Page 43 of Descent

Pulling out my phone, I begin typing a message to Skyla. Anything to distract me from what’s to come. I’ll do this fucking job. I’ll put on the show of a fucking lifetime, and then hopefully it’ll be enough to get me out of the spotlight. I feel bad for whoever Christopher’s attention lands on next, though.

Chapter Nineteen

Skyla

It’s Saturday, and with everyone gone for the weekend, it’s just Asher with me at the house. I smile when a text comes in from Liam; as I tap out my reply, Asher comes into the kitchen. Looking up from my bowl of cereal at the kitchen island, I smile softly at him.

He smiles back, striding towards me before dropping a kiss to the crown of my forehead. Butterflies erupt inside me at the simple gesture. I still haven’t gotten used to this side of Asher. It feels different…yet perfect, all at the same time. Like he was the missing piece to the puzzle.

“I see you’ve already got yourself a nutritious breakfast,” he says, as he moves to the coffee.

“Breakfast of champions,” I tease, as I lift my spoon full of cinnamon toast crunch into the air.

Asher smirks as he pours his cup of coffee, facing the bay window that overlooks the backyard as he speaks.

“Well, I think we definitely need to get you a better option for dinner tonight.”

“Dinner? I’m already dreaming about lunch.”

I laugh because, honestly, it’s true. Anyone who isn’t looking forward to their next meal as soon as they have their current one…well, they clearly have a healthier relationship with food than I do.

He turns, facing me with that same smile as he nods.

“Lunch too, but I was thinking we could go grab dinner somewhere. Just the two of us.”

I go to respond when I pause, noticing how rigid his posture is, how careful his breathing is. He looks nervous, downright petrified. A grin spreads across my face before I can help it, as I cock my head to the side teasingly.

“Asher Putnam, are you trying to ask me out on a date?”

He huffs, running a hand through his hair like he does when he’s nervous before he shrugs.

“Well, you’re my girl, aren’t you?”

I raise an eyebrow in question.

“I don’t know, am I?”

He sets down his cup, closing the distance between us before his hand comes to cup my jawline. Lifting my face up to meet his, I feel his lips press against mine in a deep but firm kiss before he pulls away.

“Definitely.”

“Well, alrighty then,” I say with a breathless smile.

“Dinner? Seven?” he confirms.

“You act like we aren’t going to hang out at the house all day together anyways,” I laugh.

The smile that takes over his face is breathtaking as he nods and presses another kiss to my lips, softer this time and, unfortunately, faster.

“Fair enough.”

We spent the day hanging out at the house. It’s been a miserably rainy New England day, so a cozy day inside felt incredible. I spoke on the phone with Aunt Steph for a little while, and she caught me up on her new boyfriend. I may have omitted the whole Asher thing, the ceremony, and having four boyfriend’s thing. Oh, and the living off-campus thing. She’s so worried about me, and I don’t want her to have more reason to because between Christopher, the stalker, and god knows who else…there feels like plenty to worry about.

She told me that she was thinking about coming out for a visit soon, and I practically jumped all over her, begging her to. I miss her so much; I’d give practically anything just to hug her.

After I got off the phone with her, Asher told me he made us dinner reservations and to dress nice for it. I can’t lie, I’m excited to have a night with just the two of us. But the whole fancy dinner and getting all dressed up thing just isn’t really what I’m up for. It feels too…formal, too forced. I think we’ve already been through way too much to go through awkward small talk over a basket of eighteen-dollar bread.

Regardless, I slip on a red bodycon dress with my black heels and give myself some big curls before shaking them out. A scar on my back catches my eye in the mirror, and I pause before turning more to face it. A pang of sadness runs through me as I look at the fresh, angry scars against my skin. Why is it that marks like this take so long to heal? Or I guess look better. You never truly heal from a scar. Not from the experience of getting itor the mark itself. Is it weird that, in a twisted way, those lashes bring me a sort of comfort? A sort of reminder.

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