I lower a teasing kiss along her mouth, much like the one I woke her up with. It’s nothing I’ve envisioned—nothing like I plan on doing to her. She’s gone through a lot of emotions tonight, so I’ll grant her the space to process and understand.
With my right hand, I lift the same hand of hers I claimed last year to bring it up to my lips, but she catches mine instead and dabs her thumb against her tongue before swiping it across my knuckles. It irritates me she’s touching anything of his after being around him enough tonight already.
“What the fuck, Cade? My name istattooedacross your knuckles. That’s permanent!”
“There’re enough tattoos on me already that I understand how they work, Aspen, but thanks for your university education in explaining them. Better question would be why you believe it isn’t normal to be marked in such a manner? We’re together, sweetheart, whether you like it or not.”
With her hand still around mine, I flip until I’m gripping her now and press a kiss to her knuckles, exactly as how I did before she walked away from me for good. My intent is understood based on the flicker within her eyes.
“I’ll be seeing you soon, Aspen. After all, you and I have ourselves a Valentine’s Day date.”
TEN
ASPEN
As soon asthe door slams shut down the hall, I’m running after Cade to lock it. Ideally he’s close enough to hear the metal turning and understand my intent.
With my back to the door, my hands come up to my face. First my lips where he lightly kissed me, and then my cheeks which he held. My arms pull tight on my shirt, damp from his mouth, which felt sinfully good and a betrayal to my attempt to remain unaffected by him.
His touch imprints now as firmly as he was holding onto me minutes ago—and as firmly as he did in the past. A tattoo branded onto my skin, as if making the claim with his touch as much as his words try to.
That I’m his.
It can’t be real. He’s merely a pen pal had for a couple months, nothing permanent. Nothing that should have made him have such lasting effects on us both. I’ve been going months believing once he’s out, I’d be a person from his past, a memory of passing entertainment, but deep down, I knew it was never so cut and dry.
I push off the door and rush into the living room, checking for Millie where she’ll often lounge on the back of the couch. She’s there, eyes shut, as I burst into the room and jerk the curtains shut, not giving him any leeway into my life.
“Sorry, girl, it’s for safety reasons.”
He claims he won’t harm me, and I have to believe that. At least, until figuring out what to do. If I called the police, how do I tell them an ex-convict broke into my house, but I have no idea where he is or how they’d find him to keep him away.
Or what he’d do to them.
Not that I liked Owen by any stretch of the imagination, a single date didn’t deserve the abuse—or worse—that he got. Cade is insane. There’s no if, ands, or buts. He’scrazyto react in such ways.
After checking every window throughout my place, I return to my room. My feet don’t cross the doorway, the imprint of our bodies on the bed drawing me to a stop. My mind constructs the image of us, him crouching over me, his mouth in my neck and chest. A memory that should bring only distaste and disgust, that should push me into the shower to scrub him off me, but instead fills my head with the same what-ifsthey’ve been entertaining all year.
I’m starting to sound as insane as he is.
Bypassing the novel I’ve been slowly getting through that serves as an ongoing reminder of him, I yank open the drawer, compelled to inspect Cade’s letters—despite having read them over and over.
Nothing in them hints towards his strange possessiveness and insanity. Nothing that raises the red flags. His request for a picture may be the closest, but it stemmed from curiosity. Choosing to visit in-person was somewhat safer since my image went with me instead of remaining in picture-form within his grip.
But visiting was also ultimately my decision, as was my second trip, which leaves me wondering ifI’mto blame. Even asking myself leaves a sour taste in my mouth. It feels like the equivalent of blaming a rape victim for what happened to them. I was merely kind to him, whereas he took his interest to the next level.
Shoving the letters from sight, I curse myself for never burning them in the past. I get back into bed, trying to erase the past half-hour from my mind. My alarm will scream at me in six hours, and with the busy day ahead, rest is needed.
Easier said than done, of course, since Cade’s scent lingers on my sheets. It certainly doesn’t smell like the prison, but a spicy soap I can’t quite place but find myself pressing into deeper, taking it in with frustration.
As my eyes shut, I find myself wondering if he’s outside stalking the house or if he’s gone home.
Where is his home?
If he’s still around, the door being locked means nothing because it was also locked when I went to bed.
His insistence that I’m his is all that keeps me safe for the time being.
Somehow, someway, hefound me. He broke in, knew I went on a date tonight,andwhere I live, all while acting like he didn’t just lose the last ten years of his life—for reasons still unknown.
