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Despite finding better reading material, I haven’t stopped skimming through Cynthia’s diary. We’ve had a couple more encounters out on the slopes since that Friday dinner, and she has been nothing but nice to me. Part of me remains wary and particularly cautious, though I’m not sure why. The guys won’t talk about her, no matter how many times I try to bring it up. And I wouldn’t dare ask her, either.
Luckily I have her diary so while Matthew, Sully, and Jason are out on the slopes this morning, I pour myself another cup of joe and retreat back into my bedroom, nestled by the window with Cynthia’s words in my lap.
It’s snowing, quietly and beautifully. Generous flakes fall in loose clusters settling over a seemingly eternal blanket of white that covers the forest floor and the cabin’s backyard. I’d go for a walk again, but I’m still sore from yesterday’s skiing session. I’m getting better, but I have a long way to go before Jason feels comfortable enough to let me take the slopes on my own. This rest day is welcomed.
“All good things must come to an end, someone once said,” Cynthia writes in her diary. It’s strange for me to read this stuff, now that I have a face to put to the author’s name and words. Though I can’t ignore the subtle pangs of jealousy, I find comfort in the thought that I’m now the one sharing the master bedroom with these guys. “I didn’t think I’d smell the finale so quickly, though. It’s been getting harder to be around them, particularly on our foursome evenings. Sully doesn’t like it when Matthew and Jason take me at the same time. More than once, he has nudged Jason and Matthew out of the way so he can have me to himself, leaving me to suck them both off instead. When we’re alone, Sully is rougher, firmer, and while most of the time I like it, there are moments when he can be quite intense.”
I can see Sully being intense. I do remember one time, the other night, when Sully took me from behind while I handled Matthew and Jason with my mouth. But I loved it. I loved every damn second of it. And they didn’t seem to mind it, either. I’m getting wet now from just the memory of that moment, the way Sully ran his fingers through my hair before grabbing a handful and ramming into me, filling me with his burning essence.
“But it’s Jason I’m most worried about. He has been coming around my bedroom at night more often than the other guys. He has repeatedly said he’s tired of sharing me with them, but when I lovingly told him that we’re the best when it’s the four of us together, he walked away, red-faced and furious,” Cynthia writes. “He came back four hours later, drunk as a skunk. It was a shock to me. I thought he’d been sober for a year or more… for him to fall off the wagon like that he must be going through something. The problem is I am horribly turned off by such behavior, so I locked my bedroom door to keep him from coming in. He did try but I ignored the knocking, pretending to be asleep. It was so awkward and shameful. We met downstairs at breakfast this morning. I’m not sure he remembers any of it, but he could barely look me in the eyes.”
I’ve seen Jason’s gaze lingering over the wine glasses now and then, but he always makes sure to only fill his with sparkling water or cranberry juice. He’s currently been sober for a year now—which sounds a lot like what Cynthia just noted—so I can’t help but wonder if this is some kind of cycle that the guys are going through when they’re sharing a woman. It sounds weird and rather toxic. Certainly not something that would be good for me, but without their version of events, I can only rely on what I read, on what I see and hear.
“There are times when I don’t really feel safe here anymore,” she adds on another page, dated a couple of days later. “I know they would never hurt me, it’s not that. But there is tension between them. Twice now I’ve walked into the living room, not realizing that there was an argument going on. Matthew has been nothing but kind and gentle to me. It’s Jason and Sully who are starting to worry me. I should’ve known they’d become possessive and jealous, even though we agreed from the very beginning that the four of us would be together. I agreed because I wanted them all, each for their own magic…”
Doubt slithers its way into my heart as I continue reading, associating her account with instances of my own where I have felt that there were words left unspoken, desires left unnurtured, and dreams tucked away under a mumbled ‘it’s fine, don’t worry about it.’ Could Cynthia have been right all along? Is my relationship with them doomed to repeat the same pattern? I can’t talk to them about it. They’ve made it irritatingly clear that discussing Cynthia is not an option.
In the meantime, Kieran is still texting and trying to get a hold of me. I’ve resorted to blocking his number. My dad called to ask me about my holiday plans. He’s still in rehab, but he wanted to get out for a couple of days. I told him to stay there and not worry about me. Mom hasn’t bothered to respond to my last message, so I think I’m done checking up on her as well. If there’s anything I’ve learned from my time spent here in Aspen, it’s that I don’t have to cling to the people who aren’t good for me, no matter who they are.
I deserve better, and it’s time for me to start treating myself accordingly. No more lowered standards. No more useless effort to prove myself worthy of love. I am worthy. And Maddie’s death shouldn’t have changed that. I deserved my parents’ love and affection then, and I certainly deserve better now. So maybe I should be careful with the guys, too. Matthew, Jason, and Sully may have the best intentions in mind, and I may be falling in love with them—which is a huge problem given the circumstances—but I need to protect myself by any means necessary.
Perhaps I’ll start by paying more attention. I’ll keep reading Cynthia’s diary. If I feel us getting any closer to the demise currently unfolding between these pages, I will figure out a way to extricate myself from the situation and head back to Providence.
Assuming that I can. Judging by the ache in my heart whenever I think about it, I’m worried it’s going to be a lot harder to do than it is to say.
16
Selina
There’s another blizzard coming tomorrow night. The forecast isn’t looking great for the rest of the week, either. We may be snowed in for longer than three days this time, and I’m worried it’ll become the perfect breeding ground for anything that has been festering over the past couple of weeks. I’ve been extra careful around the guys lately. Around Jason and Sully, in particular. There are subtle changes in their behavior, changes I probably wouldn’t have noticed if I hadn’t read about them in Cynthia’s diary.
I try not to worry about it too much, but that’s the trouble with doubt—it slips through, it festers, and if left unattended, it develops into a whole new voice in the back of my head, whispering and feeding my fears. It sucks me dry of my physical and mental energy, making it harder for me to sleep or to even look at my men the same way. I’m starting to regret ever touching that journal, yet I can’t stay away from it, either.
I decide to go outside and take some photos of the forest behind the cabin. There’s a macro function on my phone camera that yielded pretty interesting results of last night’s dinner and drinks. And as my memory unravels those events, I begin to see certain moments more clearly. One that has lingered in particular is of Jason staring at Matthew’s wine glass. He’s licking his lips, ever so slowly, but in an anxious manner. The air between us has been rather loaded since Cynthia’s return, and while they do their best to keep everything running smoothly, I’m observing kinks in their armors, micro-fissures that may widen over time.
I worry about them.
Making my way down the mountain side, the snow midday up my calves, I carefully follow a path and snap photos of anything and everything along the way. A gnarly old oak root jutting out of the white, crunchy blanket like a serpent before it disappears below again. A handful of acorns left next to a boulder, frost settled on one side like a transparent glaze. The temperatures shift drastically between the day and the night in Aspen, so it’s not uncommon to come across patches of ice here and there. The light amplifies its crystalline top layer, so I’m compelled to photograph it.
The deeper I focus, the more I distract myself with the occasional warbler or wandering squirrel in search of food, the farther away I get from the cabin and the guys. I do need the space, though. The time alone. The room to breathe and analyze things so I can hopefully come to the conclusion that I am overthinking everything as usual. But the look on Jason’s face from last night persists at the center of my consciousness, along with a whispering fear that he is close to a fall. Too close for his own sake. Matthew did mention once that if Jason slips off the wagon again, it’ll be a lot harder to bring him back.
“Hey, you!” Cynthia’s voice echoes from about fifty yards to my left. At least she didn’t startle me this time. I turn to see her coming over, clad in a deep red ski suit and thick black snow boots. Her long brown hair falls down her back, while a furry hat covers her head and brings out the deep brown of her eyes. In this angle of light, she reminds me of a bleeding deer that just escaped the clutches of a ravenous wolf, though I’m not sure why. The look in her eyes seems serene, almost kind if not for the shadows that I have yet to interpret, the hesitation that seems to follow her everywhere. “I figured I’d make noises from afar so as not to scare you again,” she adds with a giggle as she hops over a cluster of tree roots. “What are you doing out here in this cold?”
“Oh, just taking some photos,” I reply, smiling softly. “I was getting bored back at the cabin.”
“I know the feeling. Staying in Aspen for longer than a month can get boring sometimes, and there aren’t enough streaming movies and TV series’ to get you out of that rut.”
“Or books, for that matter.”
Cynthia laughs. “Precisely. How have you guys been lately? Haven’t seen you in a while.”
“We’re fine. We’ve just been hanging out, sleeping, eating, hitting the slopes… you know, the usual winter holiday shenanigans,” I reply, feeling my cheeks burn a little brighter.
“You guys are really close, aren’t you?”
There is warmth in her eyes, but the tone of her voice sends subtle shivers down my spine. “We’re very good friends,” I tell her. “And they have been nothing but kind and generous to me.”
“They take care of their woman, that’s for sure,” she sighs deeply, glancing to the side. “Matthew, Jason, and Sully are wonderful men. I know them well enough to say that with certainty. Really... wonderful... men.”
