The Pursuit of Passion (Taylor & Adam)

by Liv Bennett

  Oh, god. Why did I fall in love with the one woman I can never have? What did I do to deserve such an excruciating pain?

  Suddenly, it is all too much to bear. Her shaking body, her tears, the pain in her face. I want to shed tears with her, share her pain, and sooth mine, too, as if it were remotely possible.

  How I wish to be able to let her go and find another woman who can mend my heart and make it beat again. Does such a woman exist? Even Pat, my first love, couldn’t make me forget about Taylor. Actually I’m at the point where I don’t care about falling in love again. I’d settle for a woman who could at least get her off my mind.

  I’d give everything for such a woman. Everything.

  “I think that’s enough for tonight,” Taylor says between her sobs, pulling me back to reality. The reality where not loving her is not an option, but loving her is a cross I have to carry along for the rest of my life. The reality where I can’t take my mind off of her even for a minute, let alone forgetting her completely.

  “Please, stay with me until the song ends. I need this,” I beg.

  She stares at me with those big, blue eyes glistening with tears and blinks her acceptance. I pull her close to me one last time, my eyes glued onto hers, lost in the impossible dream of one day, maybe… Who knows?

  Can I go on like this? Loving her while she swears a life-long commitment to a dead man?

  She looks as though she’ll collapse onto the floor any second. When the song ends, I walk her out to the restroom and then go back to the party. Fortunately, the dance floor is now full of people dancing and chattering the evening away. I don’t want to sit and deal with the colleagues, but I can handle one. So, I slowly step toward Valerie and hold my hand out to beckon her for a dance. She wipes off her mouth with her napkin and slides her hand into mine.

  It’s not the same with Valerie, although every time she’s around me she brings out her sweet side, rather than the usual cold treatment she gives to everyone else. Things would have been so much easier if I could love Valerie. She’s smart, witty, and pretty. Well, would be pretty if she tosses away those black specs and eases on the eye makeup.

  I don’t wrap my hand around her waist, just place it a little above her hip, and keep a clear distance between us.

  “Did she start crying?” Valerie asks, taking me off-guard.

  I nod apologetically.

  “Of course she did. I’ve got you under my skin was the opening song of her wedding reception. The first song she and Jack danced to as a married couple.”

  “Really?” I try to remember but I can’t. I was drunk for most of their wedding day, anyway. “How do you know? Were you at the wedding? I thought you and Taylor have known each other for only one and half years.

  “No, I wasn’t at her wedding. I’ve known her for two year and three months. She once showed me the video recordings of the ceremony. The two made an eye-catching couple, not to mention how deeply in love they looked.”

  I nod again, wondering where she’s heading at with this.

  “So, what’s your deal?” Valerie asks.

  “What do you mean?” She’s got me totally confused.

  “Do you love Taylor?”

  How dare she? I look at the couples dancing close to us to make sure they didn’t hear Valerie’s outrages question. “It’s none of your business.”

  “It wouldn’t be if you weren’t hurting her. She’s my friend. As much as I wish her to move on and get another man, your persistent advances are just pushing her back to where she was when she lost Jack. You don’t let her breathe. You’re around all the time, constantly demanding love and affection when she cannot even provide those feelings for herself.”

  With her lips pursed into a tight line and her scowl leveled at me, I can see how utterly she’s pissed off. Can she be right? Am I the reason why Taylor is still struggling? “I… I had no idea.”

  “You need to give her some space. You’ve been with her since the day after the funeral. It’s too much. Don’t you see you’re drowning her? She doesn’t need someone like you; a constant reminder of her dead husband. Why don’t you take a couple of months off from work? She’ll have room to breathe, and you’ll get an opportunity to think things through. You know what they say, ‘Out of sight out of mind.’”

  “I don’t know.” I wish she’d shown me the cold treatment rather than this irritating talk. I don’t want to go away and leave Taylor alone. Even if she may not love me back, she is my best friend’s wife. Well, she was. So, her well-being is my responsibility. I can’t just turn my back on her.

  “I’ll be here for her,” she adds as if she read my mind. “I had a sister who died in a traffic accident when she was seven. She’d be Taylor’s age had she lived. Since the day I met Taylor, I see her like my little sister. In spite of the turmoil she’s going through, she’s a very caring and understanding person. I truly want her to be happy, again. But, she can’t get there as long as you’re around. And, don’t worry about the company and the projects. Your help has been incredible, but the business is pretty standard from this point on.”

  At last the song finishes, and so does the torturous talk of Valerie. I thank her for the dance, without commenting on her absurd ideas, and walk her back to the table.

  So what, she knows Taylor for two years and three fucking months. I knew Jack for the majority of my life. I won’t leave his wife alone during the hardest times of her life.

  I snap up a glass of champagne and toss it back. I wasn’t going to drink more than a glass, but Valerie’s preaching didn’t leave me another option.

  Taylor appears at the door; her eyes and cheeks are blood red. She was even smiling before I asked her for dance. But now, it’s like Jack’s funeral all over again.

  Shit? Is Valerie right? Am I drowning Taylor? She paces in front of me, without looking up at me, and goes to her table. I watch her idly as she murmurs something to Valerie and picks up her purse and scarf. Fuck, no! Is she leaving so early? It’s because of the song. The song I’ve chosen for our first dance.

  Even a blind man can see it. I’m drowning her.

  She waves goodbye at Valerie and Bree and strides back toward the door. I want to go down on my knees and ask for forgiveness until I see her smile again. I’ll even promise to let her go if that’s what she needs to feel happy.

  I run after her through the hallway but she’s nowhere to be seen. I hurry toward the elevators, hoping to find her there, without success. I call the elevator and wait an entire minute for it to arrive. I step into it and press the button for the lobby, hoping to catch Taylor before she leaves. As soon as the doors slide open at the lobby, I dash toward the exit door, my eyes scanning around. Where has she gone?

  “Have you seen a red Hyundai leaving?” I ask the doorman.

  “Yes, Mrs. Edelman’s Hyundai. She’s just left.”

  “Crap.” I motion to the valet to bring my car. She must be going to her apartment. I have to apologize to her and let her know I won’t be bothering her anymore. I’ve been blaming her for not moving on, but I think it’s me who has to listen to my own advice and move on.

  CHAPTER 3 - TAYLOR

  I’m driving fast, and my eyes are blurred with tears. I can’t believe a song could bring me to tears in a room full of people, especially after my eyes have been tear-free for almost three long years. I should feel happy about it, finally shaking off the emotional numbness that was eating at me for so long. I was even worried that my eyes had permanently lost the function of producing tears after crying nonstop for one full month after Jack’s death.

  I should have left a note or something for Adam, I think to myself as I wipe my tears away and notice through the rearview mirror a green sedan driving a little too close to me. Adam must be dead worried, and I can’t even imagine Valerie’s attitude. I decide to text Bree as soon as I get home and floor the gas pedal. At least, the others will enjoy themselves without their crazy boss bitching around.

  I smile a
t the thought of anyone calling me bitch behind my back. Frightening maybe, freaky most likely, demanding surely, but a bitch? Bree reported to me more than a couple of times how happy and thrilled everyone is to be working at my company, even though I forbid employees chatting with each other or using Internet for anything besides work-related reasons and made it clear to them that I’d randomly check their browsing histories.

  The turnover rate is practically nonexistent, although the actual reason might be the global economical crisis. I pay fifteen percent higher salaries than the other companies, in addition to generous Christmas bonuses, gift cards from restaurants and department stores for the employees and their family members’ birthday celebrations. And, not to forget the annual vacation lottery at the end of January. I feel that particular lottery is a big influence for the more-experienced employees to stay. Every year I pay for an entire one-week vacation for two lucky winners and their families: A fully paid trip with business-class flight tickets and accommodation at five-star hotels, together with a generous amount of pocket money to spend at a location of their choice anytime during the year. Until now, I’ve had to pay for over fifteen persons’ vacations in Thailand, France, Barbados, Japan, and Australia.

  The most expensive trip was to Japan because the winner, Miranda from customer service, took her husband, along with five kids. Just the flight tickets cost around twenty-five grand. I was thanked more than a dozen times by her and her kids, both verbally and in hand-written letters. The letter from her seven-year-old girl describing the exotic foods they’d eaten and places they’d seen paralyzed me for an entire evening. If I’m still alive when she starts college, I’ll pay for her school tuition.

  More tears begin running down my cheeks as I remember that letter. I should be glad that at least the reason for my crying is not Jack. I wipe my tears away as I spot the La Brea exit on the highway, but can’t slide into the right lane on time, and miss the exit. Punching the steering wheel, I take the Crenshaw and notice the green sedan is right after me, taking the same exit.

  With a little bit of traffic, I make it to the parking lot of the residency where my condo is in twenty minutes. A yawning attack hits me, as I kill the engine in my parking slot and pull out the key from the ignition. I wrap my scarf over my shoulders and grab my purse before opening the door.

  I note it’s chillier here in Miracle Mile than the Peninsula’s front entry, wondering whether the hotel invests in heaters at the entrance. That’d be the ultimate customer satisfaction.

  I hear murmurs deep inside the lot when I reach the elevator. While I continuously hit the button, I turn around to find out the source of the noise. No one is to be seen. Must be a neighbor, I think to myself to calm down, but if the tapping of my shoe is a sign of anything, it is that of my fear. I look around once again to make sure it’s just the wind or even some rat, but my senses are all about fight or flight. I glance down at my boots, whose heels appear miles long in my anxiety. Just the right length to break my ankles, were I to start running in them.

  Good thing the residency is gated and secure.

  The two elevators seem to be stuck at the lobby. I push the button three more times, angry at the people who selfishly keep them occupied. I’d rather have some more traffic on the way home than wait for the elevator in these boots.

  Suddenly, I feel a strong grip on my arm, and a hand covers my mouth. My senses haven’t been wrong. Whoever is gripping me doesn’t have benign intentions and moves the hand that was holding my arm toward my neck. Terror washes over me as I remember the killing scenes in the movies, and how easy it is to kill someone with just a twist of the neck. However, he’s too strong for me to even move a hand, let alone break free from his iron grip.

  I inhale deeply and try to scream, although his salty hand is firmly covering my mouth. My voice is too low, especially for the people in the lobby to hear. If the elevator arrives, the doorman might hear me through its open doors. But the fucking elevator is more stubborn than the hands holding me caged and paralyzed.

  The attacker now squeezes my throat and covers both my mouth and nose, leaving me no chance to breathe. My lungs burn without air, and my stomach revolts at the disgusting salty taste of his sweaty hand. If I can’t think of a way out, these will be my last seconds.

  I always imagined I’d welcome death, if it came, after Jack was gone. His absence was too painful to even think of living a long life. But, it’s not that way. Even though I wished I’d die and finally re-unite with Jack, now all I want is to dig my fingers in and hold on to life with all my power.

  In a matter of seconds, my already insignificant existence will cease. Will anyone remember me after five years? Ten years? I won’t be able to leave a child behind, someone who would come to my grave and beautify it with flowers, nor a piece of art that would allow me to continue living in people’s minds. I will be a nothing. And for a strange reason, the nothingness makes me think about my boots and their high and heavy heels.

  I lift my right foot and slam it directly on the attacker’s foot. He jerks back and hauls me down to the floor. Taking advantage of my suddenly free airway, I inhale a deep breath and begin screaming my ears deaf, earning me an excruciating punch in my stomach.

  “Shut the fuck up,” the attacker yells at me as he pulls me up. His face is scarier than any man I’ve come close to. Deep scars and dark tattoos cover the majority of his face. He slaps me with so much force that I fly back down onto the floor, and he begins kicking me. I taste blood as I double over to protect myself from his kicks, in vain.

  Dying from a twist of the neck would have been much better than being beaten to death. I whisper Jack’s name and beg him to help me.

  All of a sudden, the elevator doors slide open, and I see a pair of black shoes jumping out toward me.

  “Taylor.” I hear a familiar voice screaming and the attacker collapses onto the floor beside me.

  “Adam,” I choke out his name together with blood and try to move away from the attacker. As though Adam knew the attacker had kicked me in the stomach, he fires away violent kicks into his, one after another. I see blood coming out of the attacker’s mouth, but Adam doesn’t look like he’ll stop kicking anytime soon. “Adam, stop,” I beg with my cracked voice. “You’ll kill him.”

  He stops to look at me and shoots one more kick to the attacker’s back before he bents down to help me up.

  A sudden gunshot at the entrance of the parking lot startles me. “Leave him alone,” a man yells and another deafening shot follows. The attacker on the ground uses the distraction to spring to his feet and disappears toward the exit. Breathless, I turn to Adam but go numb when I see him sprawled on the floor.

  “Oh, my god, Adam! Are you shot?” Fisting his jacket, I shake him until he turns his face to me.

  “I think so.” He raises his hand and places it onto his chest, close to his heart.

  Is he really shot? In the heart? I wipe open the jacket and rip the shirt apart to examine his chest.

  “They might come back.” Adam coughs. “Take me to the elevator and call the police.”

  I put his arm around my neck and push myself hard to get onto my feet. Hell, he’s heavy and my boots aren’t helping. We stump each step until we get to the elevator and fall onto the floor once we’re inside. I reach up to push the lobby button and go back to examining Adam’s chest, which is now covered with warm blood. Worse yet, he’s passed out.

  ***

  As soon as we arrive at the hospital, the doctors take Adam to surgery. While waiting for his operation, a police officer approaches me to take my statement regarding the attack. I recite to him what little I remember. How much can one say about being attacked by a tattooed and scarred man, while waiting for the elevator in the parking lot?

  “He grabbed me by my mouth, tried to twist off my neck, I smashed his foot with my high heels—” The cop glances down at my feet. I don’t miss the arching of his eyebrows. Yeah, we women like to torture ourselves, but e
very now and then we manage to torture others, too, “I started screaming and soon Adam showed up and rescued me. But, the guy’s accomplice, waiting at the exit, shot Adam right in the chest. I don’t remember anything else about them afterwards. I suppose the two ran away immediately.”

  “Do you have any idea who they might be?”

  When I shake my head no, he asks me to describe them. I try to give as many details about the attacker as possible but can’t manage it beyond talking about the tattoos and scars on his face. Afterwards, a nurse tends to my injuries. I have bruises all over my stomach but nothing serious, like internal bleeding.

  The thought of being seconds from death still haunts me. However, that Adam may die or be permanently injured because of me makes my stomach revolt with pain. I’m so grateful to him, yet angry at him for risking his life for me.

  The nurse gives me pain killers and releases me. I’m back in the waiting room, feeling as though I’ll shuffle off this mortal coil if I have to wait longer, without hearing whether Adam will make it or not. My hands and knees shake violently, and my stomach is on the verge of emptying itself. I debate for a while whether I should call Valerie or not, but knowing all too well how she’ll grill me about being reckless and irresponsible, I decide against it. But, I need someone thoughtful beside me to calm me down and take care of me and Adam, if I pass out or something. So, I text Bree, and explain to her briefly about the attack, and ask her politely to accompany me.

  She arrives before I know it and brings me green tea, clean clothes, and shoes. Wow, talk about being thoughtful. I burst into tears as soon as I see her and thank her for being there for me. I change into the blue t-shirt, jeans, and sandals she brought and dump the boots into the nearest garbage bin. Although it was thanks to them that I could injure the attacker to get a chance to scream, my feet can’t take any more of their abuse.

  “You’re the best,” I say and take the seat beside her in the waiting room.