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That woman is tilting my world off its axis and I’m relishing in every second of the act.
Aspen is the one person who’s not scared of my darker tendencies and even seeks them out. She’s always up for going against me, whether it’s for something big or small.
The other day, in her quest to keep us from spending so much time cooped in the house, she planned a thorough cleanup of the old cottage where I fucked her that first time.
She didn’t let me hire help either.
“You have too much excess energy, so use it here instead of harassing Nate for boxing matches.”
Then she had us clean the whole goddamned thing, and paint some of it. Then we ordered food, lay on the grass, and watched the sun go down like some middle-class idiots.
It was the most peaceful day in recent memory.
My phone dings and I check it, hoping she’s changed her mind about the abrasive ban and is sending me a picture of her in lingerie.
Instead, an annoying name pops up on my screen. She shouldn’t even have my number but does, despite my and her husband’s objections.
Her text, however, piques my interest.
Caroline:Hey, asshole! I went through some of my old stuff and guess what I found?
Kingsley:Wrong number.
Caroline:Are you sure? Because I have some pages from Aspen’s diaries. You know, the ones she wrote in when we were teens. Want to see them?
Kingsley:Save the hard-to-get nonsense for Mateo and send me pictures.
Caroline:Do you promise to treat her right and make all her dreams come true?
Kingsley:You’re cheesier than a Disney princess.
Caroline:Guess you don’t need the pictures, huh?
Kingsley:Fine, I promise. Now, send them over.
Caroline:That wasn’t so hard, was it?
She sends another series of texts about how Aspen will kill her, but she’s doing this for her sake because she wouldn’t admit it otherwise, but I ignore her and open the attachments.
The words on the plain paper force me to stop and stare for a moment. Aspen’s handwriting is small, neat, and so elegant, it belongs in some calligraphy class.
That hasn’t changed over all these decades.
I start reading the lines the teenage version of her—the old Aspen, as she called it—wrote.
Mom,
I wish you were here so I could tell you this in person. Last night, I experienced something that I will remember for the rest of my life.
Callie dragged me to one of her parties, as usual, or I kind of tagged along because Aunt Sharon and Uncle Bob were being their usual asshole selves. I’d planned to leave after a while, I swear, but I ended up drinking, lying about my age, and staying almost all night.
I also lost my virginity. There was a lot of blood on my thighs this morning, but I washed it off, so I think it’s fine now. It hurts a little when I walk and I can almost feel his penis inside me with every move.
He called me beautiful when he tore into me, even though I hadn’t removed my mask. I think I cried—not because of the pain, but because he made me feel beautiful, too.
I wish I’d taken off his mask before I left, but I freaked out when I woke up in his arms. He had violent tendencies like Dad and I thought maybe he’d be angry because I lied about my age and where I come from.
I thought maybe Dad called you beautiful, too, when he first had sex with you but ended up driving you to your death.
