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Inexplicably wrong.
I scan the texts he sent me over the past few days and decide to reply to the last one.
Kingsley:Breakfast?
Aspen:I’ve skipped most of my meals except for a slice of apple pie, because that’s the only thing Callie does right.
He doesn’t see the text. So I call him, my heartbeat picking up with every ring until it goes to voicemail.
I hang up and stare at the screen, then call him again.
Still no answer.
I’m about to go to sleep—or try to—when I recall something Nate told me once.
“Stay away from Kingsley when he’s angry. He becomes volatile, unpredictable, and has a thirst for blood. I’m surprised he hasn’t accidentally lost his life due to those factors.”
My fingers shake as a crazy idea forms in mind.
The worst part of all is that the crazy idea is slowly but surely turning into action.
15
ASPEN
If crazy is a territory, I’ve already cut through its wires and breached it with bloodied hands.
The cold air forms icicles in my veins and no amount of pulling my coat over myself is cutting it.
My smartwatch lights up in the darkness to tell me it’s late o’clock. As in, super late. After one in the morning late.
And an abandoned cabin in the middle of nowhere is the last place I should’ve driven to.
Hell, I shouldn’t even remember the exact way to it, but I do.
After leaving my car at the end of the road, I trek the rest of the way, watching my surroundings every step of the way. My feet falter in front of the tree that he kissed me under that night. When he lifted his Anonymous mask, devoured my lips, then said he’d keep me, after all.
He basically carried me the rest of the way until we reached the small cabin. We found a bottle of tequila and shared it while we talked. Now that I think about it, that was the first time I tasted tequila and it became my poison of choice. I don’t remember much of our conversation, but I remember that it went on for long. Long enough that I forgot that he could be a threat. Long enough that it felt right for him to kiss me again, strip my clothes and touch me like no one did. I might not recall everything that happened prior to the sex, but I remember that he said he came here whenever he felt a need to be alone.
I’m grasping at straws here. It’s been twenty-one years, so maybe his methods of venting and places of choice have changed.
The property is as eerie as in the past, dark with shadows that resemble folklore monsters. Back then, I was so trapped by the heated conversation and tension we shared that I didn’t focus much while we walked here.
Didn’t even think that he could call his friends to gang-rape me as a Devil's Night prank. I trusted him in a way that infuriated me.
I don’t trust people easily. If ever.
Young me’s logic was that he’d already showed his ugly side early on. And if he wanted to actually hurt me, he would’ve done it after he punched his Joker friend.
A distant thumping sound flicks my ears and I pause, my feet shifty in the tall grass.
Maybe it’s because it’s a cold night, a natural event that always reminds me of the past, but the darkness feels like it’s an existence with an ominous soul that’s hovering over my shoulder.
The thump comes again, and I don’t allow myself to think as I head straight toward it. Ignoring an owl’s cries and other night animals' haunting sounds proves to be harder than I imagined. I like to think that I have a strong spirit, but this is too eerie even for me.
The path that leads to the cabin is so entirely black that I can’t even see my own hands. The shabby building that must be in a ferocious battle with nature to remain standing looks like nothing more than a crooked shadow with horns.
I follow the direction of the thumps seamlessly, almost too naturally.
