Elizabeth Finn - Unforgiven

Other medical students struggled to keep up, struggled to focus in their exhaustion. Not Darren. He thrived on the distraction, and as a result, he was a veritable pinnacle of medical student success. They just couldn’t see the train wreck on the inside. He knew he was fucked up, but he didn’t know how to do anything different than keep pushing forward, hoping one day he could master the art of convincing himself he was okay.

His apartment was silent and empty when he finally got home. His parents had bugged him for months to take the day off and come home for the anniversary of Jess’ death. It almost sounded like a celebration. He’d dreaded it, and now that he was back in his apartment, he didn’t know what to do with himself. Everyone knew why he’d taken this day off, and he didn’t want to deal with the sympathetic bullshit at the hospital if he decided to go in and work. It was the last thing he needed, so instead, he drank himself into a stupor.

When he was drunk enough to cope with being around another person, he called Candace. Candace was the girl he was pretending to date at the moment. In truth, they fucked, and that was about it. He didn’t have time for more, and she didn’t care. She legitimately did not care that their relationship was going nowhere. Darren didn’t have a clue why she was as jaded as he was, and, well, he didn’t care.

Within an hour, he was buried in her body, pounding into her from behind as his hands gripped the spindles on his headboard. She was groaning, and he tuned it out, annoyed she was making it difficult for him to disappear into another world while he plowed into her. He came loudly, and she did too. He lay panting beside her, not even bothering to talk to her, touch her, or acknowledge her in any way.

“Who’s Bailey?” Her voice broke the silence, and his focus flashed to her.

“What?” How the hell did she know about her?

“You said the name Bailey. Or I should say you moaned it. When you were coming? Care to tell me who she is?”

Candace didn’t look the least bit upset, and Darren knew she wasn’t. At the most, she might be offended, but it wasn’t a personal affront to her. They just didn’t care about one another enough to care if the other wanted to cry out some other person’s name during sex. The odd thing wasn’t that she didn’t appear to care in the least he had called her another woman’s name, it was that he didn’t even realize he’d said it. Of course, he was still drunk as a skunk.

“She’s no one,” he muttered, hoping she’d drop it. He wasn’t so lucky.

“Doesn’t make any difference to me. I’m just curious. I mean, you love her.”

“No! I don’t love her.” He was getting annoyed, and it showed in his voice.

“You said, ‘Bailey, oh God, Bailey. I love you.’” She almost sounded like she was making fun of him as she said the words with mock inflection.

Darren stood, walking toward the bedroom door. He stopped and looked back at her. “You can show yourself out.” He didn’t bother making any excuses for what he’d said; he didn’t bother trying to explain. It didn’t have a damn thing to do with her, and he didn’t owe her an explanation. He wasn’t sure he could explain it if he tried anyway.

He heard the front door of his apartment close as he stood in his shower. He was dizzy, and he braced himself against the wall of the shower, wondering if perhaps he wasn’t too drunk to be showering in a hot steam of water that made the dizziness even worse. He thought of Bailey a lot, and apparently that included drunken fuck sessions with his casual fuck partner. Thinking of Bailey was painful . . . and at the same time, it was incredible. He had too many ridiculously arousing memories of her for it not to be incredible.

He stood letting the heat of the shower beat down on his shoulders, thinking about her. He was blocking out the anger and rage that she incited, and he was focusing on the feel of her. Her skin was soft, and he could remember the shiver that would run over her skin whenever he touched her. She likely didn’t know he noticed it, but it was hard to miss. It had always left his cock hard and his own body tingling in need. Now, he was hard again, but the tingles were guilt, and he fought his brain to let her go, so he could quiet the emotions in his mind that he just didn’t want to deal with.

Now

Her phone ringing startled her out of her focus. It was Monday morning two days after her mother left for Memphis, and she knew without looking it would be her mom.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Hi, baby. How are you?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Okay, I guess.”

“You know you can come to Memphis anytime. I have room in my apartment for you.”

“I know.”

“Okay. Well, I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I am.” They disconnected quickly, and Bailey returned to scouring the newspaper in front of her. The help wanted section was sadly short, and she was losing hope.

The newspaper was spread out over the kitchen table, and her coffee was holding one corner. It was a bit ridiculous that Bailey was drinking coffee when it was over a 100 degrees in her cottage. Her power had been shut off, and she was trying like mad to figure out what she could pawn to make enough money to have it turned back on. How the hell she was going to support herself until she could get an income was becoming a desperate worry. Did it stop her from jogging to the nearest coffee shop for the biggest coffee her change jar would buy her? Hell no.

The heat was oppressive, and she was sweating. She was wearing a loose sundress. The idea of putting a bra and underwear on over her sweaty skin made her cringe, and so she was going commando under her baby-doll sundress that was practically see-through thanks to the thin white material.

The next interruption came when someone knocked on her door. She’d heard the car pull up through her open windows, but she’d ignored it, not wanting to move. Every time she moved, sweat trickled down her skin under her dress. When she pulled the door open, Darren was standing in front of her. He was wearing a pair of plaid cargo shorts and a casual T-shirt and didn’t appear to be drenched in his own sweat at all. Bailey was suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious. He didn’t wait for her to invite him in before he moved past her and into her small entryway.

“Jesus, Bailey. You know you could die of heat exhaustion in here.” She said nothing. She wasn’t about to admit she couldn’t afford to have the power turned on. “Why the hell don’t you have the air on?”

“It’s not . . . working.” She turned to walk away and froze mid-step when she heard the very recognizable sound of the light switch being flipped. She turned slowly toward him, her cheeks burning hot with embarrassment. His eyes seared into her, but he said nothing. She didn’t bother trying to explain or make excuses. At the moment her tongue was in the way, and she couldn’t have spoken anyway. She was just too embarrassed. Rather than try to communicate with him, she turned back toward the kitchen, and he followed her. Bailey sank into her chair at the table, closing the newspaper quickly, but not before she caught Darren glancing down at it.

She watched as he moved to the counter, searching the drawers until he came across a washrag. He ran it under the cold water faucet. She was a bit dumbfounded and had no idea what he intended to do short of washing the dishes for her, and she certainly wasn’t expecting that. When he turned back to her, she just stared.

“Stand up.” He approached as she stood, and he set the rag on the table for a moment before he reached for her neck. She flinched, and he did to. “Relax, Bailey. I’m not going to hurt you.” His voice was quiet, and she had a sudden stab of guilt. He sounded offended. His hands scooped her long hair up the back of her head, pinning it to the crown of her head. “Hold your hair up.” Her hand fumbled with his as she replaced his to hold her hair in place. He watched her the entire time, calm and focused.

She was so focused on his eyes she almost missed the sight of his hand grabbing the rag again. He folded it over twice before slinging it around the back of her neck. She sighed before she could stop herself as the coolness of the water relieved the agony of the sweltering heat. She let her eyes close, and she relaxed against the pressure of his hand. Her sigh wasn’t the only unwelcome reaction she gave him. She moaned quietly as his hand gripped and massaged the cool rag across her skin, and her eyes flashed open instantly to see him watching her. His free hand moved to clutch her waist. His fingers squeezed gently, and hot liquid heat settled in her groin.

He ran the rag around her neck to the front of her chest, and everywhere the wet material touched her skin, it was instantly soothed. He moved slowly, gently caressing over her exposed collar bone. She almost let her eyes close again, but then he abruptly stopped, and when she looked to his eyes, she saw his studying her pebble-hard nipples through her sundress. There was no embarrassment when his eyes found hers again. He studied her calmly as though being caught staring at her tits meant nothing to him.

“I have a proposal.” She cocked her head to the side. “Macy needs a house sitter. I need a house sitter. My neighbors spend a lot of time with Macy, but they’re traveling back home to Louisiana for the next couple months to see their new grandchild, and Macy’s not used to being home alone when I’m at the hospital. I could use some help around the house too. Cleaning, cooking, laundry.” He seemed unsure for a moment, but then he reached for her hand, grabbing it and putting the wet rag in her hand. “Ten dollars an hour? It’s better than any entry-level position you’re going to find around here. Thirty to forty hours a week.”

She just stared for a moment. Sweat trickled down the side of her neck, and his eyes flashed to the trail it ran. He reached out, brushing the wetness from her collar bone. Then his eyes shifted lower to her still-hard nipples. “Impressive your nipples can get so hard in this scorching heat. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were aroused. Is that it, Bailey? Are you thinking about fucking me?” He waited calmly for a reaction, and her heart raced. He enjoyed her discomfort. “Don’t worry. I’m not hiring you to be a sex slave. Just to be my housekeeper. I can get sex on my own.” Then as he brushed past her, he glanced down at the tabletop again to the newspaper. “From the looks of it, you’re in no position to turn me down. Can you come to my place tomorrow morning? Six fifteen? My shift starts at seven.”

“Yes.” Her voice came out as a whisper.

He turned from her again and headed for her front door. He said nothing as he left, and she didn’t have the nerve to say anything, either. She sank down in her chair at the table again, pushing the newspaper away. She stared at the tabletop and zoned out. She was going to work for the man. She was going to be answerable to him on a daily basis, wrapped up in his life to some extent. It was terrifying to consider . . . it was also intriguing. She hadn’t even figured out why he’d asked her to stay in Savoy yet, and now she had a new riddle. Why the hell would this man want her working for him?

Her stereo suddenly came on, belting out the local radio station she’d been listening to before the power had gone out. Nearly every light in her house came on too, and she shrieked in surprise as her house came alive again. She was already on her feet. She’d shot up out of her chair in shock, and then she started looking around, turning lights off, and finally silencing the stereo. When she looked outside, he was there, leaning up against the side of his car. She pulled the door open, stepping out onto the porch.

“Darren—”

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” He climbed in his car without letting her finish, and then he was gone.

Two Years Before

Dear Bailey,

I’m sure you’re not expecting to hear from me, and I hope my letter won’t upset you in any way. I don’t intend for it to, I assure you. Brent just told me about your father’s health problems, and I wanted to let you know how very sorry I am to hear about it. It can’t be easy for you to cope under the circumstances, and I wanted you to know I’m thinking about you and your family.

I hesitated writing this letter, but I think I’d have regretted it far more if I didn’t than I will for deciding to reach out to you after four years. You were a daughter to me, and I don’t care if that phrase is overused, it’s true. You and Jess made me so very happy, and seeing the two of you together always left a smile on my face. You were absurd, you were funny, you were ridiculous, and just plain fun, and I miss you both.