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ASPEN
I’m afraid that I’ll wake up and these last two weeks will have been a dream. It’s odd how bearable things have been, almost to where I’m hating this place a little less.
It helps when the person who makes your life a true living nightmare most days has made a change for the better and decides not to terrorize you for a little while.
It’s a nice change of pace, but I suspect soon enough, Quinton will be back to his vicious ways. His anger comes with a warning, but his niceness makes me wary. There is always a reason behind it, even if I’m not aware of the reasoning right at this second.
I lie in bed for a while with the covers pulled up and over my head and try not to pout. It’s Thanksgiving Day, but that doesn’t mean shit.
Not here. It’s stupid to wish because I doubt it would be any different there than here, but part of me wishes I was at home. Just the comfort of being in your own bed. Spending time with your loved ones. My father wouldn’t be there, but my mother would.Maybe?I shouldn’t put as much faith in her as I do. She doesn’t care about me like she should, but she’s my mother.
What the hell else am I going to do? I roll over in bed and grab my phone from the nightstand. I’ve contemplated calling for the last twenty minutes. Every time I do, and she doesn’t answer, my heart breaks a little bit more.
Hesitantly, I navigate to my mother’s number and hit the green call button. I hold my breath and listen as the line rings, and rings, leaving me a little more disappointed with every second that passes.
I end the call, squeezing the device in my hand. I don’t know why I try. Really, I don’t. She doesn’t care about me, not enough to check up on me, and certainly not enough to return my phone calls. I drop the phone onto the mattress beside me.
The screen lights up with a text, and my stomach twists into a knot. Maybe my mom texted me instead of calling? Maybe she’s busy after all. It’s hopeful thinking that evaporates into thin air when I see the text is from Quinton and not my mother.
Worst Nightmare:Come to my room. I’ve got a surprise.
I exhale and run a hand through my blonde hair. His idea of a surprise isn’t the same as mine. Still, if I don’t go, it’ll only make him come for me, ending with me in his room anyway. There is no winning with him. It’s Quinton’s way or no way at all.
Tossing back the covers, I contemplate telling himnobut instead text back a single letter.
Me:K.
I take my time in the shower, and since I’m not sure what kind of surprise it is, I choose to dress casual, mainly because I have nothing dressy to wear. My eyes catch on my reflection in the mirror. The hazel orbs looking back at me seem dull, and my heart-shaped face appears thinner, my cheeks hollow. I toss some water on them and give them a gentle slap to add some color.
I look like a goddamn ghost. My blonde hair falls in gentle waves down my back. Overall, I still look like the Aspen I’ve always been minus a beaming smile. I used to be happy, smiling, and excited for the next day. Now, I hide my teeth behind my lips more often than not. I can’t remember the last time my smile was genuine. I can’t remember the last time I was happy—no, not happy, but truly happy.
I turn the light off in the bathroom on my way out. I’m already dreading going to Quinton’s place, and I haven’t even stepped into the hall yet. With no other reason to drag my feet, I leave the safety of this room behind and venture out into the hall.
Even the halls are mostly vacant, a few students venturing out to study or do who knows what. It’s both convenient and a pain that my new room isn’t that far from Quinton’s. What would’ve been a ten-minute walk has become a five-minute one since moving to this side of the university. No one bats an eye at me over here, and I know it has everything to do with Quinton.
The only one with balls big enough to mess with me was Matteo, and I suspect he knows better than to try anything again. He wanted to intimidate me, but I was over being the girl who hides in her room.
My thoughts waver when I stop right in front of Quinton’s door. There’s nothing to contemplate. I’m going to go inside and see whatever his surprise is, mainly because I have to, though part of me is curious to know what he wants to show me.
With the way things have been between us, I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. Lifting my hand, I knock on the door. The sound echoes back through me. Anxiety bubbles in my belly, and I impatiently move my weight from leg to leg.
The door is jerked open a moment later, silencing my anxiety with Quinton’s huge frame standing in the doorway. His dark hair is wet, droplets still cling to the strands, and I can’t help but drag my gaze over his body, drinking him in.
He’s sharp as a knife, ready to cut your throat and watch you bleed out, while at the same time, he still finds a way to be so breathtakingly gorgeous it hurts.
“I’m glad you came on your own. I was almost worried I’d have to come to your room and drag you here.” He smiles wolfishly—those perfectly straight white teeth of his shine in the light.
“I wouldn’t give you the pleasure of doing such a thing.” I give him an equally snide grin, and he laughs before taking a step back so that I can come inside.
I’m almost ready to ask him what the hell he wanted to show me and why he couldn’t just take a picture and text it to me when my mouth pops open. There are no words for the display of delicious foods that I see on the kitchen table.
It’s like someone took a buffet of favorite Thanksgiving Day foods and put them on Quinton’s table.
Stuffing, turkey, pumpkin pie, potatoes and gravy, and rolls, among other things, stare back at me, waiting to be devoured.
“What do you want?” I ask, whirling around to face him just as he’s shutting the front door.
Nothing is free, not when it comes to Quinton Rossi.
