The Debt

by Tyler King

  “Josh,” she whimpered. Hadley’s pace increased. She dropped down on my dick with greater force, impaling herself in earnest.

  “What do you need?”

  “You,” she panted.

  I sat up just enough to wrap my arm around her waist and pull her backward to rest against my chest.

  “Bend your knees,” I instructed. “Spread your legs.”

  I draped my right arm over her abdomen, my other across her chest to grip her shoulder.

  “Anything,” I whispered against her ear, licking at her neck. “Everything I am, Hadley.”

  I thrust up, filling her in one strong motion. She moaned, writhing. Her hands fumbled to find somewhere to go, eventually coming up above our heads to grab the edge of the armrest. My hand over her stomach moved lower, rubbing her clit as her deep moans turned to desperate cries.

  Feeling her muscles pulse around me, I pinched her clit as I thrust deep and held there, embedded. She tensed, her body seized by spasms, and my name pouring from her lips. Hadley jerked in my arms. I clutched her tighter while her cunt milked me.

  “I’m coming,” I mumbled, bracing myself for the pleasure and the terrible side effects.

  My face buried in her hair, I clenched my eyes shut and held my breath against the visions that assaulted me. Still pumping in short strokes, my body disconnected from my mind, I spilled inside her while trying to force the sickness away.

  I still flinched when her hands came up to cradle my face. Too warm and freezing at once, I wanted to crawl out of my own skin and into hers. I wanted to throw up. Really needed to. I swallowed over and over again in an attempt to stay the reflex. No matter what else happened, I wouldn’t destroy Hadley and the gift she gave me by letting her see me empty my stomach every time we made love. That was too much to ask her to endure.

  Chapter 24

  I woke in Hadley’s bed, the room dark, with that strange uncertainty if it had been a dream or reality that jolted me from sleep. Reaching over, my hand fell to an empty pillow. Her side of the bed was cold. I rubbed my eyes, looking toward the bathroom. Not there.

  Sliding out of bed, I grabbed my boxers from the floor and slipped them on before walking out. Just as my foot hit the first step on the staircase, I heard the shattering sound of glass breaking on the hardwood floor.

  On instinct, I darted into my room, pulled out the lockbox from my nightstand, and pushed the loaded clip into my Beretta. Hugging the wall, I descended the stairs. Streams of white poured into the foyer from the security lights at the front of the house, the backside likewise illuminated by floodlights.

  In front of the sliding glass doors that led to the back porch, I found Hadley dressed in my sweatshirt, sitting in a constellation of broken glass and rocking back and forth. I clicked the safety on and lowered my gun, hiding it behind my back.

  “Hadley?” I approached her from the landing at the base of the stairs, taking several tentative strides to reach her. “What’s wrong?” I stopped, backing up to slide on a pair of shoes and grab her sandals from the foyer. “Punky? It’s me.”

  She didn’t acknowledge me, staring out the window into the yard. Close enough now, I recognized the blue shards of a vase that had once sat on the end table by the couch. Not a single knickknack of my mother’s had ever been moved or rearranged in the house since her death. I forced myself not to react to the broken memento.

  “Sweetheart.”

  When my shoe crunched on the glass, Hadley’s head jerked up. I placed my hand on her shoulder and she tensed, flinching away.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I did it wrong,” she replied in a tired voice. “I can’t fix it. I can’t finish and I can’t go back.” In a sudden fit, her fist launched at the wall. She didn’t react to the pain, sitting otherwise motionless.

  That explained the vase.

  “I’m stuck.”

  “How long have you been sitting here?” I crouched down, rubbing one hand up and down her arm.

  “I don’t know.” Her voice broke. “I can’t fix it.”

  “Let me help.”

  I set the gun down to wrap my arms around her. The second it hit the floor, Hadley’s attention snapped to the object. She jerked away.

  “It’s okay. It’s okay,” I insisted as she tried to get away. I slid the gun across the floor until it disappeared into the kitchen. “You’re safe, Hadley.” I shifted to meet her eyes, holding her face between my hands. “Do you understand? You’re safe. I watched you, like I always watch. You know I wouldn’t let you miss anything, right? All the doors are locked, the windows tight, and the alarm is set. It’s just us, sweetheart. I promise.”

  “I have to check the rest of the locks,” she insisted in a panicked voice, “but I can’t move. Something’s wrong with this one. I can’t—something’s different.”

  “What is it?”

  “I don’t know!” she shouted. The sudden outburst cut through the room and echoed off the walls of the empty house. “I don’t know why this lock feels different. I don’t know why it woke me up. I don’t know why I have to sit here and stare at it but can’t just check it and move on. I don’t fucking know!”

  “It’s okay, Hadley. I’ll help. We’ll start again. I’ll stay with you the whole time, okay?”

  “No,” she snapped. “This one is different. I can’t— You don’t understand. I know what every lock in this house sounds like, feels like when it clicks. This one,” she enunciated, pointing with one rigid finger at the sliding glass door, “is not the same.”

  “I believe you,” I answered. “Tell me what to do to fix it.”

  “I. Don’t. Know!”

  She aimed for the wall again, but this time I caught her wrist to stop her. One broken hand in this house was enough.

  At a loss for better options, I took a deep breath and prepared myself for war. Giving her no chance to fight me off, I hoisted Hadley into my arms. She struggled, kicking and yelling at me to put her down. She fought me, but I suffered through it until I got up the stairs and dumped her on her bed. She ran for the door. I forced her out of the way to lock it, throwing all my weight up against it to keep her there.

  “What are you doing?” she yelled.

  “I needed my phone and I wasn’t going to leave you alone.”

  We stood inches apart. Her chest heaved with frantic breaths. I knew I was torturing her, but it couldn’t be helped.

  “Hand me the phone,” I said.

  “Get it yourself.”

  “Damn it, Hadley. Fucking give me the damn phone. I’m not letting you out this door.”

  She growled, huffed, stomped, and then chucked my phone at my head. I caught it in my right hand and winced at the pain. She had quite an arm on her. Scrolling down my contact list, I made the call. It rang five times.

  “Dude, what the hell?”

  It was 4:00 a.m. after a gig. Corey was not pleased to hear from me.

  “I need your help. Are you sober?”

  He’d left the bar earlier than the rest of us, so I had hope.

  “Yeah,” he answered. He coughed over the sound of sheets rustling. “What’s up?”

  “I need a new lock for the sliding glass door. Can you go to Walmart and bring it over? I’ll pay you back.”

  “What happened? Where are you?”

  “Home. I’d go myself but I can’t leave Hadley here and I can’t take her out. We’re fine, but this needs to be done now.”

  “Yeah, okay. Whatever you need. I’ll see you in like an hour and a half.”

  “Thank you,” I answered with relief. “I owe you big.”

  “No, you don’t.” He hung up.

  Hadley sat silent on her bed, legs curled up to her chest.

  “Will this make it better? You can watch us install it and test it out and everything. Is this is okay?”

  Out of an abundance of caution, I texted Corey:

  Get every kind of lock they have.

  I looked back to Hadley, hopi
ng I hadn’t dragged him out of bed for no reason. She just stared at me.

  “Sweetheart.” I approached with caution. It was a real possibility that she’d slug me or kick me in the nuts. “I’ll stay right here and wait with you. I’ll do anything you want. But I’m not letting you go back down there to drive yourself crazy.”

  I waited, searching for any indication that I was doing something right or making a huge mistake.

  “Hadley?”

  “Play for me,” she whispered. “Anything. Just sit here and play for me.”

  “As you wish,” I answered with a wink. “Can I trust you if I grab my guitar from my room?”

  She nodded. Because I wasn’t convinced, I ran between rooms and back, closing the door behind me. Hadley sat against the headboard and pulled the covers over her legs. I sat facing her, one foot on the floor as I pulled the pick from the first fret and began to strum a guitar version of the first song I’d written for her. Hadley closed her eyes, her fists clenched in her lap so hard her knuckles turned white.

  * * *

  I had just slipped back into bed when Hadley stirred. Like a cat, she coiled up in a ball around me, then stretched the length of the bed. She looked up through red, tired eyes.

  “What time is it?”

  “A little after seven,” I answered. “You fell asleep and I didn’t want to wake you.” I brushed her hair back from her face, letting my fingers slide down her neck. “The new lock is on. The old one was rusted out. Some pin in the latching mechanism broke and lodged in there.”

  “It’s fine,” she mumbled. She lay her head down again, closing her eyes as her hand skimmed across my chest. “Thank you.”

  “Of course, sweetheart.” I brushed my fingers through her hair, content that the stress had passed.

  “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

  “Don’t make vague statements that scare the shit out of me this early in the morning.”

  “Sorry.” She draped her leg over my hip. Her fingers stroked down my abdomen and back again. “I don’t want to do my thing anymore. I don’t want you to let me do it.”

  That wasn’t a fuckload of responsibility or anything.

  “Okay.” I didn’t know what else to say.

  “I mean it,” Hadley insisted.

  “I believe you.”

  “You’re not going to say anything?”

  “What should I say?”

  “I think this is a pretty big deal. Don’t you want to ask why or…something?”

  “Why?”

  “Forget it,” she huffed. Hadley rolled over, turning away from me.

  Oh, fuck that.

  “Hey.” I grabbed her shoulder and forced her to look at me. “I’m right here. I’m listening. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

  Her expression softened, but not as much as I would have liked. She’d woken up in a bad mood.

  “I had to move out of Tom’s house to feed this thing,” she said. “I invaded your house and forced myself on Simon.”

  I was about to tell her she was an idiot for thinking any such thing, but her glare told me to hold my tongue.

  “You spent a fortune rigging this house like Guantanamo, and on top of that you spent years rearranging your whole life to fit my habits. I hated that. I hate it now. Depending on how much of a dick you were being that day,” she said with a smirk, “I hated it a little less.”

  That was fair.

  “But dragging Corey out of bed at four in the morning is seriously the last straw. I’m sick of myself, you know? I don’t want to be this way anymore.”

  “That all makes perfect sense to me,” I said. “But don’t spend a second worrying about Corey, my dad, and especially not me. Screw that noise. We love you. Four in the morning or two in the afternoon, it doesn’t fucking matter. If you’re serious about this, I’ll do whatever you need. I just want you to make this decision for you and not anyone else.”

  Hadley nodded, biting her lip while she seemed to contemplate that for a moment. “I’ve thought about it for a while. There was a chance I was going to move out.”

  I didn’t need the reminder.

  “I figured I’d just go cold turkey. Maybe it’d feel different in a new city.” She sighed, looking away. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Point is I want to quit.”

  “What do you need from me?” I wrapped my arm around her waist to pull her closer. “I can talk to my dad. He’ll help us find a therapist.”

  She shook her head. “No. I can’t do therapy. I don’t want pills and stupid breathing exercises or whatever else. That would just be substituting one crutch for another. I have to do this my way.”

  “Okay.”

  “Don’t let me,” she said. “No matter how bad it gets—I’m going to have shitty days—don’t let me cheat. Don’t let me beg or bargain and guilt you into backing off.”

  “Straight detox is it, then?”

  “Yep.”

  “Will you still love me if I have to tie you up and sit on you?”

  Hadley smiled, weaving one hand into my hair and scratching her nails over my scalp. “Will you still love me if I turn into a raging bitch?”

  “If?”

  She tugged my hair hard. Hadley rolled over me, straddling my hips. “You’ll pay for that one.”

  “Do your worst, sweetheart.” I grabbed her hips, pressing her down on my groin. “I’ll lie here and take it like a man.”

  “Damn right.”

  “Punky?” I took her face in my good hand, running my thumb over her cheek. “I love you. I’m proud of you. And no matter what happens, I’m always here.”

  “Fuck, MacKay. Go fish your balls out of my backpack, will ya?”

  “That’s my girl.”

  Chapter 25

  Session 8

  “Neither of us slept that night,” I informed Not-Doctor Reid. “She was anxious. We had to establish ground rules. Hadley wasn’t allowed to touch the locks. None. I would go through the house and check the doors. And she wasn’t allowed to follow me. But that night after I’d set the alarm and we were watching TV in bed, Hadley was agitated. She didn’t throw a fit or anything, but I saw that she was just shy of losing it. So we stayed awake. I played my guitar for her, we played cards—anything to keep her mind occupied.”

  “And the next morning?” she asked.

  “She waited outside in her car. We had to drive separately so I could meet with my attorney.” I smirked, stretching my legs out as I sat back on the sofa. “But you already know how that went.”

  Reid gave me a polite nod.

  She wore a blue button-up blouse and dark gray dress pants with a pair of black heels. It was a vast departure from her usual jeans and T-shirts. I didn’t spend a second thinking she’d dressed up for me.

  “You got a lunch date or something?” I asked.

  Her brow furrowed.

  “You look nice. What’s with the outfit?”

  “I’m presenting the first draft of my dissertation to my advisor.”

  “What’s it about?”

  “We’re getting off topic.” Reid woke up her iPad and crossed her legs.

  “I had just left the attorney’s office with word that Gregor wanted a payoff. I refused, of course. I walked into Dr. Richardson’s class and was promptly sent out to see the student disciplinary board. It was just a preliminary hearing. Since Gregor hadn’t filed charges, I was there for them to tell me I was on academic probation pending a formal hearing.”

  Once Gregor realized I wouldn’t part with a dime, he chose to leave well enough alone rather than risk my attorney dragging his name through the mud during a full trial. Above all, Gregor valued his professional reputation, and he didn’t want to find out what skeletons I could coax from his closet to parade for the press.

  “In the end, you were referred here. Why was counseling an absolute last resort for you?”

  “You dress like shit,” I told her. When she wasn’t all dolled up for her professor, at least. Lo
ose clothes that hid her figure and said to everyone, Don’t look, I’m ashamed of myself.

  Reid didn’t look up from her iPad.

  “How does someone with body issues decide to study sex?”

  She wouldn’t so much as glance my way.

  “Dressing like you usually do, you don’t present the image of someone qualified to tell me all the ways I’m going wrong.”

  “I’m sorry you find me offensive,” she replied as her eyes met mine.

  “No, you’re not.” I leaned back on the sofa. “You couldn’t give a fuck what I think of you. You’re the one in the leather chair and I’m over here. There is a power structure to this arrangement.”

  “So it’s my implied power that angers you?”

  “No. I’d have to fear the consequences to care about the outcome here. Because I don’t, you have no power.”

  Reid sighed, putting her iPad down. “Then why are we here, Josh?”

  “Am I wasting your time?” I smirked, tilting my head.

  “It’s your hour.” Reid countered with that bored look she must have practiced in a mirror because it was too damn effective. “I get credit either way.”

  “You clean up well. The outfit’s nice, but it’s all wrong on you. Like you’re dressing up, playing a part. You don’t know what the professional, powerful, polished Not-Doctor Reid looks like.”

  “Why do you call me that?” She uncrossed and recrossed her ankles as she sat up in her chair.

  “You tell me.”

  “Because it allows you to walk out of here after every session and dismiss our conversations, dismiss me, as total bullshit.”

  That was the first time she’d cursed while not quoting me. I liked it.

  “You assure yourself, seek to remind me, that I don’t really know you—no one does—and am therefore not to be taken seriously. We’re irrelevant, obsolete. You exert the absolute minimum effort and strive for nothing. You covet nothing. You have no goals, ambitions, or aspirations. You’re bored, Josh. And, frankly, you’re boring me with your narcissism.”