycle of torment that echoes my childhood.
I am free yet enslaved by the very legacy I sought to escape.
Emily has grown weak, her spirit dimming like the autumn sun.
I have decided to introduce her to my culinary expertise.
What a delight it is to watch her realize the truth of her situation as I prepare a meal from those unfortunate enough to cross my path.
I have taken to calling it “The Feast of Fears,” a celebration of the struggle between hope and despair, the ultimate test of survival.
I can still hear my father’s voice, echoing through the darkness of my memories, taunting me as I force her to consume flesh, her own kind.
“You are what you eat,” I whisper, my voice smooth and polite, betraying nothing of the chaos within.
Each bite she takes feeds my sadistic delight, her eyes widening in horror as she grasps the grotesque reality of her fate.
The psychological games I play with her are exquisite. With each of her screams, I feel the walls of my own sanity close in, yet I am revived. I am not merely a monster; I am the architect of my own twisted narrative.
A bone-chilling wave washed over me as I read the words, each syllable a whisper in the growing darkness, and a terrifying feeling of eyes boring into my back settled deep within my soul.
My lamplight cast long, dancing shadows across the walls, despite its brightness, surrounding me in an eerie glow.
I looked upwards, and in the shadowed light, I could almost see Blake Hill’s eyes gleaming in the dark like a predator. The ghost of his hands soared over my skin, and I vaguely could recall being trapped beneath him as he invaded the sacred tomb of my body.
In an instinctive desperation, I pulled out my phone and found his name. Without thinking into it, I typed out a message and hit send, pushed by the need to distract my gnawing fear.
I waited. And waited. Then a ding sounded through the room.
Caiden: I can be there soon.
It was as if everything that was holding me back shattered, and I fell into the breath of his solace.
Soon enough, there was a knock on the door, and I ran to open it, tossing the journal onto the bed. I flung the door open, and he was standing there, his eyes diving into mine.
“Hey,” I muttered, breathless, stepping back to let him inside.
He walked inside and sat on the couch, he proceeded to lean back and study me.
He wasn’t drunk this time; there was no scent of alcohol, only a fragrance of leather and oak.
“I was surprised to see your text.”
I sat beside him, our legs barely touching.
“Yeah, sorry. I know we haven’t seen each other since that night. But I was kind of freaked out tonight, and you’re the only one who will understand.” My words stumbled over each other, and my palms began to sweat with nervousness, and my heart fluttered wildly.
That seemed to ignite something in him, a masculine need to protect me, and he slid closer, his body heat overwhelming my senses.
“You can always come to me, Amelia. We went through a lot of shit together,” he whispered, his breath so close.
Tempting me.
Blake’s touch still echoed in my bones, but the second Caiden put his strong hand on top of mine, I folded, and Blake’s shadow left my mind.
I didn’t move my hand, but I didn’t engage either. I sat with him in the quiet of the night, allowing myself to fall into the calmness.
“What particularly was upsetting you?” Caiden asked, and the terror crept back into my skin.
“I have a confession,” I began, unsure why I even felt the need to tell him this, but he would understand. I hoped.
“What?”
I took a breath.
“I have Blake’s journal, and I’ve been reading it. I shouldn’t do that, but I took it off the table in the cabin, and it’s driving me mad.” I pulled my hand away and wrapped my arms around my waist, feeling small and helpless suddenly.
He didn’t speak at first, only stared. It wasn’t until I stood up that he grabbed my waist and pulled me back down.
“Don’t leave, Amelia. Fuck. I can’t believe you would do that to yourself. Why are you just now telling me?”
I looked away, tears threatening to spill. “I’m ashamed. I don’t know why I just told you, but I need comfort from somebody who understands. I’m haunted every day by these shadows, it’s killing me.”
I hiccupped as I began to cry, not being able to hold back the stream of tears anymore.
His hand rubbed my back in a soothing way while he let me cry.
“I still don’t understand why you would take his journal. But, I can see you’re hurting, and I’m not going to give you shit for it if that’s what you think,” he whispered in my ear while he pulled me closer on the couch, his hands tightening their grip.
It was calming but also possessive in a hot way that made me want to jump his bones.
I can’t believe I was letting myself give in, but for tonight, I needed to.
“Thank you,” I told him, meaning it.
“Yeah.”
I could tell he was holding back, and I was grateful for it. I couldn’t handle that tonight, but his comfort was good enough.
He kept his arm around me, a hot, immovable band against my ribs, as if his body’s gravity could hold me together when everything else was splintering.
The sound of my own crying revolted me. I wanted to swallow it whole, crush it under my tongue, and spit out something mean, something brutal and dismissive. Instead, I let myself shudder.
His chest rose and fell under my cheek, and his breathing stayed even, the way it always did in the worst situations, like he’d stopped being a person and become some force of nature, relentless, inevitable.
I was a wounded animal, burrowing into the shadow of the predator who’d haunted my teenage years. The irony of it made me want to laugh, or bite him, or both.
I wiped my face on the sleeve of my shirt, but his hand was already there, rough thumb collecting what the tears left behind. I hated how gentle he could be, because that gentleness made me want things I wasn’t supposed to want.
I couldn’t help but think about a time he came across me crying, and how different it was to the Caiden who was soothing my distress now.
My mother almost overdosed.
I found her in the morning; she had been holed up in her bedroom all night with some guy.
I woke up to start my routine when the door to her room swung open, and a man stepped out. His strides across the hall were unsteady, and he held an unfocused look in his eyes.
“Is my mom still out?” I asked, crossing my arms, standing in his path. As a child, I used to fear these strange men. They were tall and intimidating and would stare down at me as if I were a piece of meat.
Now, I stood my ground, only seeing them as pathetic druggies.
“Sure.” He mumbled, pushing past me to leave. I let him.
I peeked into her room, she was sprawled across the bed, her eyes still closed. Something seemed off, though, and I stepped into the room that smelled of filth.
“Mom?” I asked, touching her arm, which was colder than usual.
“Shit,” I mumbled, poking her harder now, but her eyes stayed closed.
I ran to the home phone and dialed ‘911’ and quickly explained the situation. They were here in no time and helped to revive her.
They told me that if I hadn’t caught her condition and called, she would have died that day.
The realization clung to me, a chilling presence that haunted me.
There was a numbness that had come over me during those events, and I didn’t cry. I went almost the whole day without crying until the end of the day.
Sometimes, I would walk home, and on that walk, I would pass the local playground. A sight caught my eyes as I passed the swing set.
A mother was pushing her daughter on the swing. The child laughed happily, while the mother was just as happy. She walked to the front of the swing as the child gracefully leapt up, falling into the mother’s arms.
The mother smiled as she held the child close, giving her a security blanket that I have been devoid of.
The tears fell, and I wept. I sprinted to a shaded tree and fell to my knees, the sobs coming harder and harder.
A shadow came into my vision, and I looked up to see Caiden standing there, scowling at me.
“What the fuck are you crying for?” He asked, looking at me as if I were something to squash under his foot.
“It doesn’t matter. Just personal stuff.”
He shrugged and rolled his eyes. “Poor Amelia, always suffering. Get over it. I have it tough too, you don’t see me crying.”
My teary-eyed gaze snapped up at him, and I glared angrily. “Shut up, Caiden. Everybody cries. I’m sure you do too, even though you won’t admit it. You’re still human.”
He bent down to my level and looked deep in my eyes. “That’s the thing, Amelia. I’ve accepted my fate. I’m a monster, just like my father. You won’t ever see me cry.”
Those words sent a shiver through me, and I was left speechless by his statement.
Without offering any comfort, he turned his back and continued walking towards home, his backpack slung over his shoulder.
It dawned on me. Caiden was a monster, and there was no changing that. I cried again, but not because of my mom, but for Caiden and his damaged soul.
The memory hit me fiercely, nearly knocking the breath out of me.
“Caiden?”
With a swift movement, his eyes flicked down to me, their dark depths unreadable. “Yes?”
I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Years ago, you came across me crying in the park. My mom had accidentally overdosed that morning. I was a wreck, and you found me. You told me that you were a monster, just like your father. Did you really believe that?”
His body stiffened, and I could feel him pulling back.
One step forward, two steps back.
“At the time, I did. I was a monster, and I still am,” Caiden confessed, not meeting my eyes.
My heart ached for him.
“You’re not a monster. You’re just damaged.” I touched his chest, hesitantly, looking up at him through my eyelids.
His face twisted into anger as he pulled away. “Yeah, I’m damaged. Nothing will ever change that.”
He stood up suddenly and began to walk towards the door.
“Wait!” I ran towards him, standing between the door and his body. “Don’t leave. I’m sorry. You were being so sweet, and it just made me think about how cruel you were years ago when I was crying that day, and I guess I was comparing it to how you are now.”
His eyes softened for a moment, and he stepped closer, lifting my chin with his finger. “I’m sorry,” he said, his eyes searching mine. “I want to do better, but unfortunately, the cruel Caiden that you knew is still in me, and there are times when he’s itching to come out.”
He leaned in, his breath ghosting over my lips. "But I don't want him to," he whispered while allowing his gaze to linger on mine, “Which is why I need to leave before he comes out.”
Caiden’s soft touch yet chilling confession froze me in my spot, and I was helpless as he walked out the front door, leaving me with my ghosts.