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The agony I experienced after Cynthia is a ghost that refuses to leave, and her return to Aspen has only made things worse. Not too long ago, I’d have numbed it with liquor. I’d have started with wine, of which there is plenty in Matthew’s cabin. He wanted to keep the place dry for me, out of respect. Yet I insisted that he and Sully continue with their lives and habits. It wasn’t fair then, and it still isn’t for me to take away from their enjoyment simply because I can’t control myself.
After the wine, I would’ve opened a bottle of whiskey. Matthew keeps a couple of single malts in a cabinet in the living room. I’ve been eyeing those for days, constantly telling myself that I don’t need it, not a drop. Dulling the pain won’t make it go away, and as bad as it feels, sitting with my emotions and facing them has always gotten me through. But that doesn’t seem to be working today. I’m tired. Tired of fighting the past, tired of reprimanding myself, of hating myself for what happened with Cynthia, for how things degenerated into something that is downright unforgivable. My own honor code makes it hard for me to coexist with myself while Cynthia is here, in Aspen.
Hiding within Selina isn’t helping either. There are moments when I close my eyes while her lips are lovingly wrapped around my cock, and my mind begins to play its filthy tricks on me. I end up imagining Cynthia in her place, and by the time I release myself in Selina’s gorgeous mouth it’s too late. I’m already miserable for having disrespected her in such a fashion. She deserves better, and all I’ve done is prove I’m unworthy of her love and affection.
I know she’s the one for me, for us.
But what happened last year was clearly left unresolved. A gaping wound we’d hoped time would heal on its own. That’s the thing with wounds, though, they tend to fester when left unattended. I should’ve remembered that from my years of active duty.
I’m at the Elk Shack, one of Aspen’s cozier bars, nursing a lemonade. I’d hoped the citrusy taste combined with honey and a scandalous amount of mint and crushed ice would drag my mind away from these intrusive thoughts. I could barely look Selina in the eyes last night. This morning, as she stirred beside me in bed, I only wanted to disappear. I wanted the floor to split open and swallow me whole. This woman gave herself to me, to us, and we’re allowing the ghost of Cynthia to ruin everything. Damn her.
There’s music playing in the background, a soft, mellow country song I’ve heard plenty of times on the radio, but it’s hitting hard in this moment, maybe it’s the singer’s pained voice or the twang in his guitar. Whatever it is, it’s making it difficult for me to focus on this wretched lemonade. I should hit the slopes again. My skis rest in the corner, just a few feet away from my booth, striped in red and green and silently beckoning me to get up and put my body to better use. The cold air outside should knock some of this anguish out.
But my feet won’t listen. They’re drilled into the wooden floor as I glance around and observe the handful of customers currently cheering full pints of beer and oversized mugs of mulled wine as they talk and plan the rest of their holiday season. Christmas is so close, I was expecting themed music to be playing, but I’ll take the cowboy’s mellow bitterness over the sweetness of carols and jingling bells. Look at them, look at all these people, laughing and celebrating without a care in the world.
They know nothing about the hell we’ve endured.
The wars we fought for their comfort and benefit. The people we killed in order to keep them fat and safe and happy. Our own souls for theirs, for country and duty. And just when I thought I’d vanquished my demons upon returning to the states, just when I thought I had a good business to focus on and a new life to start in Providence, along comes Cynthia, turning everything upside down. Maybe if we tell Selina the truth, she’ll understand. Perhaps it will make some sense as to why we’re so apprehensive, so tense, so unable to be ourselves around her anymore.
I know Selina can feel it, the difference in our behavior. The shadows lurking and nipping at our necks, desperate for pain and blood. It’s only a matter of time before she’s scared away by our inability to reconcile with the past. We should’ve done better by Cynthia. Seeing her so breezy and friendly doesn’t sit well with me. I know it’s a lie. I know she hasn’t forgotten any of it.
“Fuck,” I mutter as I see her and Lance coming into the shack. It’s as if my thoughts summoned her somehow. As if I wasn’t dealing with enough already.
Glancing down at my lemonade, I give my phone a quick peek, praying that someone might call—one of the guys handling my charter boat business while I’m away for the winter; Sully; Matthew; Selina; my folks back in California. Hell, anybody will do. I need to stay busy while Cynthia and her new beau do their thing. What are they even doing here, anyway? Cynthia always called this place a dingy dive bar. So beneath her, the Hamptons-bred princess.
“Jason!” she squeals excitedly upon noticing me.
“Crap,” I whisper and force myself to smile as pleasantly as possible.
She waves at me, and I nod in response. To my horror, Lance takes his seat in one of the spare booths by the window, already flipping through the menu, while Cynthia stops by the bar then comes over with a couple of tequila shots in one hand and a mulled wine in the other. The menacing smile on her face comes with flashes of red-hot danger as she approaches. I could just run out of here. I should. But I’m paralyzed. She’s getting closer.
“Hey, stranger, long time, no see,” Cynthia says as she sits across the table from me.
“What are you doing?” I ask, my tone cold and flat. Contempt seeps from every pore on my skin as she makes herself comfortable and downs the first tequila shot, a grin splitting from ear to ear. I used to see her as the most beautiful woman in the world, yet all I see now is an ugly creature with poison for blood.
“Having a drink with an old friend. What does it look like I’m doing?” she replies, her eyes never leaving my face.
My sweater feels itchy all of a sudden. “Having a drink in front of a sober man. On purpose.”
“Said man is hanging out at a bar where they sell rivers of alcohol,” Cynthia shoots back. “I’m just doing what most people in bars do. Don’t blame me for your inadequacies, Jason. It’s very unbecoming.”
There she is. The real Cynthia. The scheming bitch who almost ruined a bonded friendship with her conniving and her lies. We aren’t exactly innocent, either. There were four of us in that relationship, and not a single saint in sight. I shake my head slowly.
“What’s your endgame, Cynthia? You’re not here for the winter holidays,” I say. “You’d rather be somewhere hot and sunny. You never liked the snow as much as you’re pretending you do.”
“Lance wanted a traditional Christmas, and I was able to oblige. I love my man, so I’ll do anything for him. That’s something none of you understood. How much I can love. How deeply.”
The mask she’s been wearing since she first showed up a few weeks back is finally starting to crack. I’m not sure what triggered it, but I only hope it’ll fall apart before she’s able to do any more damage. Hell, who am I kidding? My lips feel dry. My mouth is made of cotton as I watch her swallow the second tequila shot, licking her lips at the end for good measure. No salt, no lime, just raw tequila. The smell is downright inebriating, and I can feel myself sliding deeper into the darkness.
“Why won’t you just leave us alone?” I ask. “You had your fun.”
“I’m still having my fun. Did you really think I’d go away for good? You can’t be that naïve.”
There it is. A subliminal hint at the manipulative, ultimate goal. She is definitely playing at something, and she has sharpened her claws in the year that she’s been gone. “You should’ve stayed away,” I tell her. “You’re not welcome at our cabin anymore, for starters, so don’t even think about inviting yourself over for dinner again. For Lance’s sake, maybe work on your issues so you don’t end up destroying a guy who is clearly crazy about you.”
“And I’m crazy about him,” Cynthia replies, but the lack of enthusiasm in her voice tells me she’s lying through her pearly white teeth. “As for your abrasive tone, I don’t care for it much. Aspen is a big place, Jason. I am free to go wherever I please and speak to whomever I want. Oh, and before I forget, I’ve come to gather that you and the boys haven’t been exactly forthright with Selina about us. She should know what she’s getting herself into, don’t you think?”
“You stay away from her,” I hiss. The anger is getting the better of me, and I don’t know how much longer I can control myself. “You’re toxic, Cynthia. And you’ve done enough harm already. Move on and leave us be.”
