"I wasn't berating you," she says quietly … apologetically. "I'm sorry if you felt that way."
Fucking great.
Her sympathetic words cause more guilt to pour through me, and now anger directed at myself because I let the baggage of my childhood mesh with my adulthood to create new baggage. My chest constricts painfully and I feel the sudden need to get some fresh air. Grabbing my coat, I slide out of the booth. Fishing in my wallet, I pull a fifty-dollar bill out and throw it on the table. "I have to get going."
"Alex, wait," she says, but I'm already turning away.
"Please," she calls out one more time and I almost stop … almost.
Then I'm pushing my way through the crowd and out the door.
By the time I arrive home, most of my anger is gone but I'm left with a sea of culpability churning in my stomach. I briefly consider calling Sutton to apologize, but it's late so I don't bother. Besides, I'm not sure exactly what I'd say. It's not in my nature to apologize, having long ago convinced myself that all the wrongs in my world are not my fault. It was the only way I knew how to protect myself against the monstrosity that was my father-by laying all those wrongs on his doorstep.
I slowly walk up the steps to my second-floor apartment, my suit coat slung over my shoulder. When I reach the top, the hair rises on the back of my neck, knowing immediately that someone stands outside my door. My eyes lift and anger flushes through me hot again.
"I told you not to come here again uninvited," I tell Cassie, noting the confident way she stands leaning up against my door.
She pushes away and saunters up to me. "You don't mean that and please don't make me prove you wrong. It won't help your self-esteem."
I watch, almost in a daze as her hands reach toward my crotch, oddly disgusted by the long, red nails she sports. Sutton's, I noticed, were short and clear, her hands looking as soft as satin.
Just before Cassie makes contact with my belt buckle, I snap out of it and push her hands away, taking a step back from her for good measure. "Get out of here, Cass. I'm not interested."
She laughs hoarsely, taking another step toward me, completely disbelieving every word I've said. I'm sure that's because every other time she's done this, I've capitulated and lost myself in an orgasmic stupor with her. "Let's go inside, baby. I'll make you feel good. You know I will."
Stepping past her, I walk up to my apartment door and unlock it. I push the door open and step inside, turning abruptly to stop her stride because I know she's walking right behind me.
"We're done," I tell her simply, noticing just for the briefest of moments that her eyes go wide and uncertain. But that's all I see because I close the door in her face and lock it.
Pressing my forehead against the cool wood, I stand there for a second but then she's kicking at the door, yelling from the other side. "You son of a bitch! You can't just cast me aside like that!"
I turn away and head back toward my bedroom. Cassie stays out there, banging on the door and cursing at me. I ignore her, taking my clothes off and crawling into bed. I hear one of my neighbors open his door and yell at her to shut up. It doesn't even slow her down and she renews her efforts to kick and punch at my door.
Finally, I hear another neighbor yell, "I'm calling the cops!" and that seems to do the trick. She goes absolutely silent and then I don't hear anything else. I assume she's left but I in no way believe that's the last I'll hear from her. In fact, I'm sure I'll get an earful from Kyle tomorrow at practice, but I'll deal with that then.
I roll over on my side, staring out into the dark of my bedroom. I let my mind clear and think of Sutton. I wonder to myself, how can this woman cause my heart to squeeze in pleasure one moment, and become black with anger the next? Is she purposely playing my emotions, or is she truly able to see through to my demons and confront them?
She makes me uncomfortable … the clarity with which she seems to see me.
She makes me curious as to what else she might see.
She makes me want … something, but I'm not sure what.
Chapter 8
Sutton
Oh, Mara … please stay strong, girl.
That's the mantra I keep repeating in my head as I type notes in her file. I just hung up the phone with her a few minutes ago, and she's not doing well. Now that she's past the fear of her overdose, she's fixating on the rush she got from the crank. She talked to me, almost longingly, of how great the euphoria felt to her. It broke my heart when she told me that she knows it felt so good because her life is so painful. It was an escape from having parents so mired in their own drug addiction that they don't have anything left to give to their only daughter.