This wasn’t how I imagined finding him.
In my head, I’d stumble onto a clue—a name, a signature, a shadow of him somewhere. And then track him down. Then I’d finally explain that I never wanted to leave. That I was just scared and too young to understand anything. But now I do.
I’d never leave him again.
But I guess that’s not how this is going to play out.
What did I think? That I could track him down and just talk? That I wouldn’t end up in a cage like this?
Stupid. I’m so fucking stupid.
I got myself into this. I’m just not sure what exactly I walked into.
My eyes fall back to the books, laid neatly on the table. I step closer and my chest immediately warms.
Wuthering Heights.
It’s that book. My fingertip brushes the familiar rip on its back. It’s mine.
Kasien
Age 18
I’m still sitting in my car in front of the garage entrance, windows down, the warm summer air drifting in while everything around me is swallowed by the quiet of the night.
The feeling of her is still here.
She has such a subtle scent. Something like warm vanilla, soft and barely there, yet addictive in a way that makes no sense. It lingers, like it settled somewhere under my skin instead of fading away.
It’s her hair.
Fuck.
Did she notice the way I kept leaning closer just to breathe it in? The way it pulled me in without asking?
She must think I’m a fucking freak.
She doesn’t have those expensive perfumes I’m sick of. She smells so nice—subtle, almost too young for the kind of world I’m used to. Like skin warmed by summer air, like something real.
Why was I so insistent? Where the hell did that come from?
My hand reaches into the glovebox almost on its own, fingers closing around her bracelet before slipping it back onto my wrist. I lean my head against the headrest, staring up into nothing, letting it sit there like it belongs to me now.
I can’t believe I actually insisted on going to her place. It was too much.
And still, the urge to see her again hasn’t gone anywhere. If anything, it’s worse.
I don’t think I’ve ever moved this fast—getting in my car, ready to go without thinking twice.
The night keeps replaying in my head, over and over, every moment stretched out and pulled apart as I go through it all over again, trying to figure out if I crossed a line somewhere.
She said I was nice.
I think she did.
I hope she did.
There was that smile—nervous, a little unsure, like she didn’t know what to do with it.
