Page 86 of Colton
I suppose I’ll get over it. I’ll have to.
I pass a flower shop, admiring the display as I pass by, until my stomach twists. It’s strange how flowers make me think of him. Forget the delicate colors; the focus is on the black roses. Gently, I touch the soft petals, cautious of the thorns. I breathe in their sweet fragrance, hoping, however strangely, it might remind me of him. I shake my head, but the thought doesn’t leave.
It's like he’s haunting me.
How can someonealivehaunt you? Knowing Colton, it would be stalking. I snort at the thought, ignoring the sparks of fear and danger thrumming through me. I ignore the other feeling—the yearning, the excitement. Because no one has evermade me feel like he did. But that’s a good thing, right? Because what I had with Colton wasn’t normal.
This is normal.
As I walk to the cafe, I can’t shake the unsettled feeling. It’s like there’s something tugging at me, a pull that hints at something—or someone—nearby. I dismiss it, focusing instead on the sights and sounds of Meadowgrove. This is my life now, and I’m determined to make the most of it.
Yet, as I open the door to the cafe and step inside, I can’t help but cast one last glance over my shoulder. The street is empty, but the feeling lingers. It’s as if Colton’s presence is imprinted on my soul, a constant reminder of the life I left behind. A thrill shoots through me at the thought of him watching me, and I sink my teeth into my lower lip.
God, I miss him.
What the actual fuck is wrong with me? I’m missing a man whorapedme, for fucks sake. He was obsessed, not in love. I have to remember this, not just the view my rose-tinted glasses give me.
He hurt me.
But I loved it. Most of it.
Being craved by a man like Colton is exhilaratingly addictive. He made me feel like a Queen, even when he didn’t.
Go figure.
Maybe I have more issues than I thought. Maybe I should seek therapy.
No one is equipped to deal with the likes of you.
I push the thoughts of Colton away, forcing a smile as I greet my coworkers. This is my fresh start, my chance to live a normal life. And I’ll be damned if I let the ghost of Colton Blackwood haunt me forever.
As I tie my apron around my waist, ready to immerse myself in the bustling routine of the cafe, I notice a small detail out ofthe corner of my eye. A newspaper on one of the tables is open to a page that features a headline about the Blackwood family. My heart leaps into my throat, and I casually make my way over, trying to act nonchalant as I glance down at the article.
The headline reads, “Blackwood Heir Still Missing: Colton Blackwood’s Whereabouts Remain Unknown Following His Father’s Death.” My eyes scan the text quickly, absorbing the details like a sponge. The article speculates about Colton’s disappearance, hinting at foul play or a possible breakdown following the trauma of his father’s murder. My heart skips a beat when I see the bodies of the victims have been found, along with all the hidden passages. There’s a grainy photo of Colton, his intense gaze piercing even through the blurry print. Unconsciously, my fingers brush the image; the contact feels like a burn, making me withdraw my hand.
A shiver runs down my spine, and I quickly look away, feeling a sudden wave of nausea. The timing is too coincidental, the sensation of being watched too strong. Could Colton really be out there, somewhere, watching me? The thought sends a jolt of fear and something else—something darker and more thrilling—through my veins.
I spend the rest of my shift in a daze, mechanically taking orders and serving customers with a smile that hides it all. The paranoid thoughts, the ache I have for the man who once swore I’d never escape him. My mind is a whirlwind of memories and anxieties, each one tugging at the carefully constructed walls I’ve built around myself. As the day wears on, the feeling of unease grows stronger, gnawing at the edges of my consciousness.
By the time I lock up the cafe and step out into the cool evening air, I’m a bundle of nerves. I scan the street, my eyes darting from one dark corner to another, half expecting to see Colton’s tall, imposing figure materialize from the shadows. But there’s nothing, only the quiet hum of the town settling downfor the night. The wind tugs at my hair, carrying a sharp chill. I glance back, catching the eye of a passerby before they look away.
Just my imagination.
I walk home briskly, my heart pounding in my chest. Every rustle of leaves, every distant sound makes me jump, my senses heightened to an almost unbearable degree. I curse under my breath, angry at myself for letting paranoia get the better of me. This is what I wanted, isn’t it? Freedom, normalcy, a chance to start over. So why does it feel like I’m being pulled backwards, dragged into the dark depths of my past?
Get a grip, Luella. You’re free from the monsters now.
As I reach my apartment building, I hesitate at the door, my hand trembling slightly as I fumble for my keys. The sensation of being watched is so strong now that it’s almost suffocating. I take a deep breath, steel myself, and push open the door.
I can handle myself if anyone comes at me, but him?
I shudder.
He’s different in a terrible way.
The hallway is brightly lit, the security of home doing little to ease the churning in my stomach. I climb the stairs slowly, each step echoing in the quiet. As I reach my floor, I pause, my heart in my throat.
There, propped against my door, is a single black rose.
