ASPEN
My head pounds as I roll over. It throbs so badly that I feel like I could cry. To top it off, my face aches like someone hit me. If I didn’t know better, I would think that I drank a little too much last night, and I’m hungover.
No, the reason my head feels heavy and my face is tender is because I cried myself to sleep.
Something I had never done until recently.
Who would have thought that being held as a prisoner would make someone emotional?
Groaning, I get out of bed and head into the bathroom. I wince as I flip on the light, seeing my face.
To say I’m an ugly crier would be an understatement. Even hours later, my face is red and splotchy, my eyes completely bloodshot.
I look like I went a round with Mike Tyson and epically lost.
There aren’t enough eye drops or concealer in the world to hide how my night went.
Sighing, I turn away from the mirror and turn on the shower. I don’t bother waiting for the water to heat up and get in afterdropping my clothes in the hamper. Quickly, I go through my shower routine and get out.
After getting dressed, I run a brush through my hair and leave it down. I know I’ll come to regret it later, but I don’t have the energy to blow-dry it.
Caffeine. I need caffeine.
Leaving my room, I head toward the kitchen. I pause when I see him. Leaning against the wall, I study him for a moment.
Asher looks exhausted, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s my fault.
Is he losing sleep because of what we did?
Is he tired because he’s up worried about me?
Are the demons torturing him like they torture me?
It’s really not fair that he looks as good as he does when he has purple bags under his eyes.
“I can feel you staring?” he rasps as he takes a sip of his coffee.
I step out of the shadows and join him in the kitchen.
“Are you okay?” I ask as I open the fridge.
“Fine,” he says gruffly.
I grab an energy drink and pop it open, taking a sip.
Asher makes a face. “I don’t know how you can drink that shit.”
“It’s delicious.”
“How did you sleep?”
“Better than you. You look like you haven’t been to bed yet,” I tell him as I lean against the counter across from him.
Asher grunts and takes another drink. “Had clean-up duty.”
A familiar guilt settles in my gut.
If it weren’t for me, he wouldn’t be here. He would be a cop and somewhere else, not having to deal with all the hazing bullshit that comes with joining a club.
