by Brock, V. L.
*** Received: Wednesday 14th November 2012 @ 9:45 a.m. ***
Hey, sweetie. Are you stopping at Hayden’s again tonight?
Or are you coming home? Text me and let me know. Xxx
I have no idea, Jess; depends if I get beneficial advice from my source.
Digging a little deeper, I find the scrunched-up piece of paper with the number I had written earlier this morning. I clutch it to my chest, like a priceless artefact. Any information I may get at the hands of this number, maybe priceless…ironic really.
I silently sequence the pending conversation throughout the duration of my entire meal. Contemplating and focusing on certain key points that I need to direct my attention on, and how I will fare if she doesn’t wish to talk to me about it––to someone she has never meet, never even spoken to.
When I cannot think of a solitary piece of information I could accidently overlook, I gather my belongings and make a beeline back into the car.
The leather is an unremitting ice block against my back as I slouch into the seat. Matching the temperature and rigidity of my heart, the heart that with the power of Hayden’s love and tenacity, finally heated and thawed. Each and every time my eyes fall upon him, I feel it revive more deeply, not just on the surface, but within.
Like a wave, I feel an ominous shudder uprising from the tips of my toes, up my legs and my body when I consider how much Hayden and I have fallen apart…segregated. We can lie in bed together, be less than two foot apart, yet it feels like a canyon between us. Not just physically––emotionally, too.
Tipping my head back I feel the coolness of the rest at the back of my skull, cooling the tension migraine I am aware niggling at my crown. I breathe in deeply, recovering my equilibrium, and take the leap.
I punch the number into my cell and briskly press the call button.
“Hello, Wentworth Residence.” A chirpy, female voice greets me down the handset.
“Oh, hello, I um…may I please speak with Mrs Wentworth?” I wince. I knew this was a bad idea.
“Whom may I say is calling?” with her superior tone, I hesitate to remember my own name.
“It’s um…it’s, Samantha Kennedy.”
“Please hold the line, Miss Kennedy.”
Within two minutes, I hear life at the opposite end of the line. “Thank you, Cassandra.” Cassandra? That name will haunt me for the rest of my living days. Regardless of Hayden explaining her standing with the family, just hearing her name sends the images I had formulated in my mind, back to ridicule me.
“Samantha?” Hayden’s mother addresses me with a warming quality.
“Hello, Mrs Wentworth. I apologize for contacting you unexpectedly.”
“Oh, no don’t apologize, my girl. I have been bothering Hayden for weeks about wanting to meet you.” Her motherly tone brings a smile to my face, even if it is turning three hues pinker with embarrassment.
“Mrs Wentworth, I am seeking advice,” I convey awkwardly.
“Oh?”
I sigh inwardly. “Hayden has disclosed everything about his past with me. We talked about the passing of your husband, which I am so terribly sorry for…”
“Thank you, my dear.”
“And also about the unhealthy relationship with his ex…and his nightmares,” I hear her sigh down the speaker.
“Hayden trusts you, Samantha. That is something that was taken away from him, for quite some time. You have no idea how much that means. I have seen and heard the change in him; he is full of hope and life. I thank you for that.”
Her words have me on a downward spiral, my vision blurred. I sniffle.
“I am so worried about him, Mrs Wentworth. His nightmares have seemed to have resurfaced since we spoke. They have become more frequent within the last three weeks. He isn’t sleeping, he isn’t eating properly. He can’t even look at me, he recoils if I touch him…” my tears fight their way out of the barracks and charge with purpose down my cheeks. “He’s slipping from me, and there is nothing I can do to help him.”
“Samantha,” she consoles me.
“I ask him to talk to me about them, you know…to get it off his chest instead of bottling the conflicting emotions up, but he won’t. And it’s killing me seeing him this vulnerable…”
“Samantha––” Mrs Wentworth interjects. “Hayden has always hated being the center of attention. He doesn’t like people thinking of him as vulnerable and pitying him. If anything, if he senses that you feel sorry for him, it will make the situation at hand multiply full fold.”
“He did fly off the handle earlier when I said that I’m seeing him turn into a person I don’t recognize.”
“Hayden is very…adamant on not receiving any form of sympathy, even when his father passed, and we found out about, Addison.”
“Then how do I help? Please, Mrs Wentworth, I will do anything to bring him back.” The desperation and determination is evident in my voice. I dab my tears with a spare napkin from lunch.
“Continue doing what you are doing. But don’t mollycoddle him. No sympathy, don’t fuss over him. And keep reassuring him.”
I feel my core temperature rise as I clench my teeth in frustration.
“But I have no idea what I can reassure him about. If I knew the bases of his dreams, then I could, but he won’t tell me. I’m searching blindly here. I feel as though he hates me, and I don’t know why.”
“Oh, my girl, I can honestly tell you––hand on heart––Hayden does not hate you…he loves you. He would do anything to make you happy. Every relationship has their ups and their downs, unfortunately at the precise time, Hayden is down and sleep deprivation makes everything worse––you over exaggerate things.” When I fall silent, she mutters, “Do you know what I used to do whenever Leonard fell into a state of depression?”
“What, I will try anything.”
“When he had that certain look in his eyes or if he would shout, I used to close my eyes, and think about the happiest times we shared together. I am sure that within the last two-months, you and Hayden have created some extraordinary memories together.”
I think back to our first weekend away, breakfasts in bed, making love, having his arms around my waist as we spoon at night, and for the first time all day, I feel my heart begin to soften, as I surrender to the tranquillity and the solace of the memories I hold dear. I sink further into the leather, feeling weightless.
“Thank you, Mrs Wentworth,” I mutter, pressing my left arm around my middle.
“You are more than welcome.”
“There is one last thing…Hayden didn’t know that I was––”
“I can assure you, my girl; this conversation will stay strictly between us. You have my solemn word.” I can hear her smile. Hayden is so lucky to have a mother as caring, and receive the unconditional love that he does from her. Not everybody is as lucky to have parents that devoted.
Why is it that when you’re in a rush, everything appears to take its time? First it was the traffic lights and now the elevator’s ascent seems to be taking forever, deliberately stopping at every other floor to let people on as I rush to the twenty-first floor of Stalwart Tower.
Hayden is going to kill me.
I sense the anxieties in my stomach, my legs begin to tremble, my fight or flight responses are taking over as a mixture of negative emotions deluge my mind: anxiousness, despondency, and the worst yet, feeling as though I have to walk on eggshells when I am around my man––my lover.
The elevator halts again on the fifteenth floor. Close your eyes, and think about the happiest times you shared together, Mrs Wentworth’s guidance haunts my mind. I close my eyes, and remember the way Hayden would look at me when we were near, the way his fingers would weave sensually around and between my own. My thundering heart launches a new slower rhythm…one that doesn’t hurt as it batters against my chest.
Just as I manage to quell my uprising angst, the elevator halts at my designated floor. With the spotlight shinning on our
good memories as they take center stage in my mind, I hold my head high, shoulders back, and walk into the firm with my new found determination of not allowing Hayden’s mood squashing my emotions, and fuck with my mind.
Placing my purse under the reception desk, I turn and amble down the corridor to check on Hayden and apologize for my late return. Making my way up to his office, I see Mr. Jackson exit Hayden’s office.
In the time I have been here, I can honestly say, even though Mr. Jackson is a very nice, old-fashioned guy, he still intimidates me when I am in his presence.
The wrinkled flesh of his profile is mostly hidden behind his large, round, thick, plastic-framed, tortoiseshell glasses that end just below his cheekbones, his thin, receding, silver hair is combed over and stuck to the right side of his head. He has a large nose, with a slight hooked-like tip, and deep set wrinkles around his mouth and chin. Even without his law degree, he looks wise and is always immaculately dressed with his old-fashioned, three-piece suits. He is taller than I, but an inch or so shorter than Hayden, with a slender build.
“Samantha…” he whispers, his old voice thick and croaky.
“Yes, Mr. Jackson. Would you like me to fetch you a coffee?”
“Not yet thank you. Have you the time for a little chat?” I giggle inwardly. It still catches me off-guard, when someone so prim-and-proper, someone so well-spoken says simple words. It is like seeing a dog walk on its hind legs. I expected the words discussion, or one-to-one, or discourse.
“Well, I’m a few minutes late, and I was just going to apologize to, Mr. Wentworth…” I amble through my sentence as I uplift my wrist to check my watch, 1:45 p.m. He is going to freak-out.
Third degree, here we come, my subconscious snickers with sardonic censure.
“Actually, Hayden is what I wanted to talk to you about.” Delving into his inner-breast pocket of his dark-brown suit he secures a small, rectangle piece of cloth. Removing his glasses, he begins to clean the lenses in circular motions with the fabric.
“Oh?”
“I must express, Samantha, I wasn’t at all pleased with the relationship that was established between Hayden and yourself. It goes passed the employer/employee standing.”
I sheath my teeth with my lips, and hang my head as I feel myself blush profusely. I feel as though my grandfather has witnessed me engaging in a sexual act.
“I understand that, Mr. Jackson,” I murmur through my discomfort.
“That being said…” he pushes his glasses onto the bridge of his nose, and conceals the cloth back from where it came. “I have seen an enormous change in Hayden’s behavior. You obviously have a beneficial effect on him.”
I roll my eyes and shake my head in vague reproach. “The last few weeks has had me questioning that.”
Placing a friendly hand upon my shoulder, Mr. Jackson smiles sympathetically. “I have observed Hayden the past eleven months, and believe me…his behavior at this moment in time…” he curls his upper-lip and shakes his head. “Nothing compared to what he was like.”
Wincing, I whisper, “He’s a conundrum at the moment,” and I swallow hard, in a meagre attempt to swallow the increasing mass blocking my windpipe.
“Don’t. Give up. I am sure there is a way you can both get back on track. I have faith in Hayden, and he has faith in you. Faith, Samantha. If you don’t have faith…” he shakes his head a fraction, “then you don’t have anything. Trust me, fifty-five years of marriage, and you have to give and take. It all comes down, to…”
“Faith,” we chortle in unison.
“Thank you, Mr. Jackson.”
“You are more than welcome. Now you better get yourself in there––” he nudges his head and thumb to the side to indicate Hayden’s office. I wrinkle up my nose, and nod my head as he opens the door and enters his own office down the hall.
“I am so sorry I’m a little late. The traffic was a nightmare, the lights were playing funny buggers, and don’t get me started on the eleva––” I rush off, my mouth not filtering any words that come out of it, but I am soon halted in my tracks.
Hayden pushes himself out from behind his desk and begins to slowly approach me. Oh my…I feel a weakness in my knees, my muscles begin to spasm, and a familiar throbbing from inside my bra and deep down in my panties reawakens.
Hayden prowls towards me, his expression intense, serious and desirous. His head lowered, but his eyes…oh, fucking Hell, his eyes. He has me panting, practically on my knees before him as he watches me with keen approval, like a panther stalking his prey. An expression that I have missed for so long, now lingering in his observation and possessing his features.
He stops before me, virtually toe-to-toe. I inhale deeply, his fresh, clean, Dior scent spiraling its way up to caress my nostrils, engulfing and cajoling my raging hormones. I tip my head back to maintain eye contact. I can hear my heart accelerate, feel my pulse quicken in my fingertips and lower down, in the place we haven’t been able to explore for some time.
The back of his knuckles smoothes down the side of my face, and subsequently stops at my jawline. He grasps my chin with the curve of his index finger, holding me steady. He continues to seduce me with his intense, promising eyes…the eyes I fell in love with, and my breathing hitches. My mouth is suddenly bone-dry as I dart my tongue across my lips. My chest raising and falling rapidly as I gasp, making the effect he has on me apparent with every exhale and sharp inhale I take.
When the hankering feeling is too much to bear, too much to ignore, I push myself up onto the balls of my feet, pressing myself against the ribbed warmth of his body and meld my mouth to his. His mouth opens in an instant, and he invades mine with his tongue, kissing me deeply and fervently. His hands fist into my hair, before making their way voraciously down my body, and settling on my backside after offering a cheeky pinch.
With my hands placed on his upper arms, I flex my fingers, feeling the muscle of his bicep beneath them.
It’s utter sensation overload, with our tongues twirling, gliding and caressing, along with tasting the fresh mint and bitter caffeine on his breath and the full pressure of his lips on me. He pushes his pelvis against me, and I release a guttural groan of approval as I mirror his action and press myself against his semi-hard cock. And I am soon squirming as the itch between my thighs craves immediate relief.
Hayden finally––although reluctantly––pulls away, and we are both breathless as a result of his osculating assault. He tilts his head, resting his forehead against mine as we attempt to recover stable breaths.
“My, God, I’ve missed you,” I gasp, curling my upper lip.
He swallows heftily, a low noise reverberating from deep within his throat. “I’ve missed you too, beautiful.”
Pulling his head away from me, he frames my face with his hands––his skilful hands, hands that easily have me pleading for more through one simple connection of our flesh. Holding my face secure, he places a tender kiss on my lips, before resuming his position, and meeting our brows for a second time.
“I love you so much.”
I sniff, and tears of relief are cast from the backs of my eyes.
“I love you, too,” I breathe, the octave of my voice increasing several decibels.
He lowers once more, securing his mouth over mine in a lovers kiss. He drops his hands from my face and draws his prickly, abrasive stubble from my mouth. He then grasps hold of my hands, holding them loosely before lifting them up to his mouth to kiss each one in turn.
We smile at each other and the new connection that we have somehow accomplished to regain. Yet, I am still baffled by his abrupt change in disposition.
Hayden peeks down to see my hands still nestled sweetly and safely in his. “How do you feel about, New York, beautiful?” he asks somewhat wary before lifting his head up me.
Pulling my brow together and tightening my eyes cynically, I mutter, “New York? You really want to get rid of me that badly?”
He shakes his head and his
chocolate curl loosens and frees itself from his mane before flopping onto his brow.
“As long as I live, I would never want to get rid of you, beautiful.”
Wriggling my right hand out of his hold, I set it on the side of his neck. My heart skips a beat. My body feels feather light as he allows me to touch him, minus the recoiling and cringing. He eclipses my hand, rendering me motionless against his body.
“Why do you ask?” I cannot stifle my inquisitiveness.
“Well, I thought…considering what has been happening…maybe…” he falters.
“Hayden, I love you, but please…just spit it out before I fall asleep,” I tease, and I cannot prevent the cathartic laughter that soon follows from escaping. I tip my head forward, so as to look on the ground, my shoulders bouncing and vibrating with hysterical laughter. Tears transcend down my face and it feels so good, so refreshing to finally joke and tease knowing that I’m not going to get told-off––knowing that I don’t have to walk on the eggshells that I have been tiptoeing over recently.
Hayden soon follows suit and chuckles at my incessant outbreak of the giggle-fits.
“I think we need time to ourselves, Samantha.” He has reeled in his carefree approach and gone back to my serious, loving Hayden. “A break would do us some good.”
“I have never been to New York.”
“So it is settled then. I’ll book the flights. We can leave tonight––”
“Wait, wait, and wait. Slow down Mr. Speedy. We can’t just drop everything. It’s Wednesday, we have work to do.”
“Nope,” he shakes his head in superiority. “Victor, Alexander and Chloe can cover.” He steps into me, so our bodies are flush, moulding against each other. He stations his hands on my face again, and stares down at me with longing, boundless eyes. “We have both been through a lot recently. Please. We need to reestablish our foundation…get back to normal.”
I breathe deeply through my nose, a little whistle escaping from my left nostril as I suck up my cleansing breath.
“I haven’t got time to pack,” I shake my head faintly.