Page 22 of Fear Me Not

I open my mouth to scream, and thick, viscous fluid pours down my throat. Choking and gasping, I bolt upright. Red pours off my pale, bruised body, running in rivulets down my bare skin, and more swells over the sides.

My scream escapes my lungs with full force, and I scramble out of the tub and onto the floor.

The bathroom door flies open, and Blake stands there, clearly alarmed.

“What’s wrong?”

I cover my face with my hands and shake my head. “The water… blood… the water turned to blood.” I’m crying so hard I can barely speak.

He picks up a large, fluffy towel, crouches beside me and wraps me tight. I’m too frightened to protest as he holds me against him. I’m grateful for the human contact.

“It’s okay, you’re safe. Did you fall asleep in the bath? Dreamed something bad?”

“No, no. Blood. The bath.”

I twist around to take in the sight of the tub. I’d half expected it to look normal again, but the water is still red.

“Oh, my God,” I gulp.

I’m dizzy with fear. My skin prickles with goosebumps, and the bath water on my skin turns to what feels like ice.

“It’s okay, Pen. It’s from your hair. When you got it wet, the dried blood got in the water, that’s all.” He checks my scalp. “I don’t think there’s any fresh blood.”

My head is spinning. I lift my hand and touch the spot where I hit my head during the car wreck. It’s still sore, but there’s no fresh blood on my fingers when I check. Is it possible the blood is from my hair? Now I’m thinking straight, it’s obvious the red in the water is highly diluted. It’s not the thick blood I’d first believed I’d seen.

My mind had been playing tricks on me.

Blake helps me up off the floor. “Come on, let’s get you into bed.”

I shake him off. “I’m fine. I imagined things. It was stupid of me. You can leave now.”

“Aspen…” he starts.

“I said you can leave.”

He presses his lips into a line, but to give him credit, he does as I ask and leaves me alone with my tortuous thoughts.

14

ASPEN

The days pass.

The hotel creaks and groans around me. Pipes bang with trapped air. Floorboards protest under the change in temperature. Even the glass in the window frames seems to clink with the frost. It’s as though the building is trying to communicate with me, to tell me its dreams and desires. Or send me a warning.

I haven’t left my room except to escape to the kitchen to find food when the hunger pangs get too much, though I don’t have much of an appetite after that initial feast. I don’t want to see any of them, and yet I hunger for them with an ache that’s far louder than my need for food.

Instead, I spend most of my time curled up in bed, either lost in my thoughts, crying, or sleeping. I’m sure a part of my tiredness is down to my recovery from the crash and from hypothermia, but that’s not the only reason I can’t get myself out of bed. A heaviness of the soul weighs me down, and I can’t seem to shrug it off.

I haven’t even been able to pick up my sketch pad. I feel like I did back when my dad was dying, like the joy of anything has left me. I’d managed to hide my depression from my dad, needing to put on a smile and a positive attitude for his sake. There’s no point now. I don’t have anyone I need to pretend for.

How am I going to get through the next few weeks or months, depending on how long we’re snowed in for? I’ll drive myself crazy if I just stay in this room, staring at the walls.

Is that what Blake meant when he said it’s not good to be alone? People get cabin fever, don’t they? I’m pretty sure sleeping too much and having no motivation are some of the symptoms. What are others? Anxiety? Paranoia? Isolation induced hallucinations?

Blake brought me here to prevent him and his sons suffering from those afflictions. If I refuse to interact with them, how bad will it get?

I miss drawing. I stare at the pad and my pencils, but I just can’t find the energy or enthusiasm to pick them up. I don’t want to have to leave my room to be inspired by something outside of it, and I also don’t want to scroll the photographs in my cell phone to find inspiration there. I have pictures of Blake and Dov and even Levi on my phone, and looking at them hurts. It’s easier just to lie here and allow the hours to pass without me participating in them.