Whoever said drugs are the new killing machine didn’t try fucking celibacy.
The thing should be banned from existence.
Or else the cemeteries would be overcrowded in the span of a few days. That’s all I’ve been thinking about since Aspen came up with this fucked-up kink—or lack thereof.
Murder.
Specifically, the part of her that thought this was such an excellent idea.
Incidentally, the little minx was the one who stopped definite murder just now and saved Susan from meeting her maker a bit sooner.
But now that my mind is slowly snapping back into focus, I realize that taking away the bitch’s favorite toy—money—is the best way to make her suffer for what she’s done.
I should’ve suspected she had something to do with it ever since Gwen showed up at our door. Susan had a mild reaction and suggested we put her up for adoption, but didn’t push for that option as I would’ve expected. An option both my father and I refused. She was a Shaw and had to be brought up as one.
The only time my old man and I were actually on the same page.
I flop back behind my desk in a hopeless attempt to focus on work. Problem is, sexual frustration is a fucking bitch with moody issues. Not to mention that my dick hates me and is now crossing days off his calendar with the diligence of a creep until the end of the illegal ban.
That damn witch will regret this once she’s unable to move for days at a time.
I’m not stupid, I know this is some sort of a test. For what? is the real fucking question. It can’t be some new torture device to figure out how long we can keep our hands off each other, because she touched herself last night when she walked in on me jerking off.
Then she ran away because she was well aware she’d be fucked the moment I caught her.
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.
Maybe Dad stole your girlhood dreams, too, and when you finally found out, it was too late.
But I don’t want to be you, Mom. I read and watch people a lot so I can see red flags early on. I hang out on the outskirts of every situation so I’ll always have a way out and not be trapped like you.
I couldn’t be trapped with that stranger.
So I ran away and didn’t look back.
But now, I’m not sure if I did the right thing. Maybe I let my paranoia get the better of me and should’ve thought about it more.
After all, the masked stranger is the only person who’s ever listened to me blabber about Nietzsche and philosophy and the world for hours. He didn’t call me pretentious or a know-it-all. He didn’t tell me I was too smart for my own good and that I shouldn’t concern my brain with stuff like that.
He even debated with me and taught me philosophies and theories I didn’t know. I wrote them all down in my notebook to search through later.
Why does a stranger understand me better than people who’ve known me all my life? He even understands me better than you ever did, Mom.
I didn’t think about stopping him when he lifted his mask just enough to kiss me. Or when he carried me inside a cabin, removed my clothes, and took my virginity.
Callie says to bless my naïve heart because he seduced me so easily by playing on my nerd tendencies. She could be right, but her opinion doesn’t really matter, because she also said that he better be loaded.
Is it wrong that I want to find him, Mom? Talk to him again? Ask for his name and tell him mine?
Or was the whole connection a fantasy of my own making and I should finally wake up?
Two days later.
Mom,
I decided to find him, after all. If only to satisfy my curiosity.
Callie and I went back to the house in which the party was held, but the staff was of no help. Apparently, a few guests wore an Anonymous mask that night and they didn’t keep track of them.
So we went to that cabin he took me to, but it appeared abandoned and no people were in sight. Callie was scared shitless of the place and said we should go before we were abducted by some serial killer.
We walked into the nice part of town and I felt like a weight was sitting on my chest. Callie tried to cheer me up by buying us ice cream and singing off-key. She can’t hit a note to save her life, but her attempts offered much-needed comfort. She also pointed at two rich girls getting in their luxurious car and said one day, that would be us.
But I haven’t paid much attention, because my chest hurts.
Why does my chest hurt, Mom? It’s similar to when I found you sleeping and not breathing.
I hate it.
Five days later.
Mom,
I can’t stop thinking about the masked stranger and the conversations and the sex.
Whether it’s during class or in the house or when Aunt Sharon is making my life hell.
And my chest still hurts.
Callie says I’m experiencing a broken heart and stuffed me with ice cream and vanilla cake—that she probably stole. Even though I don’t really like sweets, I ate them all and even snatched her share.
Because Callie is a liar and a bad friend. How can I have a broken heart when I don’t even know him?
But that doesn’t stop me from going back to the nice side of town, walking aimlessly through it, and having no clue where to go. I even took Callie to that cabin again, but she started shaking, and since there was no one there anyway, we called it a day.
You once told me that those who love too hard get hurt badly, which I think is what happened to you.
I don’t want that, Mom. I want to be everything you weren’t.
I want to be emotionless and without pain in my chest.
Three weeks later.
Mom,
I got over him. I don’t go back to the nice part of town and I don’t let Callie play a clown’s role to cheer me up.
It’s fine.
I was in a temporary phase where I pretended I wasn’t Aspen from the ghetto, but I’ve woken up now.
Aunt Sharon helped in bringing me back to reality with a slap that turned my cheek red, but yeah, it’s all fine now.
I just need to throw away the scarf he gave me and the black mask I wore that night. Callie asked me to give it back, but I lied and said that I lost it.
I’ll make it up to her one day.
Twenty weeks later.
Mom,
I’m pregnant.
I’ve been feeling funny lately, more hungry than before and Callie had to steal from her dad so she could buy me junk food.
The other day, I fainted while Aunt Sharon was kicking me. They took me to a doctor, probably so I wouldn’t die on their watch. He told us I was twenty-six weeks pregnant. When Aunt Sharon asked about abortion, he said it’s illegal in New York after twenty-four weeks. She slapped me as soon as we got home and Uncle Bob punched me in my stomach.
And now they’ve locked me up in the attic and took away my phone so I can’t even see or call Callie.
It hurts, Mom. My belly hurts.
What if the baby is in pain, too? It’s so tiny and can’t defend itself in front of my aunt and uncle. What if it dies like you did?
What should I do, Mom?
I’m scared.
I swipe for the next picture, but nothing comes.
My fist clenches as I read the last words Aspen has written.
I’m scared.
Due to how mature she seemed, sometimes I forget how young she actually was at the time. She must’ve been utterly confused and terrified about bearing a child when she was a kid herself.
I know because even though I wasn’t as young as she was, the moment I found Gwen at my doorstep, I had a chaotic confusion of epic proportions. It took me months to come to terms with the fact that I was a teen father. That if I didn’t protect my flesh and blood, she wouldn’t survive. Or worse, she’d be deliberately hurt by Susan. It’s why I moved out of my father’s house even before I graduated from high school.
No amount of a grudge against Susan was worth putting my daughter’s life in jeopardy.
Gwen has always been my miracle. The blessing who saved me from my destructive thoughts, but knowing she came with such sacrifice sheds a different light on how much Aspen suffered.
I might have raised her for twenty years, but it was Aspen who protected her when she was the most vulnerable.
My phone vibrates and I expect more photos from Caroline. Instead, it’s a text from Aspen.
Nietzsche.
The air in the room tightens around me and I spring up, calling her.
She doesn’t pick up. Fuck, fuck, fuck!
I hang up and dial her bodyguard. One of them picks up with a bored, “Hello.”
“Where’s Aspen?”
“She left fifteen minutes ago and asked us not to follow her.”
“And you fucking incompetent fools listened?” I hang up on him before he can respond and call Nicolo.
He answers after one ring. “I was going to call. We have a situation.”
“You think?”
“Bruno escaped from Attica in the midst of a carefully planned prison uproar. He disappeared off the face of the earth so that not even his own soldiers know where he is.”
“Fuck.” I storm out of the office. “Do you have any idea where he would go?”
“I can only guess, and judging by your voice, that would take more time than we have to spare.”
“Can your people track a phone?”
“Can do. Whose phone?”
“Aspen’s. He must’ve lured her somewhere, because she asked her bodyguards not to follow.”
“On it.”
“Don’t even think about protecting him this time, Nicolo.”
“I won’t. He disobeyed clear orders. I have no use for insubordinate soldiers. But, King?”
I punch the elevator’s call button and step inside. “Yes?”
“I have to say this for your own sake. Prepare for the worst.”
