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"Bull," Sam said, sipping his wine. "You've lost like twenty pounds at least. That's a lot of friggen weight, Han. Look, I don't know what has been going on and I am not going to pry, but I know you. I know something is really wrong. And whatever it is has been making you sick. And you're running away from it," he reached out suddenly, his wide, rough and calloused palm rested on her forearm. "But whatever it is, you're free from it here so relax. Eat. Ease up on the coffee. Get some rest. Those bags are impressive."
Hannah smiled. "Maybe I'm just getting ugly. Geez," she laughed.
"You'll always be gorgeous. Now eat."
And she did. Two helpings worth and then she dove into the ice cream that he claimed was homemade. She decided to not allow herself to realize that that must mean it was made with goat milk, because that was never a type of food she could get into. But the rich, real vanilla mixed with dark, sweet raspberries was too good to pass up on.
Sam lounged in his chair, watching her with a smile. "Now that's the Hannah I remember. So any plans while you stay here? Do you ever plan on heading into town?"
Hannah stared into her almost empty bowl, all creamy whiteness with tiny dark spots and swirls of a pinkish purple. She had left the note informing EM that she wouldn't be returning for two weeks. Was she even planning of staying in Stars Landing the entire time? She wasn't sure. If she stayed two weeks, there was almost no way she could avoid going into town... and talking to her parents.
In all honesty, she just hadn't thought it out at all. What was running away for two weeks going to do anyway? When she went back, the same problems were going to be waiting for her. Ricky's cage would be right where she had left it, empty, on the kitchen counter. A sick, lead feeling settled in her stomach at that thought. What would anyone even want with an aging guinea pig? Were they just going to kill him? Or keep him as a pet of their own; some sick psychopathic person holding onto a stolen pet trophy of terror they inflicted.
Hannah rubbed absently at the tension building at the base of her neck. No, she couldn't just camp out in Sam's sister's bedroom and then go back to her life as if nothing had happened. She could feel her skin crawl at the idea of stepping foot into her apartment.
Maybe she could move. She had a decent amount of money stashed away already in just a few months. It would certainly be enough to use as first month rent and security deposit. She could be more cautious about giving out her new address. Take roundabout ways back to her apartment so she wouldn't as easily be found. Find a place with a twenty-four hour doorman. Buy a security system.
"Earth to Hannah," Sam's voice broke into her reverie.
She looked up at his one raised eyebrow, the slight quirk of his lips. Always amused, always patient Sam. "Sorry. I drifted off for a minute. I honestly don't know. I didn't think it out fully. I'll let you know when I have made up my mind about how long I'm going to infringe on your hospitality. And if I'm gonna let anyone know I'm here."
"Alright," Sam said, standing and collecting their bowls and glasses.
"I'm sorry," Hannah said, walking toward the hallway. "I just need a good night sleep to get my head together I guess."
Sam shook his head. "Don't apologize. You're welcome as long as you need to be here."
"Thanks, Sam," Hannah said, feeling her heart tighten a bit. He was really one of the best men she had ever met.
Back up in her temporary bedroom, Hannah slipped into an old oversize t-shirt she was planning on using as a nightdress, despite it barely coming down mid-thigh. No one was going to see her. She slept better when her legs weren't all tangled and restricted in pants. She felt a moment of insecurity. What if she needed to go to the bathroom and ran into Sam? But she pushed the idea aside with an eye roll. This was Sam. Someone who had seen her in every state of dress from formal prom dress to bathing suits to huge ugly sweatpants. Hell, he had seen her naked for goodness sakes.
She lay down on the bedspread, curling up under the covers on her side like a sleeping child. Like she always did when she was stressed. Despite the many miles between her and the hate mail and the threats, despite the incredibly comfortable mattress and the quiet, despite the safety of having a man around... she couldn't get her restless mind or body to settle. She tossed and turned as the sky outside her window deepened from the navy blue of evening to the pitch black of night.
Despite herself, her mind wandered toward thoughts of EM. He had to have received her note by then. Was he furious? Confused? Completely disinterested? She tried to convince herself that she cared only because she wanted her job when she returned, but she knew she was only trying to lie to herself. And not very well. There was a part of her that wanted to know if he was thinking about her because she hoped she was on his busy mind. She hoped she was more than a convenient choice. She hoped she might have actually been more than a body to have sex with.
It shouldn't have mattered. But it did.
Sex changes. Her mother had always told her just that. "Sex changes."
As a teenager, she had always figured it meant that as you grew and your relationships evolved, so does the idea and desire for sex. She made it known that once you're married, and once you have children, sex was not as pressing a concern as when you are a hormone-riddled teen. But laying awake in bed, Hannah realized her mother meant it in a different way. Sex changes... everything. Even the women she knew like her friend Emily who had a healthy, great sex life were aware in rare, quiet moments that no amount of modern thought could change the truth. Once sex was part of the equation, the problem became a lot more complicated.
If she were being completely, stripped to the bone honest... she wanted Elliott. She wanted him. In her bed. In her house. Going out to eat with her. Seeing crappy movies. Hosting his ludicrous business parties and then curling up on the couch afterward, shoes scattered across the floor, and talking about the guests and their ridiculousness and then falling into bed and having sweet, passionate sex.
She wanted him in ways that were not possible. That would never be possible.
As she finally felt sleep clouding the chaotic musings of her mind, she admitted that she hadn't been prepared for a man like Elliott Michaels. She had no defenses in place.
And, lastly, mom was right. Sex changes.
–
She woke up with a start, sitting up immediately, the kind of waking that happens when you lay down for a short nap and end up waking up six hours later not knowing what time, day, month, or year you are in. The sun was beaming mercilessly in the windows, making her squint and make a mental note to close the blinds when she went to bed next time.
She glanced at the pretty wrought-iron clock on the wall next to the door, a thin, intricate pattern of weeds and birds, and realized it was so late in the morning that it was almost afternoon. As soon as she stepped into the hallway, deliriously unaware of her bed-tangled hair and puffy eyes, she smelled the intoxicating scent of brewing coffee.
Stepping off the bottom stair, she thought she could hear voices but figured it was simply Sam on the phone or a radio or TV playing. Her right foot touched down on the impossibly cool kitchen tile and she froze.
Sam wasn't on the phone. There was no radio or television. There in the middle of Sam's kitchen was a woman. Hannah felt a stab of possessiveness that she pushed down immediately. Sam hadn't been hers in years.
