Chapter 18

CHELSEA

Once Lynn departs and Chris arrives, we pick up right where we left off at his place. We make love all over the kitchen, exploring every position we can imagine.

He sends shivers down my spine, and I adore what he can do with his cock. It’s as if something inside me has been awakened, and I can’t get enough of him. I yearn for more.

I find myself counting the minutes, wondering when he’ll return and what new positions he’ll introduce. God, my pussy is already pulsating, and he’s only been gone for thirty minutes.

I decide to take a shower and cool down. Maybe I’ll write some more to distract myself from him. Heck, I’ll write about him and incorporate him into the book I’ve already begun.

If this continues, I’ll finish this book before the month is out.

I take a quick, hot shower to unwind a bit. Then I decide to get dressed, just in case Lynn decides to drop by. She won’t have a reason to scold me then.

I choose a pair of loose shorts and a large tank top. It’s my go-to outfit when I want to touch myself while writing.

In my head, I keep hearing, ~You don’t have time to play with yourself~. But when you read what I write, I have to ensure it’s top-notch. If I can’t get off on my own writings, then my readers won’t either.

My fingers fly across my laptop, writing away. Everything in my head is pouring out like a waterfall. Just thinking about all the moves Chris performed on me has me wet, let alone writing about it.

After a couple of hours, I check my phone to see if I’ve missed anything. Nothing. Not a single call or text from anyone.

I guess Lynn is still upset with me because I chose this life over the one with dull Brian, who would rather sleep with a nineteen-year-old than me.

You know what? I don’t even care. I love my new life here and everything that comes with it.

She’s envious that it happened to me and not her. She’s upset because her relationship is on the rocks and her parents are making her work at the bookstore.

I know she despises working there, but she’s doing it to please her parents. So when she visits me, she can’t stand seeing me happy.

I head to the kitchen and grab a bottle of wine, pull open the drawer and fetch the bottle opener. I slice off the top and screw it in, lock it down and yank the cork. It makes a satisfying ~pop~. I love that sound.

I carry the bottle out to the porch and settle down on the swing. I chuckle because I’ve forgotten to get a glass, so I start drinking straight from the bottle.

I sit there with the bottle nestled between my legs, swinging with one leg. I see Detrick approaching me with a bucket.

He tips his hat at me, then kneels in front of the flowerbeds and starts to prune the flowers and pull weeds.

“Detrick?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies, not looking up.

“How long have you been here?” I inquire.

“Since the mid-1970s, ma’am.”

“Wow, that’s quite a while,” I comment.

“Indeed, it is, ma’am.”

“Can I ask you another question?”

“You may, ma’am,” he responds as he pauses his work.

“Do you come into the kitchen every morning and make coffee for me?”

“No, ma’am. I haven’t been in the house since the day you moved in,” he replies, resuming his work on the flowers.

I nod, then shrug. I tip back the bottle and take a hearty swig.

I rise from the swing and head back inside the house. I find my shoes and put them on. I exit through the back door, planning to head to Christopher’s house.

I follow the path and reach his place. I knock on the front door.

“Chris?” I knock again. “Chris, are you home?” I call through the screen door. Nothing. “That’s odd,” I mutter, scratching the top of my head.

I return to the path, and when I reach the Y again, I glance at the sign that says Do Not Enter.

~I wonder what’s on the other side of this path?~

The path looks like it hasn’t been maintained in ages, so I decide to follow it and see what’s on the other side.

The brush is dense, as if it’s discouraging me from going this way. After about twenty minutes of navigating through the brush, I come across a chain-link fence with another sign that reads Do Not Enter—Condemned.

“What’s condemned?” I wonder aloud as I start to pull ivy off the fence to get a better view of the other side.

I can see an old building with missing windows, trees sprouting from the cracks in the foundation. “What is this place?” I whisper.

Then I spot an old sign above what I think is an entrance. There’s a bush obstructing the doors. Walken Asylum, the sign reads. “What the hell?”

Suddenly, a gust of wind knocks me off the fence. I fall back and hit my head on a rock. My vision blurs until everything goes black.

***

I wake up in my bed with Detrick standing over me.

“What happened?” I ask.

“You fell, ma’am. Perhaps too much wine,” he suggests.

“How did you know I was in the woods?”

“I didn’t. You were on the back porch when I heard you fall.”

I attempt to sit up. He places his hand on my shoulder to keep me down.

“Ow,” I wince, touching the back of my head. There’s a lump there, and I can tell a splitting headache is on its way.