Impulses (38 page)

“Okay, it’s quite confusing, and––” he is interjected by a knock at the door.

“I’m sorry,” I raise a hand to the gentleman to halt him. “Come in.”

The door is pushed open, and Samantha enters. She walks across the carpet, swaying her hips in the way which would normally have my cock twitching in my pants. But with how I feel right now, only one word is swimming in my mind, and it’s not a nice one either, rhymes with
more
.

“Your coffee, Mr. Hudson,” she murmurs politely.

“Thank you, Miss.”

She gazes down at him and smiles with warmth that I haven’t detected in a while. Or have I been too oblivious to notice…I don’t know, but it infuriates me and makes my blood boil rapidly.

“You are more than welcome.” She raises her head to look at me. “Can I get you anything, Mr. Wentworth?” the warmth of only a moment ago that was specifically aimed at another is no longer present. It makes it easier to stay in my heated, enraged dwelling.

Contradiction,
my subconscious sneers in his sing-song voice as he taps his fingertips on his thigh.

I sit on the edge of my seat, my arms folded and resting against the cool metal studs that secure the leather padding of my desk. Averting my eyes from her quick and easily, I glance down. “No, that is all thank you, Miss Kennedy,” I dismiss her curtly.

In silence, she leaves the office, closing the door behind her.

“I’m sorry for the interruption, Mr. Hudson.” I raise a fraction from the edge of the chair, and pull it closer into me. I sit back and gesture to him politely. “Please, continue.”

“I am having problems with an ex-partner.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“We entered the relationship about eleven months ago, everything was brilliant. But I soon realized that we weren’t best suited.” He takes a sip of coffee. “There was about a fifteen year age gap. Now, I was unperturbed with that, but her attitude towards it…” he shifts and winces, “well, I wanted a girlfriend––a partner. I guess she wanted a sugar daddy.”

Locking my fingers, I rest my mouth on my knuckles. “Okay. What happened?”

“When I ended the relationship, she didn’t take it very well. She started to stalk me and harass me, especially at work. She would come into the office and cause a scene.”

“Did you file a report?”

“Yes, I did. The police went to her and warned her to stay away.” The look of pain and anguish in his eyes is a reminder of something closer to home, a nerve that is still painful for me.

“And considering you’re here today, I am guessing the harassment didn’t cease?”

He sighs weightily, before removing his right hand from around the cup, and smoothes over his balding head.

“At work…yes, at home…” he trails off, shaking his head, no. He sucks his lips in, effectively sheathing his teeth. “Even when I went back to file more complaints about her behavior, she repeatedly denied it; always having alibi’s. Eventually, she filed a report stating that I was the one harassing her, and it bounced back and forth like that for a few weeks, with my word against hers.”

“Yes, I can see how frustrating that can be.”

“She asked me for help, if I could support her until she got on her feet. But after everything that she had put me through…there was no way I was going to give into her demands.” His lips part over the rim of the cup as he tips his head back, taking another mouthful.

“And how much did she ask for, exactly?” my brow creases.

“She requested $15,000.” My eyes widen in incredulity. “The money is not a problem, I could have given her it, but I knew she wouldn’t stop there. It would be a constant burden.”

“And what did she do when you repudiated?”

“I was escorted from my property by the SFPD. She alleged that I broke into her property, and assaulted her––”

“And she had evidence of an attack?”

“She was a little bruised and had a split lip. Nineteen hours they kept me detained for questioning, but they didn’t charge me. None of my finger prints where in the apartment, and none of her neighbors had seen me anyway.”        

I nod my head. “And then?”

“I filed a restraining order.”

“Good. And the restraining order hasn’t stopped her? It’s a felony to violate that order.”

“No, she hasn’t violated it. But she is accusing me of harassing her, I am apparently stalking her, insinuating that I have threated and instigated violence toward her.”

My blood runs cold, my heart stops mid-beat. The empathy I have for this man is unstinted. It takes a lot of courage to sit where he is and disclose this information.

“So, do you think you could help me, Mr. Wentworth? I can’t bear the stares of people as I walk down the block. I…I…” I notice his eyes glaze over with moisture. He abruptly hangs his head.

“Mr. Hudson. I am going to be candid with you.” He lifts his head up slightly, and peeks up at me under thick, black lashes. “You have taken all the correct steps, but this woman is obviously very vindictive and very cunning.” I glance across the office as I attempt to segregate my emotions and empathy, from my work. “The only piece of advice I can give, without taking you on as a client, is––”

I turn to face the anxious, desperate man in front of me.

“Inform her that, unless she fails to stop with these allegations, you will obtain a lawyer, and file a lawsuit for Defamation of Character.” He nods. “In failing that, please feel free to make another appointment and we can get the ball rolling. That would be the first step. Apart from that, Mr. Hudson…” I shrug my shoulders apologetically.

“Thank you, Mr. Wentworth. I had no idea where else to turn, or where I stood in regards to this mess. She the proverbial cent…always showing up somewhere, and unable to get rid of her.”

I offer a friendly smile, wanting to tell him that I know the feeling.

The gentleman pushes himself from the chair, visibly looking more at ease. It warms me knowing I could help alleviate his anxiety and anguish––an anguish that I bore until recently. What a difference one person, and eight weeks can make.

My aggravation increases as Samantha pressurizes me to go for lunch, or for her to bring something back for me to consume in the office. But my appetite is lost within the storm of thoughts and sentiments that I am overwrought by.

“Okay, fine,” she mutters petulantly, turning on her heel and heading for the door.

Oh, Hayden…
he shakes his head, and clicks his tongue in profound disapproval,
don’t you wonder what she will be doing on her break. Or more like, who will she be doing?
The familiar, small, derisive voice of my paranoia sneers with a malevolent curl of his mouth and an arch of his brow.
She’s an attractive woman, Hayden…far too attractive for what you deserve. You’re holding her back, she wants to do more,
he whispers
while pushing his black, greasy hair to the side, his eyes dark and sinister. Crooking his finger at me, urging to come closer, he whispers in my ear,
how many men do you think she can fuck in alleyways in an hour?

He succeeds his goal. Bile burns at the tissue in my throat, the butterflies in my stomach threatening to escape out of any possible way, my hands and legs tremble and I attempt to reign in the anger, and the want to destroy something…anything.

“Wait, Samantha.” I shimmy out of my seat and amble towards her. Delving into my inner breast pocket, I reclaim my car keys. “Here…” I hold out the metal keys, and she seizes them in her grasp. Looking up at me in confusion, she furrows her brow. “Take my car.”

She shakes her head dubiously, “I…”

“At least I know that you will be safe…and that you won’t be late back.” And that you won’t fuck anybody. I smile faintly as I subconsciously flash a V at my paranoia.

“Okay,” she nods. “Thank you, Hayden. It means a lot.” Her voice is smooth, soft and appreciative.

“It is only a fucking car, Samantha.” I brush off her sentiment, and meander back to behind my desk.

“I’ll see you in an hour. I love you, Hayden,” she calls over her shoulder, sounding deflated. I hold my tongue, refusing to fill her with a false hope that we are getting back to normality. It’s not going to be as easy that that.

I have replenished my coffee three times, since feeling my eyelids and extremities becoming weighted, and slowly beginning to drift. And each strong, warm, bitter cup does absolutely nothing for me or my state of mind.

With my cup in my hands, I rest against the back of my chair facing out of the window behind my desk, getting lost in the views beyond the walls of my office. With the surrounding buildings towering and The Golden Gate Bridge looming in the distance, I feel a sense of peace and harmony wave through my anxious and exhausted body, as I recollect the many times my father sat as how I am now, basking in the same views that I am delighted to witness.

“I wish you were here, Dad,” I mutter under my breath to myself.

“Hayden…” I’m shocked by the croaking voice reverberating from behind me. I pivot my seat to face the direction of the voice. Victor stands at the threshold of my office, his aged hands resting in his brown, pants pockets. “We need to talk.”

“Victor, please come in. Make yourself comfortable.” I motion to the vacant seat on the opposite side of the desk. He closes the door securely and strides to the proffered seat. “What is the purpose of the discussion you wish to begin?”

He lowers his elderly frame into the chair and crosses his right leg over his left knee. Lacing his fingers together, he hangs his head. The room is shrouded in silence for a moment as Victor organizes his words.

“Okay, Hayden. I am going to say it like it is, and I hope that you will come to understand that I am doing this because I care.”

I shake my head; my cynicism evident in the tapering of my eyes. “Now, you have completely lost me, Victor.”

“Hayden, I promised your father before he passed that if anything was to ever happen to him, I would watch out for you, and the firm.”

“I appreciate that, but what is the reason for,”––I wave my hand between our bodies to indicate the discussion––“this?”

“Your conduct the last three weeks, Hayden, has––”

“No, Victor,” I shake my head in warning. “Do not go there on this.” I forewarn the man that is old enough to be my grandfather.

“No, Hayden. We have to, because it’s affecting your work.”

I hang my head, exhaling noisily.

“Look at you, son. Your eyes are swollen and bloodshot, you’ve been fighting to stay awake, and your verbal approach with the staff…”

“Victor, with all due respect, if you are indicating that my approach with Samantha is unpleasant at this precise moment, then I urge you to stop, because my relationship and my problems is not your burden,” I stand my ground, my words tarnished with disdain.

The suspension of my chair begins to squeak with every enraged bound I push upon it.

“You can talk to me, Hayden. I have had enough life experience to know when there is a deep-rooted problem in a relationship that can affect your work.” His wise, sapphire eyes stare encouragingly into mine as he cocks his head, and raises his brow with expectation. “Is it, Addison?”

“No…” I shake my head wistfully, finally relenting to his good-natured interference. “It’s, Samantha.” I feel the deep crease bore into my forehead as I frown.

“What has she done?”

I set my mug on the desk and I leisurely trace my tongue over my lips.

“There was a misunderstanding the day before Dad’s birthday. I had no idea that anything was wrong, but it had transpired that Samantha had seen a text message from Cassandra reminding me about meeting up the following day at the cemetery.”

“Hmm-mm,” he nods his head and flexes his ankle.

“Instead of asking, Samantha came to the conclusion that I was planning a meeting with someone to have…pleasure with, I guess.” I feel as though I should be lounging back on a therapist’s chaise longue, watching the pendulum sway to and fro.

“And…”

“I forgot that I had locked my cell in the car, and it was only when I left the cemetery, that I discovered about thirteen missed calls from her. I rang her back panicking. Her roommate had answered and told me that she had ‘hotspots’ that she tends to go to.” I raise my hands, and used quotations when saying
hotspots
. “I went out to search for her, and I found some Neanderthal mauling her, practically molesting her on the sidewalk.” I drop my head, and focus on picking at my thumbnail. “And she enjoyed it,” I whisper dejected and wounded.

“Oh, Hayden…”

“She told me about her past relationships, and personal information, but…” I shift in my seat, and find Victor’s gaze. “That is a part of her life that I never wanted to see. She wasn’t the woman I feel for…she reminded me so much of Addison; that promiscuity, that maliciousness and callous tone to her voice as she disregarded me. Not a care in the world.”

“But, you choose to not give in, Hayden. She made a mistake, but you got passed it. That is what happens in a healthy relationship.” He continues to flex his crossed foot up and down.

“No, Victor,” I shake my head. “We are both damaged goods. My nightmares of Addison were alleviated because Samantha came into my life and brought me hope…a light at the end of the tunnel so to speak. But now, my nightmares are solely based on Samantha.”

“And what do they entail?” he probes, and I can’t help but idly wonder if he wants to bring me more pain and guilt than what I already feel.

“They vary. Most of the time I’m searching for her, but I can’t find her. Eventually, when I do she is with a different man and he’s pawing at her like a sexually frustrated puppy. She enjoys it, giggling and…” I screw my eyes closed, feeling warm tears building causing my vision to swim. I pinch the bridge of my nose with my right index finger and thumb. “What makes them worse, are the feelings behind them.”

“How do they make you feel, Hayden?” I open my eyes, and regard him with caution. “It is okay…” he holds his hands up defeated, “no judgement.”

“I feel hurt and heartbroken, nauseous. But when I wake up, that pain is gone, and replaced with anger and hatred. I can’t bear to look at her; her voice is like nails down a blackboard. I am completely disgusted with her, and I know that I have no right to harbor those feelings because of a dream––it’s ludicrous. But if she didn’t subject me to that sliver of her past promiscuous ways…well, I would be happily oblivious to it. And not have to suffer night after night.”