A little curious. A lot annoyed.
I’m calling it progress. Slow, but predictable.
I think you would’ve liked him. Not as a person, he’d drive you insane, but the same way I do. As a puzzle.
Love always,
Becky
P.S. Mom and Dad asked me to come back for Christmas.
I said no. I’m being selfish, but I know you’d understand.
You always did.
No one else will.
Ever.
I should go.
Chapter seven
Relentless
Carrson
Fuck. She’s here again.
Not that I expected anything different. It’s been three months now. Becky fucking Dawson. A name that sounds soft, harmless. Like she should be somewhere out in the countryside picking flowers and minding her own business instead of showing up every day to driveme crazy.
I thought I’d wear her down eventually. Ignore her long enough and she’d get bored, move on, find someone else to fixate on. That’s how it usually works, people lose interest when they don’t get a reaction.
Not her.
She sticks, like the burrs in the woods, the ones that latch onto my socks and tangle themselves so deep into the fabric that no amount of pulling gets them loose. Eventually I throw the damn things away and buy new ones.
If only it were that simple.
I can’t replace the clearing. It’s the only place that feels like it belongs to me. No noise. No expectations. No one watching. Only the trees, the dirt, things I can control.
Ashford House has been suffocating lately. The brothers follow me from room to room, talking all at the same time, waiting for directions like that’s all I’m here for.
What should we order for the party, Carrson?
What should we do about the unapproved weed on campus, Carrson?
What about Marcson’s bonding ceremony, Carrson?
On and on. Constant. Relentless. Some days I want to cover my ears and scream at them all to shut the fuck up.
But I don’t.
Because I’m an Ashford. The only one left. Which means I lead, whether I want to or not. It means every decision lands on me. Every problem. Every expectation. One day I’ll lead The Order, and there won’t be anyone above me to absorb the pressure.
Some days Ashford is less like a name and more like a noose.
Which is exactly why I need this place. The knives. The bag. The silence.
