Cut Too Deep (14 page)

“Hadley, I want you to wake up now.”

Dr. LeClair’s calming voice entered her mind. Her eyes fluttered open. Her heart hammered behind her ribs as tears welled in her eyes. She slipped off the chair, falling to her knees.

“Why did you wake me up?” Hadley demanded in a hoarse scream. “I wasn’t finished.” Her throat closed up when she tried to inhale.

“It’s best to take this slow, Hadley,” Dr. LeClair answered in a reassuring voice. He knew how much Hadley wanted answers, but he understood pushing things before his patient was ready would hinder her progress and potentially set her therapy back years. He wouldn’t risk it. “You became extremely agitated. I think it’s best if we stretch these sessions out.”

“No, I want to go back, please! There’s more. I know there is.”

“That may be, but we need to proceed carefully.”

Dr. LeClair heard her silent request as she looked at him through glassy eyes. He shook his head and went about writing notes on the pad of paper in his hands.

Hadley felt no better than she had for the last eighteen goddamn years. She had to know what else happened the night her life changed forever. She already knew her father killed her mother and she killed her father, but there was more, and without answers, she would never have closure. Her life would remain an open wound that never healed.

For years, she struggled to remember the details from that awful night. She convinced herself through regression therapy she would finally provide the missing piece to the puzzle her past had become. That she would prove more happened that night than the investigators found. Instead, she felt worse. The anger she fought daily to contain surfaced, and Hadley realized she still blamed herself. If she’d never been born, her mother would still be alive. Her parents would still be in love. The hell her life had become was entirely her fault. Rather than feeling enlightened, she’d been crushed by the heavy weight of defeat.

Hadley stopped to check the mail before climbing the stairs to her apartment, feeling exhausted. She tossed the stack of mail on the counter and went to change her clothes. After fixing a dinner of frozen pizza, she flipped through the mail while it cooled. Her heart sped and her skin burned the second she saw the letter.

He wrote me back already. How is that possible?

It had been an emotional night. Hadley questioned if she should wait until the morning to read the letter for fear it might cripple her. But, she decided she would never sleep with the letter teasing her on the counter.

Her finger slid under the flap. She inhaled a deep breath before pulling it out.

Dear Ms. Walker,

For starters, I never shove anything up my ass!

I do, however, hear what you're saying, but I take offense to your lumping me in with common swine. Just because a man is attracted to you and finds your body desirable, does not make him a “PIG”.

You evidently missed the line in my first letter where I stated, “I would very much like to know more about you.” My offer wasn't strictly limited to sex. If that were my only interests, I would have opened any other letter from the pile and gotten exactly that. I haven't read any of the other letters, and I don't intend to.

I don't want them.

I want yours.

Obviously, I have someone to thank for mailing your letter or letters. I did receive a third that was much sweeter, and I'd prefer to think you intended to mail it. Or did two letters “accidentally” make their way to me?

Assuming your intention was for me to only have the one where you clarified how you do not wish to “associate” with me, I'll respond.

You're lying!

Your abruptness with me is due to your fears. Don't deny it. I've watched you, too. I don't know why you're afraid, but I assure you, you have nothing to fear with me.

I won't hurt you.

I can take my time, Ms. Walker, if it suits you, but I will get what I want. And YOU are what I want.

Since you clearly do not want to have sex, let's get to know one another. Shall we start with basic and boring? Do you enjoy your job at Jensen Marketing? Do you sleep on your back or your side? How do you like your coffee? Cotton or satin? Bath or shower? Hobbies?

Shall I dig deeper? Why did you take the stairs for the first three months you worked in my building? Why did you take a job in graphic design instead of a dance apprenticeship when one was offered to you by the NYC Ballet? Why don't you have friends other than Paul's assistant, Mr. Walsh? Why don't you date? What are you afraid of?

Now, I assume you want to know how I know all of this. I told you, I've watched you, too.

If you found my first letter disrespectful, please, accept my apology. I can be an ass. It was never my intention to upset you. However, do not mistake my regret for a retreat, Ms. Walker. I want you!

Tonight as I drift to sleep, we'll share our first kiss. I'll imagine the softness of your skin as my fingers lazily explore your curves before our bodies join skin to skin. I want you to picture me braced above you as my thumb slowly strokes your cheek before I press my lips to yours. Open your mouth slightly. Feel my tongue trace the seam of your mouth as our breaths mingle to become one. When I deepen the kiss, you'll moan softly urging me on. As our warm tongues meet for the first time, desire will overwhelm both of us, and then you will be mine.

Eventually, I will know what your kisses taste like, and in that knowledge, I will sleep well. Goodnight.

X,

Miller

Hadley remained still and stared at the letter she thought might burst into flames. A sensual feeling stirred in her belly. She wanted to be angry he knew so much about her, but felt flattered instead. She read the paragraph detailing their first kiss and sighed, or, more accurately, swooned. To her surprise, she felt desired by Miller, but not in the perverse way she did with his first letter. This time she felt almost coveted by him, as though she truly shared an undeniable and secret connection with him. Before long, she found herself writing him back.

Dear Mr. Genetti,

Your knowledge of who I am is alarming, to say the least. You know more about me than Mac, Mr. Jensen's assistant, and my only friend, as you pointed out. If you weren't in prison a million miles away, I may consider a restraining order.

I must be crazy, or masochistic, because, out of strictly morbid curiosity, I've decided to continue writing you. I can see that smug grin plastered to your face from here. Lose it.

Here are your answers.

First, my job at Jensen Marketing is a job. Simple as that! I don't like it, and I don't hate it. I accept it as a means to support myself, but I wouldn't say I enjoy it. It lacks challenge. Mr. Jensen is not one of my biggest fans. I'm an assistant to Mac, whom I adore, so it works, but I know that is all I will ever be.

As for the rest of your questions: I sleep on my side. I like cream in my coffee, no sugar. Cotton, always cotton. I prefer baths, but usually only have time for showers. As for my hobbies; dance is my hobby. You, of course, already know that since you know I turned down an apprenticeship. The reason being, the income from the apprenticeship wouldn't have been enough to support myself.

I took the stairs because I'm claustrophobic. It took me some time to overcome my fear of confined spaces to brave the elevator. As for my lack of friendships, the honest answer, I don't trust people easily. Mac broke through that barrier, and now we're friends. I don't date because that would mean letting someone get to know me, and that goes back to my issues with trust. I'll leave it at that. Finally, I'm afraid of you, Mr. Genetti, because you spark something deep inside of me, an emotion I smothered years ago to protect myself from pain and heartache.

There you have it. Now, it's my turn to question you.

I'll skip straight to personal. Why are you in Thailand? How did you get that scar on your chin? Why do you date so often and so many different women?

Our first kiss was more than I ever imagined kissing you would feel like. Thank you.

Oh, and one last question, why did you ask a woman you hardly knew if she felt your erection?

Your serve, Mr. Genetti!

Regards,

Hadley

P.S. I accept your apology.

Hadley smiled and chuckled softly at her last question. She felt surprisingly frisky about asking him, but wanted to offer something memorable for Miller to ponder.

While eating the now cold pizza, Hadley thought about what transpired this evening. Her session with Dr. LeClair had been an emotionally grueling experience, and, even now, her anger flared thinking about it.

The letter from the beautiful man Hadley hardly knew transcended that anger into some other emotion she couldn’t define. The giddiness inside of her couldn’t wait another minute to mail the letter. So, she didn’t. She sprinted the entire way to the mailboxes and slipped the letter into the slot without hesitation. Although she never received one, Hadley imagined this is how a schoolgirl felt passing notes with a boy in class.

Later that night, Hadley nestled into bed with thoughts of Miller Genetti feeding her mind and her senses until she fell asleep.

F
riday after work, Mac came to her apartment. The two shared a dinner of subs and ketchup potato chips, which were Mac’s favorite, but repulsed Hadley, no matter how much he tried to convince her they were no different than French-fries.

Once Hadley changed into a soft and comfy sweat suit, the two left in Mac’s car to dance. For hours, Hadley twirled and leaped in a room full of strangers and one very new friend. Mac was actually quite a talented dancer himself. Apparently he and his roommate performed on the street during college to earn extra money. As early as a month ago, thinking of anyone with the fondness she had for Mac would’ve terrified Hadley, but it appeared recent events had transformed her spirit and renewed her faith in humanity.

The world had a place for her after all.

Physically exhausted, Hadley declined another visit to Fanelli’s and had Mac drop her off at her apartment. All she wanted to do was shower, and then crawl into bed to sleep for a month. Like the gentleman he was, Mac waited until Hadley safely ducked inside her building before driving away.

Hadley saw a figure balled up in front of her door. The smell of alcohol greeted her before the figure lifted his head and revealed himself.

Who the hell let him in?

Her blood turned to fire in her veins. Hadley hated this man. He had no rights to her or her life, yet, like a nasty rash, he showed up when she least expected it and refused to go away.

“What are you doing here, and who let you in?”

Harold Duwatski used the wall to steady himself and rose to his feet.

“I convinced some old guy I was your father, hilarious right?”

Yeah, real funny
!

“What do you want?”

Harold Duwatski stared at three blurry versions of his little peach and frowned. She’d never been a strong person, and he’d used her weaknesses to his advantage many times. This new courage of hers had begun to irritate him. He had the power, and he needed to remind her of that.

“We need to talk,” he slurred. His body swayed when he tried to focus on her face.

“You’re drunk! And, I have nothing to say to you.”

His inebriated state worried Hadley, knowing his tendencies toward violence were strong when he was sober and worse when he drank. She feared where his head was at now and what he was capable of.

Harold curled his fingers around her slim arm and drew her close. The stench of booze, combined with his putrid odor, hit her stomach and she gagged.