MORGAN
Having Aspen to myself for most of the week has been absolutely incredible. Waking up next to her, eating breakfast together, spending the day in bed watching Netflix and laughing with each other…
I feel like a lovesick teen all over again.
The worst part is her having to go into work, but since it’s Saturday, Natalia and I get to spend some quality time together. We’re going to ‘drop by’ the gallery for a bit, go out for lunch, and whatever else she decides we have to do.
“Are you ready?” I call out as I lean against the front door, waiting for her. “I thought you were just putting some shoes on?”
“I’m looking for my purse! Just give me a minute.” She shuffles around some things on her desk.
“A purse?” I ask mostly to myself. “You’re eleven. You don’t need a purse.”
She finally walks out with a bag in her hand. “I’m a girl. I have stuff.”
My brows furrow as my lips curl up in an amused smile. “What kind of stuff could you possibly have? Pantyhose? Lipstick? Diary?” I tease.
She rolls her eyes as she walks past me and out the door. “You have so much to learn, Uncle Morgan.”
She says it so dramatically I can’t help but laugh. “Trust me, Shorty. I know.”
We arrive and Natalia nearly jumps out of the car before I even put the gear into park. I practically chase her all the way in, hollering at her to slow down, but she’s so excited and doesn’t even hear me.
I told Aunt Mel we’d be coming, so she’s already waiting for us at the front entrance. She absolutely adores Natalia and is super stoked to show her around.
“Good morning!” I hear her cheerful voice as she wraps her arms around Nat.
“Morning!” I come up behind them and wrap an arm around her shoulder with a squeeze. “She’s extremely excited in case you haven’t noticed.”
“I have!” She smiles wide. “I’m so glad you brought her. We’re going to have a blast!” She winks down at Natalia and grabs her hand.
This is my chance to go find Aspen, so I casually excuse myself for a moment. “I’ll catch up with you two in a bit. I’m going to use the restroom.”
“Okay, just find us when you’re done,” Aunt Mel calls over her shoulder. They’ve already started walking toward one of the exhibits when I start scanning the room for Aspen.
I continue looking around, but can’t find her anywhere. I want to ask where she is without sounding suspicious, but I’m not sure that’s possible.
I grab my phone out of my pocket and text her.
Hey, Nat and I came to visit. Where are you?
I’m not sure if she’ll have her phone on her or not, but it’s worth a try. I catch back up with Aunt Mel and Natalia as they’re walking through the Forty under Forty exhibit. It must be one of their new ones because I’ve haven’t seen these before.
“How are things going?” I casually ask, stuffing my hands in my pockets.
“Good!” Natalia spins around, her face glowing with excitement. “It’s so beautiful here. Makes me want to draw something myself.”
“Good eye for art must run in the family,” Aunt Mel says with a wink. I haven’t told anyone other than Aspen that I haven’t painted in months, so everyone assumes I’m still doing it.
“I could get you your own art supplies, Shorty,” I offer. “I also have a bunch in the basement that you can use.”
“Really?” Her eyes widen as her lips tilt up high enough to reach her bright eyes. “I’d love that!” She wraps her arms around my waist and squeezes. I’ve never seen her this excited before.
We continue walking around, and I casually look around for Aspen. I see Christine, but still no Aspen. She walks up to Aunt Mel and flashes a small smile.
“Shane followed her home. I think she’ll be okay.”
“Oh, thank you, darling. I feel just awful.” She presses a hand over her chest.
My interest is piqued as I try to read between the lines of their conversation. “What happened?”
“Aspen received a couple packages from her mom that were upsetting, something about journals, so she went home for the day.”
My blood pressure rises the moment she says her name and mentions her mother. I don’t know exactly what happened, but I know their relationship is rocky at best.
“Aunt Mel, can Natalia stay here with you? I have to run somewhere quick. I’m sorry.” I kiss Natalia on the head and not so subtly run out before she can bombard me with questions.
I fly out the front doors and call her cell, but it goes straight to voicemail. I try again as soon as I’m in the car and drive out of the parking lot.
Voicemail.
Fuck.
I speed to Aspen’s apartment, unable to focus on anything other than her. I’ve seen her break down on a number of occasions, her anxiety triggered from far less than situations like this.
Once I’m inside, I jog up the stairs two at a time. I’m panting as I arrive at her door, ready to knock it down as I hear blasting music coming from the inside. I knock on the door but turn the knob anyway. There’s no way she can hear me over the music.
Stepping inside, I immediately scan around for her. “Aspen!” I shout. “You here?”
I walk through the kitchen, to her bedroom, and back out to the living room before I check her studio where I finally find her, notebooks spread wildly all around her. Her knees are to her chest with her arms wrapped around them.
“Sweetheart, what happened?” Rushing to her, she looks up at me—her eyes red and swollen, her makeup smeared down her cheeks. She lowers her eyes, tears streaming down her cheeks as she shakes her head.
Leaning over her, I grab the iPod connected to the speakers and shut the music off. “Baby…” I plead. “Talk to me. Please.” My voice cracks as I beg for her to say something.
Tilting her face up to look at me, her eyes seal shut as more tears run down. Her breathing is calculated as she counts softly, rocking her body back and forth.
“Aspen.” My heart pounds in my chest as I watch her crumble in front of me.
“She let go,” she finally chokes out, taking a deep breath. “She didn’t fall.” More tears run down her cheeks as I try to comprehend what she’s talking about. “She. Let. Go.” She says one final time.
Wiping her cheeks, she finally looks up at me with a numb expression on face.
“Tell me what happened.” I try to keep my voice calm and not show her that I’m dying inside seeing her like this, feeling completely helpless.
“I can’t get my heart rate to slow down,” she finally tells me. “I’ve never had an attack this badly before.”
“What can I do?” I rush out in a panic. “What do you need, baby?”
“Just hold me. I have to just ride it out.”
I pull her into my lap and hold her, soothing her the best that I can. Rubbing my hand up and down her arm, she fists my shirt and cries into my chest. My heart shatters as her body shakes with every hiccupping sob. Pressing my lips to her forehead, I place a soft kiss and tighten my arms around her.
We stay like that until I feel her breathing steady and the sounds of her crying dissipate. I want to comfort her and ask what’s triggered such a bad one, but what could I possibly say that would have any value at this point?
“Morgan…” Her voice just above a whisper.
“Yeah, baby?” I smoothly ask, brushing the hair back away from her face.
“I feel like the part of me that I had left from before she passed has officially been ripped away from me. It’s been shattered, leaving me in broken pieces of the person I used to be.”
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” I close my eyes and take a steady breath. “Tell me what happened. Aunt Mel said your mom sent you something?”
“She packaged up all of my sister’s old journals and sketch books and sent them to me.”
“Did you know she kept them all this time?”
“I didn’t even know they existed.” I feel her shudder against me.
“Why would your mom send them?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know if she read them and wanted me to read them or if she was just cleaning stuff out and thought I’d want them. She didn’t send a note or even tell me she was sending them. She gave me no warning at all.”
“So you’ve been going through them since you left?”
She nods.
“That triggered your attack?”
“I read them.” Lifting her head slightly, she sniffs and wipes her cheeks off. “They’re awful.”
Rubbing the pad of my thumb under her eye, I brush away the mascara that’s smeared. “Tell me.”
She shakes her head slightly.
“Baby, please.” I rub a hand along her throat and jaw. “You don’t have to suffer in pain alone anymore. Let me take some of that burden.” I rest my forehead against hers, feeling her hot tears against my cheeks.
Slowly, she leans forward and grabs one of the open notebooks on the floor next to us. “This was from a month before she died.” She clears her throat as she begins to read.
I had the same dream again last night. Each time, it becomes scarier and darker. The dark shadows close in on me, making me claustrophobic. My throat tightens, and I choke out for air, but I can’t breathe. I always wake up right before I pass out, but I feel the darkness surround me as I try and fall back asleep.
She swallows and turns the page. “This is a few days later.” She begins reading again.
The dreams are getting worse, and I can’t sleep. It feels as if there’s this demon living inside me, torturing me in my mind every time I close my eyes. It dampens my mood immediately, and I feel nothing but fear. During the day, I feel back to normal, but as soon as the sun sets, I’m scared again. I’m scared because I know what’s coming.
She turns another page. “This was a couple weeks before she passed.”
Aspen is so excited for our birthday that’s coming up. I keep thinking of ideas on what to make her, but I can’t seem to think straight anymore. Even in school, my eyes feel so heavy that I almost fall asleep and my teachers constantly ask if I’m okay. It’s embarrassing when all the kids turn around and look at me like I’m some kind of circus freak. I just wish the dreams would go away. They’re getting darker and more detailed, making it harder for me to wake up from them. A few nights ago, voices started echoing in the dreams, saying awful things, telling me to do awful things.
I feel more alone than ever. I’m afraid to tell Aspen. I don’t know how to explain it to where it’ll make sense. The anxiety of it all makes me want to cut more and deeper. I cut until I bleed and nearly pass out. It helps me forget, even if it’s just temporary.
Mom and Dad think it’s all an act, so I pretend everything’s okay when they’re around. I pretend I’m their happy, adventure-seeking girl. Aspen sees the scars, but always blinks away. I think she’s afraid to talk about it, and I’m afraid she’ll start seeing how weak and tortured I feel. I wish I knew how to explain it so they would understand, but when I try to sleep, it feels as if the life is being sucked out of me more and more each night.
I’m not sure how much more I can take.
“This is a week before.” She flips the page again.
I cut deeper than I ever have before last night. My wrists have all scared over, but my legs are like fresh canvases, waiting for my marks on them. The sight of fresh blood surfaces a new wave of emotions—one part relief, one part grief.
My thighs ache with the dull pain that the razor left behind. I focus on the pain, focus on the blood gushing down my legs and over my knees and ankles. I feel lifted as if I’m floating and the world can’t catch me. The feeling is only temporary, but for those few moments, the pain vanishes and I’m no longer that girl.
But then reality comes crashing back down, and I’m that girl again. The dreams, the dark thoughts, the sadness—it consumes me. It’s getting harder to pretend that everything’s okay. Smiling is now a constant chore and acting like everything is fine is a constant reminder that it’s not.
I just have to wait until our birthday.
One more birthday with Aspen.
Because I love her.
Tears fall from my cheeks as I see the agony written all over her face. I want to reach inside and take all her pain away, but I know this has been haunting her for too long to ever fully be pain-free.
“You don’t have to read anymore.”
She sniffs, wiping under her eyes. “No, I want to.”
She flips the page and starts again.
I died in my dream last night. I’ve had similar dreams before of floating up to the sky and watching above, as my body lay motionless. It doesn’t even hurt. There’s no pain, no remorse. All I feel is relief. I’m lighter and for the first time, I smile genuinely.
When I wake in the morning, I know I shouldn’t be feeling those things, but I can’t help it. I want to feel those things—the happiness, the relief of no longer being in pain—but I never will as long as I’m here, suffering.
Our fourteenth birthday is tomorrow and Mom is already preparing everything. Aspen is glowing as usual, talking about how in just a couple of years, we’ll be getting our driver’s license. Then she goes on about how much fun it’s going to be going to proms and homecomings, dates at the movies, football games on Friday nights. I always agree and smile, but inside, I’m dying. I want to puke anytime I think about those things. How long am I supposed to pretend? I’m hanging on by a thread and the only thing getting me through it is knowing Aspen and I will share our special day together one more time.