Page 33 of Fear Me Not

The paper falls from my hand and goosebumps crawl up my arms and down the back of my neck.

Each of the drawings a part of Windridge Hall and moments I experienced. It means I must be the one responsible for the drawings—who else could it be?—but that doesn’t make me feel any better. Am I losing my mind? It’s been over a week since the accident, and I’ve got months ahead of me. If I can’t even cope for the first week, then I’ll never make it until the snow thaws.

I remember how I hit my head during the accident. What if I damaged my brain, but because I don’t have access to a hospital, I’m completely unaware of it? Or maybe the hypothermia is what caused the damage? I don’t know, but the thought scares me.

I lift my hand to where I hit it and touch the spot lightly. It doesn’t even really hurt anymore, and the crusty area has all but healed over. I haven’t been suffering from headaches or anything else that makes me think I have a brain bleed—not blurry vision, or dizziness. God, I just allowed myself to be spanked and fingered, and I climaxed hard with no aftereffects other than a sore ass. Surely, someone with a brain injury wouldn’t be able to handle that?

Maybe I didn’t handle it. Maybe that’s why I came back here and apparently blacked out while I drew a whole heap of scary pictures.

Because they do scare me.

Not wanting to look at them anymore, I gather them all into a bundle and shove them in an empty drawer in the dresser. I hesitate then gather my pencils and the pad and shove them in, too. I don’t want to be reminded of any of it. Perhaps I should go a step farther and just open up the window and toss them out into the snow?

But I want to keep hold of them because I know at some point I’m going to want to show them to Blake. I need to get another person’s opinion on this, and, despite what he’s done, his is the one I trust most.

Trusting Blake is dangerous, though.

I could take the pictures to him now, but something is holding me back. It doesn’t take too much introspection to figure out what. I’m frightened of the look he might give me if he thinks I’m losing my mind.

Because what will happen then? I can’t escape from this place. I can’t seek medical help. Will I slowly lose my grip on reality until, by the time the snow thaws, I’ll have completely lost the plot? I won’t know who or where I am.

The possibility terrifies me.

Still in a towel, I curl up onto my side on the bed. The sense of despair threatens to suffocate me again. It weighs down on my limbs, like they’re encased in lead, and makes me feel like my chest has been hollowed out. Silent tears slip down my cheeks, but I don’t have the strength to sob.

I’ve been through a lot over the past few months. Perhaps too much. Has my mind finally cracked, and the evidence is in these pictures, and in the shadowy shapes and figures I’ve been seeing?

I close my eyes and try not to let the impending doom of the next few months overwhelm me.

19

BLAKE

The snow has been falling relentlessly for two weeks now, the drift climbing the ground floor windows and doors like a living thing seeking entrance.

Levi and I work hard each morning to shovel the snow, but it doesn’t seem to make any difference. By the evening, it’s back again. Still, the job has to be done. We can’t risk being completely snowed into the building.

Aspen hasn’t made any offer to help, and I can’t blame her. She’s made it clear that she doesn’t want to be here and, for the most part, has remained in her room.

The crackle and pop of the fire in the drawing room grate lulls me into a doze. I’m sprawled on the couch, one arm slung over my eyes, my feet up on the cushions.

There are always jobs that need to be done in the hotel, especially in the winter, but my motivation seems to have left me.

I haven’t been sleeping.

It’s not like me. Normally, the moment my head hits the pillow, I pass out until morning. I put it down to all the physical activity and the fresh mountain air. But now my mind is troubled, and I find myself turning over everything that’s happened since bringing Aspen back here, questioning my actions.

One moment, I’m fully justified in what I’ve said and done, and the next I’m wishing I’d handled everything differently.

I want her back. More than anything. Not being able to touch her whenever I want is killing me.

The fire in the grate snaps and hisses. Though the world is freezing and blanketed in snow, inside it’s warm.

The ambiance of the room lulls me to sleep…

I wake to pressure on the couch cushion beside me.

Aspen?