She inhaled shakily. “Your feelings. For me.”
That made me chuckle a little. “Feelings?” Such a weak word. “I think differently.”
She was nearly naked, lying down there and staring up at me. If I didn’t leave immediately, she’d be taking my cock down her throat.
“Stop caging yourself and get out,” I said, turning to leave.
“No, thanks. I’ve made a decision to die of depression.”
My jaw clenched, every muscle in me strung tight. She didn’t see me coming until I was hovering over her, my hand wrapping around her neck, squeezing hard for her to feel the weight of what I was about to say. Her lips parted, her lungs immediately starved of oxygen.
“If you die, Ainsley,” I growled, my voice cold, “I will walk through the grounds and the skies to bring you back to life. There is no afterlife without me.”
I leaned closer to let her know how crazy serious I was. “If you even think about slipping away, I’ll follow you into hell itself. You belong to me in this life, in the next, and whatever’s after that. Don’t even dream of leaving my sight.”
Her eyes flicked wide for a second as the grip I had on her throat tightened ever so slightly. She was trembling now, not from fear, but something else. Something she couldn’t admit.
Releasing her, I straightened up and walked away. “There’s no getting away from me, Ainsley,” I said, my voice low, and opened the door. “Not in this world, not in any. I promise.”
12
AINSLEY
The week leading up to Halloween, the third week of October, was always a busy one in town, and it was no different this year. The streets had transformed, draped in cobwebs and eerie lights, with skeletons hanging from porches and scarecrows standing stiff in front yards. Jack-o’-lanterns flickered from every doorstep, and more than a few houses had gone all out with haunted displays, complete with fog machines and ghostly figures that seemed to watch your every move. It was a strange mix of festive and unsettling, as though the whole town had collectively embraced the weirdness of the season.
I didn’t leave my house for two weeks, trapped in my head with too many thoughts and not enough air. But when Mr. Granger, my neighbour down the road, offered to pay me to help him decorate his place for Halloween, I figured it was as good an excuse as any to get out of the house. Plus, the money would help. I liked Mr. Granger—he was friendly, always waved when I passed by, and never asked questions. It made sense to say yes when he knocked on my door earlier this morning. And so I was here, sitting at his kitchen counter, carving pumpkins by myself after he stepped out to grab more supplies.
I pushed the blade into the orange flesh of the pumpkin, carving out jagged teeth in what was turning out to be a pretty menacing smile. The pumpkin guts stuck to my fingers, cold and slimy, but I didn’t mind. The rhythm of carving was soothing, a brief escape from the chaos in my mind. I leaned back in my chair for a second, taking in the silence of the house. It wasMonday, and the clock above the mantel told me it was just after 3 p.m. The light outside was already dimming, casting a soft glow through the windows, the day moving faster as the season drew closer to winter.
The house was full of Halloween signs. Strings of plastic bats hung from the ceiling, and a cauldron of fake candy sat in the corner of the room. I’d helped Granger with some of the decorations earlier—stretching faux cobwebs over the front porch, propping up an inflatable witch in the garden, and even hanging a few ghosts from the trees outside.
My place was as empty as any other month. It was as though I was in March and everyone else was in October. Not only did I not have the strength, but I was not in the spirit. Nor did I have the money to waste.
I was yet to thank Theon for ‘rebuilding’ my house; I hadn’t seen him since that night he came inside and touched me. I waited for him to come the next night, but he did not. Not the next, or the one after. He stopped coming, and after a lot of thinking, I realised it might have to do with what I said about dying. I didn’t mean it, I’d said it casually, not knowing it’d anger him. I was aware of his feelings for me, the madness in his eyes was loud enough, but after that night, I was beginning to think I might not have the slightest clue of how he felt for me.
I stabbed the pumpkin’s eye a little harder than necessary.
Minutes later, with the pumpkin finished, I sat back and admired my handiwork. The sharp smile and wide, gaping eyes looked perfect.
My heart skipped a beat when the front door opened, courtesy of the spooky house. When I turned and looked over the sitting room to the entrance, it wasn’t Granger standing there, it was a young man.
A familiar man. The rude man from Ma’am Jeena’s coffee shop.
I stood up. “Who are you?” I doubted he remembered me. “Mr. Granger isn’t h—”
“I know. I’m his grandson.”
“Oh,” was the only thing I could say as I sat down, hyper aware of every step he took towards the kitchen. Feigning casualness, I picked up the knife and shifted the last pumpkin closer to start cutting.
“Who are you?” he asked. I didn’t need to turn to know his distance from me. He was close.
“I agreed to help your grandpa out because I thought he had no one to help him’ and the work would be too much for him.” I casted a glance at him. “Apparently, I was wrong.”
Why the fuck did I say that?
“What was that?” He shifted. “Hey. I know you.”
Okay. Shit.
