hope you
can. Please don’t ignore this
letter, and please don’t throw me away just because I tell you things you don’t
always want to hear.
Some
people call that being a good friend. Some people might say that such a friend is worth more than all the gold
in the world. Maybe that person is
worth more than even being treated just as a friend—maybe that type of
person is the one you’re meant to be with forever and ever.
Regardless,
I will never stop believing in you.
With
Love,
Blake
The first thing that struck her was that
Blake had used Easton’s full name, spelling it correctly. Previously, he’d been unable to even
pronounce Easton’s name without screwing it up, and she’d never told Blake
Easton’s last name.
Her stomach was in knots, as she realized
that there was only one reasonable explanation for the change, which was that
Blake must have done some research and found out who Easton was.
Why
did you tell him all of that? Why
did you tell him your damn life story, Kennedy? He knows more about you then anybody
else in the world, and he’s obviously a few sandwiches short of a picnic.
She put her hand to her forehead and
closed her eyes.
Now what was she supposed to do?
She had half a mind to go and bang on his
door until he opened it, and then give him hell. How dare he continue to harass her like
this? How dare he sit in judgment,
giving opinions on how she chose to live her life?
But she didn’t do it. Instead, she took a few deep breaths and
calmed down just a fraction. The
recipe for Blake was purely to ignore him.
Ignore
him until he moves on, goes away. Eventually he’ll have to get the hint.
But would he? Would he get the hint? She
wondered. Because so far, Blake
seemed completely impervious to the clear messages she’d been sending him,
messages that should have shown a reasonable man that she wasn’t interested.
Kennedy started to crumble the letter
into a ball, ready to toss it in the trash and to try and forget she’d ever
read it. Then she realized that she
might need it some day.
Need
it for what?
Evidence
of harassment.
Oh,
no. Please don’t let him be one of
those guys. Please.
But the more she thought about it, the
more convinced Kennedy became that Blake was trouble, and that she needed to
tread cautiously.
You
don’t know him at all. You know
nothing about him, other than he thinks he’s in love with you and believes he
knows how you should live your life.
Sure,
he’s a little nuts—but not violent. Not that crazy.
Still, I’ll save the letter, she
thought. Just in case.
She took it, folded it, put it back in
the envelope, and slipped the envelope into a drawer in the kitchen, hoping
she’d never have cause to look at it again.
***
The next day, Kennedy drove her car to go
shopping for clothes for her “date” with Easton. She’d slept decently, despite the fact
that Blake had written her that disturbing letter and Easton had given her a
problem to solve without enough information to truly come up with any
satisfying answer.
In fact, she didn’t know what it meant
that he’d made a reservation at the swanky hotel and asked her to meet him
there.
Of
course you know what it means, don’t be ridiculous , she told herself as she drove to Lower
Manhattan to do her shopping.
But she didn’t really know. Was this to be the test he’d mentioned
to her the other night? He’d said
that soon it would be her turn to show him what she could do for him.
At the same time, Kennedy didn’t really know
what that meant. Did he mean
sexually, emotionally, reading his mind—what?
Of
course he means sexually. There’s
no other way to take any of this. He invited you to a hotel room, so he wants to have sex.
Kennedy found a parking spot and got out
of the car, not even really noticing the traffic on the street, the people
bustling, the sounds and smells of
can. Please don’t ignore this
letter, and please don’t throw me away just because I tell you things you don’t
always want to hear.
Some
people call that being a good friend. Some people might say that such a friend is worth more than all the gold
in the world. Maybe that person is
worth more than even being treated just as a friend—maybe that type of
person is the one you’re meant to be with forever and ever.
Regardless,
I will never stop believing in you.
With
Love,
Blake
The first thing that struck her was that
Blake had used Easton’s full name, spelling it correctly. Previously, he’d been unable to even
pronounce Easton’s name without screwing it up, and she’d never told Blake
Easton’s last name.
Her stomach was in knots, as she realized
that there was only one reasonable explanation for the change, which was that
Blake must have done some research and found out who Easton was.
Why
did you tell him all of that? Why
did you tell him your damn life story, Kennedy? He knows more about you then anybody
else in the world, and he’s obviously a few sandwiches short of a picnic.
She put her hand to her forehead and
closed her eyes.
Now what was she supposed to do?
She had half a mind to go and bang on his
door until he opened it, and then give him hell. How dare he continue to harass her like
this? How dare he sit in judgment,
giving opinions on how she chose to live her life?
But she didn’t do it. Instead, she took a few deep breaths and
calmed down just a fraction. The
recipe for Blake was purely to ignore him.
Ignore
him until he moves on, goes away. Eventually he’ll have to get the hint.
But would he? Would he get the hint? She
wondered. Because so far, Blake
seemed completely impervious to the clear messages she’d been sending him,
messages that should have shown a reasonable man that she wasn’t interested.
Kennedy started to crumble the letter
into a ball, ready to toss it in the trash and to try and forget she’d ever
read it. Then she realized that she
might need it some day.
Need
it for what?
Evidence
of harassment.
Oh,
no. Please don’t let him be one of
those guys. Please.
But the more she thought about it, the
more convinced Kennedy became that Blake was trouble, and that she needed to
tread cautiously.
You
don’t know him at all. You know
nothing about him, other than he thinks he’s in love with you and believes he
knows how you should live your life.
Sure,
he’s a little nuts—but not violent. Not that crazy.
Still, I’ll save the letter, she
thought. Just in case.
She took it, folded it, put it back in
the envelope, and slipped the envelope into a drawer in the kitchen, hoping
she’d never have cause to look at it again.
***
The next day, Kennedy drove her car to go
shopping for clothes for her “date” with Easton. She’d slept decently, despite the fact
that Blake had written her that disturbing letter and Easton had given her a
problem to solve without enough information to truly come up with any
satisfying answer.
In fact, she didn’t know what it meant
that he’d made a reservation at the swanky hotel and asked her to meet him
there.
Of
course you know what it means, don’t be ridiculous , she told herself as she drove to Lower
Manhattan to do her shopping.
But she didn’t really know. Was this to be the test he’d mentioned
to her the other night? He’d said
that soon it would be her turn to show him what she could do for him.
At the same time, Kennedy didn’t really know
what that meant. Did he mean
sexually, emotionally, reading his mind—what?
Of
course he means sexually. There’s
no other way to take any of this. He invited you to a hotel room, so he wants to have sex.
Kennedy found a parking spot and got out
of the car, not even really noticing the traffic on the street, the people
bustling, the sounds and smells of
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