Page 14 of Fear Me Not

I pull my shirt over my head, baring my chest, and then go to her. She holds the bedcovers back, and I’m disappointed to find that beneath the bedcovers she’s still wrapped in the blanket from earlier. I’d hoped to find her naked. Still, I can’t give up this moment. She’s inviting me into her bed, wanting me close, despite knowing everything I’ve done.

I’ll take any invitation to get close to her.

Carefully, always aware of my size and the space I take up in this world, I climb into the bed beside her. The scent of her sleepy skin wraps around me. It’s a scent I recognize now, but I’ll never take for granted. Most of the previous times I’ve inhaled her scent, it’s been when she’s been unaware of my presence. I’ve enjoyed those moments, but now, with her awake and welcoming me into her bed, it feels completely different.

The mattress depresses as I find my spot, lying on my back beside her. I’m unsure what to do or how to act. She’s allowed me to touch her before, but this is a whole different thing. She’s been hurt. This isn’t about sex.

Control yourself.

Self-control isn’t my strong suit.

Aspen pulls the bedcovers back up so my legs and lower torso are protected from the cold, even though I barely feel it. She curls into me, her head on my chest. The heat of her skin burns into mine.

Her hand trails across my pecs and down my abs, as though she’s tracing every line. Blood rushes to my cock at her touch, even though she’s not gone anywhere near there. Just having her this close makes me hard. I know she doesn’t want sex right now, only comfort, but for a man who has never—in his living memory—been welcomed into a bed by a woman, this is a lot.

I’m not a virgin. I’ve had sex. But it’s never meant anything to me, and the experience has been as much terrifying as pleasurable. My urge to wrap my hand around a woman’s throat and squeeze as she’s coming, combined with my inability to control myself as I climax, doesn’t make for a safe combination. The possibility of murdering her, while my cock is still hard inside her, is a horrifying terror I live with. I picture myself coming back around to find the woman I’m with to be limp and lifeless while my dick is still pumping streams of cum inside her.

Maybe I had regular sex with girls before my accident, but if I did, I can’t remember. Had it been good? Had I enjoyed it? Had they? I can’t imagine being with someone without having that overriding sense of dread.

I know I’m capable of violence, and that scares me more than any number of ghosts I might face at Windridge Hall.

That’s why it’s better for me when she’s asleep. For her to not know I’m there. If she starts to struggle, it’s as though it awakens something in me. Like the squeal of a small animal setting off the predatory nature of a larger one. Instinct takes over, and my conscious mind pulls away. When a woman is unconscious, or drugged, she can’t react to me, and that allows me to remain in control, at least at some level.

But Aspen doesn’t want me to drug her anymore. She wants to be with me like this, when she’s awake and aware of me.

I need to respect her wishes, but it isn’t easy. When I want something, I want it. My brain doesn’t seem to process the part that analyzes the fallout of what it takes to get it.

I don’t like her being hurt, but I love her vulnerability.

Back in the drawing room, after I’d brought her in from the snow, and my father had removed her clothes, is a moment I’ll forever have etched on my brain. Seeing her like that, lying there, still and pale, made me only want her more. I’d liked her unconscious. I’d pictured myself tracing every inch of her skin with my fingers and lips, obsessing over her, while she’s unable to tell me what she does and doesn’t want.

I’m sick. Fucked in the head. She deserves so much better, but I’m incapable of staying away.

And now she’s incapable of leaving.

I can’t remember ever feeling this way about a woman before. Had I, before the accident? Had I been able to experience emotions the way others did—on a normal, balanced level. It feels like I have two settings: zero or one hundred percent. Did I have normal relationships with women before, or have I always been dysregulated? These are questions I could probably ask of my brother and father, but I can’t bring myself to give voice to any of the turmoil churning inside my head. The truth is that it embarrasses me. I live in a constant state of mortification about who I’ve become.

The only time I’m at peace is when I’m in her presence. She stills the roaring inside my head. I’m not lost inside myself anymore, but instead I fixate on her. She’s the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen. The long red hair, the pale skin, the light blue eyes. The way she holds herself with such elegance.

And yet I sense a discomfort in her as well.

Like me, she’s not at ease in her world, and yet she captures parts of it so beautifully in her art. She sees things differently. Maybe I’m hoping she’ll see me differently, too, even after what I’ve done.

Still, having her this close feels like a gift, and I don’t want to fuck it up. She lies curled into me, her head on my chest. I inhale the scent of her hair.

Her hand falls still, and her breathing slows and softens.

Eventually, she’s just how I like her… asleep.

9

ASPEN

When I wake the following morning, Dov is gone.

I’d expected him to be. It’s daylight outside, though I think it’s still early, and he doesn’t do well with the light. I know he doesn’t avoid it completely, though, as I’ve caught him on camera during the daytime. I remember what I’ve been told about how the light makes his headaches worse, so maybe he can tell when he’s more likely to suffer.

My mind blurs, reality shifting. Was Dov actually here last night? Or did I dream him? Imagine him?