I wake up with the light streaming in through the windows, drenched in sweat, my heart racing in my chest.

In the dream, I was alone on a raft in the middle of the ocean. I knew there was something below me in the water, something big, something enormous, but I didn’t know what it was. If I stayed on the raft, I’d be okay, but it was going to swallow me whole if I got into the water.

The ocean began to get violent as a storm rolled into the area. Carson was with me, and then it was my father, and then my father was the thing in the water. At some point, the raft was a canoe, and the whole ocean was trying to throw me into the water. I heard the voice of Elliot, laughing at my pain.

And then I woke up.

I sit there breathing deeply, trying to get myself together. I hate having nightmares. I thought I might be past this, since I’m safe with Carson now, but apparently I’m not. I don’t know if I ever will outgrow it, but I hope that I do soon.

I stretch and slowly get out of bed. I don’t remember coming into my room the night before. I was a little tipsy from the wine, and exhausted from the excitement. Carson must have carried me here.

I go into the bathroom and get into the shower. Excitement runs down my spine at the thought of Carson. I finally got to know what it would feel like to sleep with him, and it was so much better than I expected. I thought he’d be good, better than good, but it was something else. Something totally unexpected.

The way he wrapped my wrists up was skillful and gentle. He clearly knows what he’s doing, and I like it. He’s dominant, controlling, and the way he talks dirty to me sends shivers down my spine. It’s totally filthy and wrong, but for some reason I love it.

I finish my shower and towel off before getting dressed and heading out into the main part of the house.

There’s nobody there. I expected to see Carson, but he’s nowhere in sight. I want to panic for a second, but I force myself to stay calm. He wouldn’t leave me here if I were in any danger.

I check the kitchen and find the note he left me on the counter. I sigh, sitting down on a stool, and stretch my legs. He’ll be back soon, and everything will be okay.

I busy myself making some breakfast and straightening up from the night before. I rinse out some glasses and toss the empty bottle into the recycling. I muse to myself that I’m starting to feel very comfortable in this strange man’s home, which I never would have guessed.

I didn’t have much growing up. My father made a living, but it wasn’t much of one. He drank away any extra money he made, and so I had to get jobs as soon as I possibly could just to afford school supplies and clothes. My father didn’t care if I showed up in shoes that were falling apart, just so long as I left the house and didn’t bother him.

My old house could fit twice inside of Carson’s place. My room alone is like the size of my old living room. It’s totally bizarre how I went from living with an abusive father in basically poverty to this beautiful place.

I walk across the living room and stand in front of the enormous window looking out over the snow-covered trees. Carson is out there somewhere in the city, and I wonder what he’s doing. I can probably guess, but I hope he’s being safe at the very least. I don’t want him to get hurt or to do something stupid just because of what happened.

I get a tinge of fear when I think about that, but I force myself not to dwell on it. Carson has been so good to me. I can handle a little adversity in my life. I’ve survived a lot so far.

I can remember one night, my father came home with a load on, drunk out of his mind. He had lost his Christmas bonus in a card game, and he was looking to blame someone for his bad luck.

Of course, he blamed me. It started with him yelling, and when I tried to lock myself in my room to get away from him, he broke the door down. He blamed me for the broken door, and ended up beating me until both of my eyes were black and swollen.

I couldn’t leave the house for two weeks after that. I didn’t want to explain what happened to me, and people would have asked questions. He was surprisingly quiet about the whole thing, although he did all the cleaning and cooking and shopping for once, at least until my bruises healed.

That didn’t stop him from hitting me again, of course. As soon as he got drunk and forgot about what happened, he hit me again, and again, and again.

I got out, though. I don’t need to keep thinking about him and what he did to me. I got out and he can’t hurt me ever again.

I take a deep breath, looking out over the landscape, and I clear my mind. I feel at peace, strangely at peace, in this place. I never thought I’d like Alaska, and at first it seemed harsh and horrible.

But the more I’m in this house and with Carson, I start to see the beauty all around me. I start to understand why people want to live in this place, at the end of the world, secluded from everyone else. The trees covered in snow, the wind through the forest, it feels like we’re all alone and nobody can ever hurt us.

I walk back into the kitchen, smiling, and pull out the recycling bin. I carry it with a little difficulty out into the garage. It’s freezing cold because the garage door is open as I head over to the recycling can.

I dump the bin into the can and as I turn to go back inside, something catches my eye.

I freeze, motionless, fear slicing through me. I stare out into the woods and yes, that’s it, I see it again.

It’s a man wearing all black. I think he has a gun, but I can’t really tell. He’s standing out in the trees, moving between them, and he’s watching me. I can’t see his eyes but I know he’s watching me.

I stifle a scream. Instead, I run back inside and slam the door. I lock it before running to the front door and locking that one as well.

Panic rising through me, I grab my phone and dial Carson’s number. “Come on,” I mumble as it rings.

Finally, he answers. “Hello?” he says.

“Carson,” I say, everything coming out in a rush, “I took out the recycling and there was a man in the woods. I think he was watching me, I think he had a gun, I think it might be your brother again. I locked—“

“Kylie,” he says, cutting into my story. “Kylie, hold on, please. Calm down.”

“He’s out there with a gun. Carson, where are you?”

“You’re not in danger,” he says clearly and slowly. “I hired those men.”

I pause for a second. “You hired them?”

“That’s right,” he says. “I know a guy in the security business. I hired some men to watch the place and keep Elliot away. They’re there to protect you.”

I take a deep breath and feel the panic subside slightly. “Are you sure?” I ask. “He had a gun. He was watching me.”

“I’m sure,” he says softly. “They’ve been there since I left. I told them not to bother you, but maybe that was a mistake. I should have warned you. I’m sorry.”

I take a deep breath and let it out. I stare out the window again, trying to get the calm I felt just a few minutes ago, but that’s totally gone now. My heart is still beating and I can feel the rush of adrenaline still inside of me.

“Okay,” I say finally.

“I’m on my way home,” he says. “You’ll be okay?”

“Yes,” I say, sighing and shaking my head. “That just scared the shit out of me.”

He laughs and I can’t help but smile a little bit. “Be strong, I’ll be there soon.”

I hang up the phone and shake my head, annoyed but relieved. Just then, there’s a knock at the front door, making me jump.

I grumble to myself and walk up to it. I look through the little window and a man wearing all black looks back at me. He’s in his forties, in pretty good shape, with receding hair and brown eyes.

“Ma’am,” he says. “My name is Nick Sloan. I’m the commanding officer assigned to your house.”

I unlock the door and open it a crack. “Hi Nick,” I say. “I’m Kylie.”

“I’m sorry if I scared you, ma’am,” he says. “That was not intentional. I was under the impression that you knew we were out here.”

I laugh a little and open the door some more. Nick has a rifle slung over his shoulder, but otherwise he looks totally harmless, like someone’s gruff dad or something.

“I had no clue,” I say. “I had a little scare yesterday that left me on edge.”

“We’re aware of the situation,” he says. “And let me promise you that nothing bad will happen while we’re here.”

“Thank you, Nick,” I say.

He nods. “If you need us, just yell. We’ll hear you.”

“Got it. Thanks again.”

He gives me a nod then turns and walks back toward the forest. I watch him for a second before shutting the door softly.

As I walk back into the kitchen, I can’t help but realize that he’s probably only five years older than Carson, which is pretty strange. Instantly I thought of that man out there as an adult, as a father figure. I see Carson as an older man, someone mature and strong and capable, but not as just some random dad or something like that. It’s really hard to articulate, even to myself.

Carson has all those features. He’s an older man, calmer, more in charge, dominating. He’s also handsome and in amazing shape. But I see most older men in a certain light, like they’re all just a bunch of asexual dads. I don’t see Carson that way, not at all. True, Carson is only in his late thirties, and that guy out there is probably in his forties, but still.

I can’t help but see the strangeness of this situation. If I step back from it and really look at it, I can’t pretend like the strangeness doesn’t exist. But Carson somehow cuts through all of that and shines instead, makes me want to stay here, makes me want to weather the dangers.

It seems worth it, but I can’t exactly put any of it into words.