38. Aspen
ASPEN
I don’t hear from Tobias again—not that I’m expecting to—and Blake doesn’t press me for any more information about what happened. I’m still ashamed and sickened, and I do my best not to think about it. If I can put it out of my mind, I can pretend it never really happened.
The next few days pass without event, and Tobias having been here starts to feel like a dream. Or perhaps it was a nightmare.
My mornings are spent helping Blake with the renovations, then, after lunch, my time is my own to wander the property and draw to my heart’s desire.
Having the time and space has improved my work.
I’m starting to think about where my art will be a year from now, if I’m able to stay here and allow it to continue to develop.
It’s a pipe dream, and I’m sure I’ll have overstayed my welcome by then.
Not that Blake has mentioned that he wants me to leave.
He said I can stay for as long as I like, but I doubt he had years in mind when he made the offer.
I know for sure that Levi would not be happy about me staying.
I haven’t even seen him since the encounter with Tobias.
It’s as though he takes himself out onto the mountain to hunt and fish for days at a time, and I wonder how much he’s doing that in order to avoid me.
Not that I mind. I’m happy to be left alone with Blake.
Ever since Tobias’s visit, I’ve managed to keep my thoughts out of the gutter when it comes to Blake.
Whatever stupid fantasies I’d been harboring were just that—fantasies.
If he’s had any feelings or thoughts about me that were anything more than me being his ex-best friend’s daughter, he never would have been fine with Tobias staying here.
I need to face reality. Nothing is ever going to happen between the two of us, and that’s for the best.
This afternoon, I take a new route, along the river and deeper into the woods.
The temperature is noticeably colder, and I’ve worn a thick sweater, jeans, and boots to keep out the chill.
At some point, if I’m going to be able to continue these afternoons, I’m going to need to invest in some fingerless gloves, or perhaps Blake will have an old pair somewhere that I can cut the fingers off.
The colder weather is fine when I’m walking, but if I sit still for any length of time, the chill goes right down to my bones and I struggle to get warm again.
When the snow starts to fall, I won’t be able to draw outside at all, but I have taken hundreds of photographs on my phone, and there are plenty of interesting things inside the hotel, too.
It won’t be the same, but I tell myself it’ll be better than nothing.
I remember what Levi said about how we’ll all be trapped inside the hotel together when the weather turns. How will it work, the three of us within these walls for weeks on end? How will we keep ourselves entertained?
One possibility comes to mind, and I squeeze my thighs together, recognizing the pulse of need, but then I shake the thought from my head.
Blake isn’t interested in me like that, and Levi is all kinds of toxic.
Besides, I don’t want to cause problems between Levi and Blake.
I can’t imagine Blake would take too kindly to me getting involved with Levi.
Not that I want to, of course. I mean, he’s probably filthy as hell in bed, but that doesn’t mean I want to try it out.
Not even when I’m starting to get desperate, which I am, a little.
Other than that horrible encounter with Tobias, and the forbidden, secret moment with Blake in bed, I’ve been sex-starved.
I don’t even have any toys with me, so I’ve been limited to my fingers in my room under the cloak of night, and it’s not enough.
I’m missing the feeling of a man’s body around me, of being filled with a cock, of having a mouth covering my pussy.
Tearing my thoughts away from sex, I find a large, flat rock to sit on overlooking the water.
The babble of the river comforts and relaxes me.
A kingfisher, its iridescent colors flashing across the river, dives for small fish then returns to an overhanging branch to continue its vigil.
I decide to make the bird my subject, and I get myself comfortable, flip open my sketch pad, and put pencil to paper.
Unfortunately, the kingfisher doesn’t want to hang around too long, but I get enough done to be able to work in the details later.
I decide to walk deeper into the woods, explore a little while I’ve still got the chance. I haven’t been this way before, and I wonder what I’m going to find. There’s inspiration all over this place.
But, as I walk, I find myself distracted by the growingly familiar sensation that someone is watching me. I glance over my shoulder, but the space is empty.
I keep walking, trying to push the niggling awareness to the back of my mind.
A crack of a twig underfoot comes from behind me.
I spin around, certain I’ll find someone behind me, but no one is there.
I frown, the moment taking me back to those horrible hours I spent lost in the maze.
This is different, though. For one, I’m not lost. The river is on my left side, and as long as I don’t lose sight of it, I’ll know to follow it back.
I strain my ears, and the sound of the birds and the forest suddenly seems too loud… no, not loud, too defined.
My brain has felt foggy recently. I’m putting it down to my disturbed sleep…
well, that combined with grief. Some nights—like the one when Tobias left—I’m out for the count the moment my head hits the pillow, with no awareness of waking until morning.
Others, I’m tossing and turning until the early hours, unable to find my way to the land of nod.
Grief can do strange things to a person.
Some say it can even present itself like a kind of dementia.
Especially for people who’ve lost a life partner.
They’ll go into stores and forget why they’re there and live in a cloudy fog of grief for months on end.
Of course, that’s not the same for me. Dad and I were close—he was the only important person in my life for so many years—but it’s normal that a parent goes before a child.
And I got to be there for him. However hard it was, I nursed him, and took care of him, and he knew I was supporting him the whole time. Nothing was more important than that.
But that doesn’t change the fact that I’m still grieving for my father, and now I’m living in this strange place with two men I still haven’t figured out, and peculiar things are happening all around me that I can’t decide are in my head or real. It’s no wonder I’m kind of out of sorts.
Movement comes from up ahead, the rustling of branches and the undergrowth. I pause, my breath held, half expecting some large animal—a bear, maybe—to make an appearance, but none does.
I need to get back to the hotel.
I swear the temperature has suddenly dropped several degrees. I shiver and wrap my arms around myself. That sense that someone is watching me doesn’t leave, and I throw glances over my shoulder every few steps, certain I’ll catch someone slipping between the trees.
Is it the same presence from the maze? I’d convinced myself I’d been imagining things. Not anymore. Whoever was in the maze with me is now here in the woods. I think of the prepper who lives in the cabin. Have I stumbled upon his territory? Perhaps he doesn’t take kindly to strangers?
Fear lodges itself in the back of my throat, and I pick up my pace, eager to be back at the hotel.
It’s gotten even colder, the chill nipping at my nose and fingers.
I blink back tears. I feel like I’m going crazy.
Perhaps I am. After everything I’ve been through, my mind has finally given up on me.
They say isolation can be hard for some people to cope with.
I didn’t think I’d been struggling—if anything, I’d have said I’d been enjoying the quiet—but maybe my brain is processing things differently.
My foot catches on a tree root, and I stumble and fall.
I try to get back up, but it’s as though the roots have come to life and keep my limbs pinned to the ground. I fight against the crazy thought, panic taking hold. My pulse pounds in my ears and my palms are coated with sweat.
The crunch of footsteps approaches from behind me, and I’m filled with the sense of a huge figure looming over me.
With a cry, I manage to scramble back to my feet, and then I’m running. I forget to keep my eye on the river, and I lose sight of it. I crash through the bushes, sharp twigs scratching at my skin and leaves catching in my hair. I’ve lost the trail as well. Fuck. Why do I keep doing this to myself?
But then the roof of the hotel appears in the distance, and I fix on that instead. It vanishes from view a couple of times, but I keep going. I’m not lost. I can find my way back.
I slam into a solid form and let out a scream.
“Pen? What are you doing?”
It’s Blake. My sketch pad is between us, slammed against his chest. With a sob of relief, I throw myself into his arms, and we hold each other tight.
I’m on tiptoes to bury my face against his throat, my fingers sinking into the soft hair at his nape.
He has one hand pressed to my lower back, the other between my shoulder blades.
I sense the tension mount between us. Our breathing quickens, and I inhale the scent of him.
I brush my nose and lips against the taut muscle in his neck.
I don’t dare move. It’s as though we’re both trapped like this, our bodies so close, there’s barely a breath of air between us.
I don’t want to look into his face, to see his expression and the longing in his eyes.
It’s not that I’m frightened of what I might see…
no. I’m afraid that if we lock eyes, there will be no other choice but for our lips to meet.
And when that happens, everything will change.
A line will have been crossed, boundaries will have been broken, and there’ll be no going back.
I’m filled with longing, a desperate yearning to be a part of him. I need our bodies to be one, to crawl under his skin and live there. I’ve never experienced this kind of need before, for this intimacy between us. It’s as though it’s powerful enough to block out the sun.
Does he feel the same about me, as though if he has to take another breath without me in it, he will crumble to dust?
But he untangles me from his arms so he can look into my face.
“What’s wrong? What’s happened?”
I’m breathing hard, and I struggle to speak while snatching in little gaps of air. “S-someone was chasing me, out on the trail.”
He frowns, his lips pursed with disapproval. “This again, Aspen?”
“I’m not imagining things. I’m not. I sensed someone watching me, and then following me, just like I have before. I felt them in the maze that time, and I’m sure they’ve been outside of my room, too. There’s something wrong with this place. I can feel it in my bones.”
“You sound like a little girl who’s gotten spooked.”
His words make me cross. “I’m not a little girl. I’m a grown woman, and I’m telling you someone was chasing me.”