I close my eyes and let the water cascade over me, trying to wash him away. But my body betrays me.
A soft ache coils in my stomach and settles lower. My fingers move on instinct, slipping down between my thighs. I circle my clit slowly, gently, just enough to feel a flicker of release. But it’s not the same. It’s not him. I’m not even close to satisfied. I’m just... filling silence with sensation.
I sigh and pull my hand away, frustrated and achingly aware of how empty I feel. I rinse off, scrub down quickly, and shut the water off with more force than necessary.
I’m going to need to get under someone else if I want any chance of getting over Aspen. That’s the old saying, right? But the thought of someone else touching me right now feels like betrayal. Even if he’ll never know.
I dry off, get dressed in my road trip fit, and go through my skin care routine on autopilot. Cleanser, serum, moisturizer—each step feels like a performance. I slap on my Tatcha rice moisturizer a little too aggressively, hoping the sting will ground me.
When I step out, Lana’s already halfway through cleaning the kitchen. I silently join her. There’s not much to do—just tossing out trash, wiping surfaces, pretending we were never here. It’s the kind of cleaning that feels more like erasing.
We move around each other quietly. She doesn’t press me. She doesn’t need to. I think she can feel the shift in me, the heaviness I’m trying to carry like it’s no big deal. But the truth is, as long as I’m in this cabin, I feel like I’m holding my breath. Once we cross the state line, maybe then I can exhale.
Maybe then I can let go.
***
The Nebraska state sign greeted us a hundred and fifty miles ago, but it still doesn’t feel real. We’ve been driving in silence, just the hum of the road and the low volume of whatever playlist Lana queued up earlier. The sky outside is painting itself in warm swirls of orange, purple, and pink—the kind of sunset that demands your attention.
I’m a sucker for sunsets, always have been. But even this one can’t distract me from the gnawing ache in my chest.
I feel like I left something behind in Colorado. No, not something—someone. Aspen. And not just the physical version of him, either. I left a part of myself back there too. A piece I’ll never get back.
The thought that I’ll never see him again? Never hear his voice, never feel his touch, never even get the chance to say goodbye properly?
It wrecks me.
But I grip the steering wheel tighter and keep my eyes forward. It’s easier than looking back.
Lana read a book most of the drive. I’m thankful she didn’t ask questions. We had our music, a little light chatter early on, but she never once mentioned Aspen. Never probed. She knows me well enough to know when to speak and when silence says more.
Somewhere around Kearney, Nebraska Lana falls asleep. While she rested, I called the resort. It felt like the only thing I could do—the only way to give him something resembling closure. Rebeccaanswered, the same woman who checked us in, and when I asked if I could leave a message for Aspen, she didn’t pry. Just listened and promised she’d pass it along.
Thank God for that.
All I said was that I was a friend of Aspen’s, that I had to leave earlier than expected, which is a lie, and I wouldn’t be able to make our plans tonight. No details. No emotion. Just enough to explain, not enough to unravel.
I just hope he doesn’t hate me forever for it.
“We’re here,” I say as we roll into the parking garage of our dorm. Lana stretches and yawns, blinking against the overhead lights.
“Yay,” she mumbles half-asleep.
We gather our bags and head upstairs. When I unlock our door and step inside, I’m surprised to feel something like relief. Or maybe it’s just numbness in disguise. Either way, it’s familiar and that’s something.
I grab a Raspberry Rose Poppi from the fridge, crack it open, and take a sip. The bubbles fizz against my tongue, floral and sweet. Lana walks out of the bathroom and wraps me in a hug from behind.
“Thank you so much again, Gen. That was such a fun, much-needed trip. I’m really glad I came,” she says.
I turn to face her and smile, holding onto her warmth for just a second longer than usual. “Aww, I’m glad you came too, Babe.”
Then she tilts her head, studying me. “Okay, I didn’t say anything in the car, but… are you okay?”
Shit. Don’t cry. Don’t make this a big deal. He’s just a guy. You barely know him. Get over it.
“No,” I admit, voice soft and a little broken. “But I will be.”
Lana nods, giving me a reassuring squeeze. “I’m here if you need me.”
