I lead Kemper into my hotel room on the fourth story of the tallest building in this God-forsaken town. It’s not the worst place I’ve ever been, that honor belongs to Ridgefield, but it’s a hellhole none-the-less. I don’t do well with small towns, they’re all the same to me. They’re too small, and claustrophobic. It becomes hard to breathe when you’re constantly suffocating under the weight of judgment.

If you’re born in a small town, you’ll most likely die in a small town. It’s a trap I fought so hard to claw myself away from, but ended up back at square one worst off than when I had first left.

“This is nice,” Kemper muses out loud as he takes in his surroundings. It’s nothing too fancy, but the sheets are clean and the room has a pleasant odor. There’s also free cable and wifi, so for all intent and purpose, it’s a five-star hotel. Also, it’s not a motel. So spank me as I score a touchdown.

He tugs his shirt over his head and throws himself on the bed sideways. “Almost as comfortable as an aluminum horse.”

I peer over my shoulder and shake my head. “Did you have fun tonight?”

“It was wild.” He reaches out his hand for me to take, and pulls me down on the bed beside him. “Best night of my life.”

“Shut up.” I slap my hand against his stomach and roll my head onto his chest, the most comfortable pillow on this side of an actual five-star hotel. “Tell me something I don’t know about your life,” I inquire as I draw my name, using my finger, on his bare chest like an adolescent teen scribbling her crush’s name in a notebook.

His chest rises and his lips purse. “There’s nothing to know.”

“Bullshit,” I call it like it is. “Absolute malarkey.”

“What do you want to know, babe?”

“Babe?” I eye him.

“Is that a problem?”

“It’s new.”

“Everything’s new at one point or another.”

“Isn’t that the truth.” I rest my head on his chest again. “Where are you from, really?”

“I told you.” He runs his fingers through my hair. “I’m from everywhere.”

“Fine,” I huff, growing a touch aggravated. “Tell me where home is. Where you grew up, where you escaped from.”

“There’s a town less than a hundred miles away from Ridgefield called Lakewood.”

“Oh yeah,” I mumble, my eyes growing heavy. “I’ve heard of that place.”

“There’s nothing to it really. There’s about six-thousand people, too caught up in their own mediocre lives doing mediocre things to survive.”

“Sounds like Ridgefield.”

“It’s all the same,” he says as low as a whisper, and I can feel him preparing to run. He slides out from under me and hops to his feet, spinning around to face me as soon as his heels land against the carpeted floor. “Lets get out of here.”

“And go where?”

“Anywhere.” He pushes his hands deep into the mattress and crawls toward me. “We can get in your car and drive.”

“That’s my husband’s car,” I point out with a smile.

“Fine.” He chews into his cheek. “We take my car, then.”

“You’re being serious,” it’s not a question, it’s a statement. A realization. “We can’t just pack up and leave.”

“Why not?” he pleads. “I have a few thousand dollars in a suitcase under my bed.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Make it that simple.”

I shift up in the bed and kneel. “I have a life in Ridgefield—“

“In a town you can’t stand.”

“I have a husband—“

“Who cheated on you.”

“And a family.”

“That’s what phones are for. That’s why they created the internet.”

“I have a job,” I say flustered, running out of excuses when in the back of my head, running sounds like the best possible option.

“A job that you can have anywhere.”

“Please stop this,” I plead and slide off the bed and pass him to lean on the dresser.

“Stop what?” He turns to me. “Dreaming?” He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, I can’t do that. I can’t live a life I don’t want to live.”

“That’s life, Kemper.” My eyes roll and I begin to pace back and forth.

“This place almost killed you.”

“I almost killed me,” I correct him and come to a rest in front of him.

“You put the gun to your head, but you didn’t load the bullets.” He points to an arbitrary space behind us. “They did that. They loaded the bullets and handed you the gun.”

“You only see what you—“

“You’ll die in that town, kicking and screaming as they drag your cold, dead body into the dirt.”

“Have you thought about being a writer?” I peel the plaid shirt from my body and throw it on the dresser. “You’re amazing with your words.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what, Kemp?” I twist to face him, exhausted and more than ready to lie down and pass out. “Compliment you?”

“Change the subject.”

“You can be happy anywhere.” I take his hand in mine and bow my head against his. “You’re young and full of life. Why do you feel so trapped?”

“Because in this world, I’m alone.”

“You have me.” I force a smile and caress my palm across his cheek. “I’m right here.”

“For how long?” He breaks away from me, taking a measured step back.

“That’s a loaded question,” I sigh and twist on my foot to grab a glass of water from the top of the mini-fridge.

“See, right there it is. You don’t have a proper answer.” He smacks his lips as I turn to him, sipping on a glass of ice-cold water. “I love you.”

“What did you say?” I reach behind me and set the cup on the dresser, but I miss and it crashes to the floor, spilling on my bare feet.

“It slipped from my tongue.”

“You love me?” I smile, but it’s with a heavy, unsure heart.

“I can feel it in my bones.”

“It’s a strong word.”

“That’s why I said it.”

“I said those words once,” I whisper, “and then I said them again in my vows.”

“I’m not him.” He takes my hand and pulls me close. “Come with me. I have a cousin in Lakewood. We can stay there until we figure things out.”

“Isn’t it kind of pointless to run from one damaged place to another?”

“We can be happy anywhere.”

“Then what’s wrong with here?”

“You know what’s wrong with here.” He retreats, once again reaching a peak level of frustration. I think it’s because he knows I’m understanding what he’s selling. I just can’t admit it out loud. “This place, it’ll eat you alive.”

“Can we stop this, and just pretend like we’re happy?” I sink onto white sheets.

“We are happy.” He takes a seat beside me and wraps his arm around me. “I just want to ensure we both stay that way.”

“We have all the time in the world to figure this out.”

“I’m terrified I’ll fall back into old habits.”

It dawns on me that we never talk about his troubles. It’s easy to forget he has them, when we’re constantly circling around my merry-go-round of pain. I lean my head on his shoulder to comfort him. I want to say the right words, but I don’t know where to begin.

Instead I speak to him the only way I really know how. I push his body gently against the bed and crawl up to his chest. He strokes his fingers through my hair and in the quiet moments that follow the rupture, I feel serenity.

“You’re going to be all right,” I whisper and close my eyes.

“I know.” He lands a quick kiss on the top of my head.

“I’m going to be okay, too.”

“I know.”

But nothing feels all right. It feels irrevocably broken, and I don’t have an explanation for the shift in hopes and dreams. It feels over before it even truly began, but I know love again. That’s the part that cuts the deepest, slicing through my soul and leaving an open wound that may never heal.

But I can love.

I’m dreaming of an unknown man, lurking in the shadows outside my home as I wash the dishes in the kitchen sink. He passes between two trees, and with squinted eyes, I’m able to observe that he’s tall, but not much else more.

And then there’s a creak of the floor behind me sending a shiver down my spine. I peer up to the window and see the reflection of a man behind me, and I know I’m surrounded.

I twist on my foot to face the man, and sigh with relief that it’s only Kemper.

“Wake up,” he says. “Wake up.”

“What?”

I throw myself up in the bed and clutch my chest. Breathing heavy, I look over to see Kemper standing before me, all dressed and ready to go.

“Jesus,” he says. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“No,” I say softly. “Just you.”

“Aww,” he coos and pounds his palm against his chest. “Were you dreaming about me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” I adjust in bed and push the covers off my sweaty body. “Where are you going?”

“I have that charity event, remember?” He raises his brows. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah.” Transitioning between the land of dreams and the land of reality is often a difficult task, as you’re left reeling trying to differentiate the two. “Do you need a ride?”

“Nah,” He shakes his head. “It’s only about seven blocks. Besides, I need time to come up with an excuse as to why I snuck out of the hotel last night.”

“What time is it?” I ask groggily and bury my face in my hands.

“It’s almost noon.”

“Yeah,” I chuckle. “He’s going to kick your ass.”

He laughs with me, his cheeks flushing red as he takes a seat beside me. “When will I see you again?”

“I don’t know.” I smirk, reveling in the change of mood since our late-night conversation. “I can call Mrs. Benson and see what her plans are.”

“The word on the street is that she’s always free.”

“That’s just how I like my men, available.” I run my palm across his cheek lovingly. “You should go.”

“I know,” he sighs and leans over me, smelling of fresh flowers and cool mint. He eyes me for a moment and an unshakable smile rests on the edge of his lips. He’s beautiful and innocent under the morning light, but I know better. He presses his lips against mine. It’s short and sweet, and it’s sufficient in pulling me inside out, leaving me wrecked with a hodgepodge of emotions. A full heart, an alive and breathing soul, and a butterfly trapped within a gilded cage fluttering around my stomach.

It’s after he walks out the door that the guilt sinks in, burying itself in the deepest pits of my own personal hell.