Strapped (18 page)

“You’re telling me! You said you were going over to Taylor’s, so I take it that you two are not done?”

“No...he came over on Friday night and told me he missed me.”

“That is so romantic! You beyotch! He is rich, gorgeous and sensitive?” She doesn’t know his secrets; then again, neither do I. “How is Rick doing since you two broke up? Have you spoken to him?” I hear a text alert while I am on the phone.

“Things were fine, but then I ran into him today...long story...he didn’t seem so fine anymore. Okay, I have to run, but we’ll meet up whenever you are available. I have no job right now as you know, so I am free as a bird.”

“Yes! I will give you some times so we can meet up. Love ya!”

“Love you too.” I check on the text.

Taylor:

So are you going to keep me waiting here?

Shyla:

I wasn’t joking about my mom. I’ll call Harrison.

Taylor:

He’s already there.

I look out the window and see the Bentley. I grab my stuff and run out to meet Harrison, feeling bad that I have kept him waiting. When I arrive at the house Taylor is sitting in the great room, newspaper in hand, wearing a pair of charcoal lounge pants and a white tank.

“I ordered some Italian for us. Come over here.” He pulls me onto the couch next to him.

“You know, I don’t think I have ever selected my own meal with you.”

“You don’t like that?”

“Well, I guess I don’t mind for now since you have good taste. I just wonder why is all.”

“I don’t know...I just want to take care of you. I guess I am used to dictating everything around me” I can hear his words are lost in a thought, so I let the topic go for now. I lay my head in his lap, taking in his appealing face. He twirls tendrils of my hair in his hands as we laugh and reminisce about the racetrack. He confesses to having about four or five coronaries while I was driving. This is heaven. We dine on wine and Italian food and we go to bed, my heart, tummy and soul feeling completely sated.

***

I can’t breathe. The pressure around my neck is so intense that no matter how hard I try to gasp, no air travels to my lungs. I try to scream, but I hear only faint gargling sounds escape my throat. The room is so dark, I cannot make out the figure on top of me. I reach out to slap, scratch, punch, do anything to get just an ounce of air. My hands graze the top of his head, and I feel his hair; suddenly my senses become hyperaware. I’ve felt that silky texture before. His smell. I know that smell. I love that smell. I start to feel lightheaded and do the only thing I can out of desperation, I grab a handful of hair and pull with every bit of strength I have left. Taylor’s body gets pulled off center, and his grip around my neck slowly eases. I shoot up and desperately wheeze on all fours, coughing as I try to take in as much oxygen as possible. I crawl over to the lamp on the nightstand and pull on its chain.

The dim light casts shadows on Taylor as I watch him on his knees, his eyes narrowing as he comes to. He looks at me as if he hadn’t seen me there before; slowly he looks at each of his hands, trying to make sense of the situation.

“Taylor?” I choke out his name, my voice throaty and still out of breath.

His eyes widen as he registers what just happened. He makes a sudden motion towards me and I jump back.

“No, no, no...” he whispers, his hands out in front of him as if he is trying to coax a scared animal. “It’s okay...it’s okay...” We both pant heavily in the stillness of the night. “I’m not gonna hurt you, okay?” He keeps his volume low and his tone very slow.

I nod, my face covered in tears. I don’t know if they are from fear or a physical reaction to being choked. My body trembles uncontrollably.

“Listen. Look at me. I thought you were someone else.” He moves forward just an inch with his hands still up. “Shyla, I was dreaming and I thought you were someone else. Do you understand?”

I nod, still shaking, still panting.

“Can I come over to you?”

I don’t respond. I know he was dreaming; I could tell from the look in his eyes when I turned on the lamp, but I am still in shock. I try to steady my breathing, get some control over my panic, but each inhalation is shallow and choppy.

“I am so sorry Shy. I am so sorry. Please, let me come over to you. I promise I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to explain” His eyes convey a level of compassion I have never seen in him.

“O...okay.”

He crawls over to me carefully, so as not to trigger me to flinch. Once he is close enough, he reaches out one hand, very slowly, and I watch it intently, still feeling a little distrustful. He pushes my hair out of my face; strands of hair are stuck to my tears. Then he moves just slightly faster as he comes even closer. He rakes his fingers into my hair and sits beside me, and then he pulls my head to his chest, cradling me. “It’s okay,” he assures me. “I’m sorry,” he whispers into my ear. “Please forgive me. I didn’t know it was you.” His physical tenderness is entirely new to me. Ever since he came to my apartment, I could sense him struggling with how to use physical touch in a non-sexual manner.

I lay on his chest in silence, using the rhythm of its rise and fall to help sooth my jagged breathing. After minutes, we sit there in silence, breathing in unison.

“Taylor, what happened? You could have killed me.”

“I don’t know. I had a dream and I thought you were someone else.”

“What was it about?”

“I can’t remember.”

“Has this happened before?”

“When I was a kid, occasionally it would happen. I couldn’t go to sleepovers because of it. But as an adult, I don’t sleep with other people, even women. Not specifically because of this, but because I don’t like people in my space. They usually leave or sleep in another room. I thought it might have gone away by now or that it wouldn’t happen because you make me feel relaxed. I am so sorry.”

“You scared me. Does this mean we can’t sleep in the same bed?”

“I don’t know. I have some medication that I can take before bed that sedates me.”

“Why do you have these dreams? Are they about something?”

“I don’t know.” He guides my chin up to look at him. “Listen. I feel terrible. I would never want to hurt you, you have to understand. That was not me.”

“I know. I could tell you weren’t present. Your eyes...they were vacant.”

“Can I kiss you?”

I nod.

At first his kisses are soft, along my temple and cheek, but when I turn to meet his lips they get intense. He frantically runs his hands through my hair and kisses me all over my face and neck as his body lies on top of mine. His breathing is again heavy and fast. His approach feels frantic and I know this is for him more than it is for me. I think he knows more about these dreams then he is letting on. He is panicked, as if he is trying to rid himself of something. He pulls off my panties and I feel him reach down to pull himself out of his shorts. He slides into me, I moan, this is happening so fast, my body is not ready for it and feels especially tight. Once he is inside of me I begin to loosen up, and he slides effortlessly in and out. I wrap my arms around him, holding him close. His presence is so silent, so haunting. Finally he breaks his silence:

“Shy.”

“What is it?” I say, taking his hands into my face, looking into his jade eyes.

“Please don’t ever leave me.” I run my hands through his hair.

“I am not going anywhere.” He seems so small, so scared.

“Do you trust me?” His voice still has a trace of desperation. Do I? My mind races through all the things he hasn’t told me, all the secrets he has kept.

“Yes.” My voice is breathy because of his weight on top of me. He needs to hear this. He continues to thrust in and out, his mouth just by my ear where I can hear and feel every breath. My moans become more consistent and louder, and I begin to tighten around him, gripping him close to me.

“Trust me Shy.” He takes his hand and covers my mouth and nose firmly. My instinct is to push him off, but he continues to thrust and he is too strong for me to move him. “Shy, this time it’s different. I want to make you feel things you never imagined you could feel. Just trust me, I won’t hurt you.” I stop resisting him, and allow myself to just let go. I try to suck in air, but the seal he has created with his hand is too tight. He keeps his hand over my mouth and nose, I hear my muffled gasps, but I am outside of myself. The feeling of him inside me becomes so intense, so explosive, so amplified. I clutch his body close to mine, my nails digging into his back as he grunts my name, releasing into me. He uncovers my mouth as I gasp for air, my body still tingling from the aftereffects.

He lays his head on my bare chest as I run my hands through his hair. I break the silence.

“Taylor, please tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing is wrong.”

“That was something. I think you do remember what you were dreaming about.”

He pauses and as usual changes the subject back to me. “Tell me about your father.” He runs his finger along the inside of my right leg, which is bent, my knee pointed to the ceiling. I answer, hoping that by opening up to him, he will do the same with me.

“There’s not much to tell. He and my mom married, had me, and then he got into drugs, left my mom, and died.”

“How old were you?”

“Four.”

“Do you remember him?”

“Not really. I do know he is the only other person that I ever let call me Shy. I do remember him calling me that.” Taylor looks up at me, resting his chin on my chest and kisses the space between my breasts.

“Tell me about your father.” I say, flipping the script on him. He sighs.

“He’s not perfect, but he’s a good man. He taught me everything I know.” As usual, he keeps it short.

“What are your nightmares about?”

“I don’t like to talk about it Shy.”

“Please, let me in.” He remains silent. “Taylor, I have let you practically suffocate me just a few minutes ago. I trust you, you have to trust me.”

“Shy, the goal was not suffocate you just then. I want to tell you. I do. But, I have never told anyone and I don’t know how to start.” I realize that in order for him to expose himself, I will have to do the same. Is he is afraid I will judge him and leave? He has to know that I am here for him unconditionally. I feel crazy for what I am about to say, but it is the truth, a truth I have been trying to avoid. I look him in the eyes, the glow of the lamp casts a shadow on his face. I brush back his wild hair.

“Taylor. I love you.” He stares into my eyes, not saying a word. I feel a pang of regret, maybe I said too much, too fast. He puts his head back down on my chest and runs a trail with his index finger down my torso, stomach and legs.

“Don’t say that.” He says, sounding choked, and while I can’t be certain, I believe I feel the moisture of his tears on my chest.

After a few minutes of silence, he sits up. “I should sleep somewhere else until I sort out the meds. It’s been a while since I’ve used them.”

As frightened as the incident made me, I don’t want him to go. Part of what makes me feel so special are the things he can do with only me, like sharing a bed, but I know we should sleep separately tonight.

“Okay,” I say sadly.

He kisses me on the forehead and then presses his against mine. “I’m so sorry.” He hands me the keys to the bedroom and tells me to lock the door behind him, just in case.

I nod and he slips out of the bedroom. Even though he is in the same house, his absence makes me feel so alone.

The next morning, I find Taylor asleep in the guest bedroom. This is the first time I have seen him sleep in, and I don’t want to wake him up, so I watch him. I assume this is a result of the medication he said he would try. He looks so peaceful, a different picture from the chaos that woke us up last night. My stomach knots a little, having confessed already that I love him and not hearing the same in return. I fear the power dynamic is for certain in his favor now, but I reassure myself, knowing that I too have seen him at his most vulnerable. There is still a secret he doesn’t know: Love doesn’t cover the breadth of feeling I have for him. To just say I love him oversimplifies the situation. He has me totally and completely, and this I must keep a secret.

I watch him shift around for a second and open his eyes. He looks up at me and I smile at him.

“What time is it?”

“It’s around ten I think.”

His eyes widen with disbelief. “You let me sleep this late?”

“I figured you needed it. Plus, I loved watching you. You’ve never looked so tranquil.” I wonder if I should bring last night up: the attack, the asphyxiation, me telling him I love him. Instead, I leave it all behind and will let him bring it up if he decides.

Taylor pops up. “It’s the meds, they’re strong. Let’s have a lazy Sunday morning. I haven’t had one of those in a long time. First though, I would like to take you into the shower upstairs.”

I remember just weeks ago being alone in that bathroom, wondering about who has been with him in that shower. It feels so unreal that it will be me in there with him now. He goes into his closet and throws a T-shirt at me. It brings to mind the mysterious room in the back of the closet. I can’t help myself.

“What’s behind that door in your closet?” I ask nonchalantly. The fuss of him opening drawers in the closet ceases immediately. I imagine him rolling his eyes in exasperation.

After a pause, he responds. “I don’t think you are ready to know.”

“Shouldn’t I be the judge of that?”

Finally, he walks out in a huff. “Am I going to have to deal with this every day? You interrogating me?” I cannot believe he has the nerve to get snippy with me. This morning is not going to turn out as promising as I once thought.

“You know what? Yes, you are. You asked me to trust you last night and I did. Multiple times! I told you about my father. I even told you...” I am afraid to repeat the words to him. “Yet, you can’t share one thing with me. Not one! I must be the biggest idiot in the world. I am sleeping with someone who just takes and takes and doesn’t give anything back!”

“Take? What more can I give? I take care of you, I get you anything you need. Whatever you want, it’s yours!” It hits me like a dagger to the heart. He doesn’t even understand what I am talking about. He doesn’t even understand how to love. He thinks that sex and money equal love. I will have to show him. I have to teach this 32-year-old man how to love.