Chapter 4
What are you hiding?
Hunter
Ican't tell if she notices me or feels the weight of my gaze on her every movement.
Yet, the unknown is part of the exhilarating thrill of watching Scarlett the way I do.
From the moment I stepped into her office on that day—still an inmate awaiting release—I found myself completely captivated by her, and that fascination has escalated into a mild obsession.
She’s young, about fifteen years my junior, but she has endured more than most could bear—and that only intensifies my infatuation for her. Her allure is undeniable, drawing me in more with every moment I spend in her presence.
Her long, wavy black hair, interspersed with vibrant red streaks, glimmers under the soft glow of moonlight.
Scarlett’s deep brown eyes are wide, radiating a blend of love and fear.
She exudes a formidable strength and confidence, yet when she’s alone, a fragile vulnerability surfaces—an innocent, scared girl I ache to comfort and heal.
Does it bother me that she sleeps with some of her patients? Not at all. I was the first, which means she belongs to me and always will. She may not realize it yet, but I know we’re destined to create our own history, one body at a time.
I’m straddling my bike, key in the ignition but the engine silent, as I watch her office from across the street in the strip mall parking lot, patiently waiting for her to walk out.
As I peer into the window, I see her with Jax—of all people—engaged in some rather risqué business.
But the expression on her face, with him slumped over her while she's bent over her desk, reveals her dissatisfaction, and that thought brings a smile beneath my helmet.
Before long, Scarlett steps out of the building, her skirt hugging her curves with each stride.
The autumn breeze catches her hair and flows it behind her, revealing a delicate look on her face—accentuated by a faint smile that has become so rare lately.
When she gets into her car and drives away, I rev my bike and follow her, maintaining a careful distance of three to four car lengths to ensure she doesn’t catch a glimpse of me.
My fingers grip the handlebars tightly, turning my knuckles white, and I only realize the intensity of my hold when Scarlett unexpectedly takes an alternate route home. My heart races as she veers further south, and I can’t help but wonder where she’s headed.
“Where are you going, Doc? What are you up to?” I murmur, the soft strains of I Prevail playing through my headphones as I strive to keep pace without revealing my presence.
When I see the signs for Old Colony Correctional Center, a rush of memories floods back—memories of all I endured to survive in prison—forcing me to wrestle with my composure as I near the highway.
I almost have to pull my bike over; it's that fucking bad.
But I manage to steady myself by focusing on thoughts of Scarlett, pushing away the horrors that have haunted me for the last two decades.
Remaining in the parking lot, I watch as Scarlett enters the prison, unwilling to get any closer to that painful chapter in my life than I already am.
Just being here feels overwhelmingly close, yet I find comfort in music and videos of Scarlett while she is inside, doing whatever it is she does.
I’ll uncover the fucking truth. I always do.
I thought I knew everything about her—at least, I thought I did.
But as I sit in the dim light of the parking lot, the weight of the prison looming in front of me, I can’t shake off the feeling that there’s so much more to her story than she’s let on.
The facade she projects in her professional life doesn’t mirror the girl I’ve come to know, whether through stolen glances or whispered conversations in the cramped confines of that office.
I want to peel back those layers—every scar, every secret—and expose the raw essence of who she truly is.
The sun begins to dip below the horizon, casting a muted orange glow against the outside prison walls, and I’m struck by the irony of it all.
Here I am, an ex-inmate, parked in front of the very place that enforced a cage around my body and haunted my dreams, while she, the beacon of hope in my dreary existence, walks directly into it.
I remind myself that this isn’t a cage for her.
It’s a part of her mission: a chance to help, to heal.
I want to believe that she carries more than just the burdens of her patients—like a heavy backpack stuffed with unresolved trauma of her own.
I decided to kill time by scrolling through the videos I’ve saved of her.
They fill my mind with an addictive euphoria, each framed moment of her laughter like a soothing balm to my wounded spirit.
But then I notice something: her smile in these clips is tinged with something darker, a shadow that crosses her features when she thinks no one is watching.
I've seen that look before, and it stirs something deep within me—a primal urge to shield her from whatever struggles plague her soul.
I start my bike and make my way to the side entrance of the prison, my heart pounding in sync with the rumbling engine.
It’s a reckless move, I know, but nothing about my feelings for Scarlett has ever felt rational.
I need to see her, even if just for a minute—a heartbeat—so I can better understand what it is I’m fighting against for her.
I slow my pace as I approach the entrance, breaths quickening.
There’s a security guard casually leaning against the wall, eyes half-lidded and bored.
I hold my breath, hoping he doesn’t catch on to my intent.
Just as I think I’m about to successfully slide past him, Scarlett emerges, her brow furrowed and expression troubled.
“Scarlett!” I called impulsively, my voice echoing against the concrete.
She whipped around, surprise flickering across her face, and for a split second, I think I saw fear touch her eyes before it was quickly masked by professionalism.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, tension lacing her words. I could feel the weight of her gaze searching for answers I haven't given yet. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Just wanted to see you,” I replied, taking a cautious step closer, needing to breach the distance between us.
Her eyes softened just slightly, but there was resistance there—a wall she’s built, one that I’m determined to break down. “It’s not safe for you or for me. You need to leave.”
“Safe?” I echoed incredulously. “And what about you? You’re walking into this place every day, taking on burdens that aren't yours. It isn’t fair.” I step a little closer, the air thickening with tension, each moment stretching into eternity.
She glances back toward the entrance, assessing the potential threat of being seen, then back at me, entreating me with those deep brown eyes. “I can’t talk here. You don't understand.”
“Then help me understand, Scarlett,” I urged, my voice dropping to a low murmur. “What are you hiding?”
Her shoulders slumped ever so slightly, and I can see the fight leaving her. She hesitated for just a moment, and I could feel my pulse quickening. “Meet me tonight... at the church like we agreed on,” she finally said, her voice raw and vulnerable.
“Promise?” I asked, unable to mask the fervent hope swaying within me.
“Just go. And for the love of everything, don’t fucking follow me again,” she warns, anxiety threading through her tone.
I nod, knowing she’s right but unwilling to comply entirely. “I’ll be there.”
As she walked away, heartache and exhilaration sat heavy in my chest. I knew that this encounter would shift everything—our tentative connection, her guarded heart, and the secrets waiting just beneath her surface.
Tonight could be the night we carved out a path to the truth or sealed us both in darkness forever. But one thing was clear: I was all in.