Taylor Made

by kj lewis

  I’m so sexed up it takes a minute for his words to sink in.

  “Excuse me?” I say, dumbfounded.

  “I’ll pay double what you make if that is how I have to have you.”

  Pushing him off me, I wrap his shirt around me. “Fuck you, Graham.”

  I can feel the tears prick the back of my eyes, which I’m not about to let happen. Locking my shit down, I pull back the covers, take his shirt off and climb into bed. Sending the room into darkness when I hit the button to turn the lights off.

  I can’t believe we’re back here. Tonight was different. I know he was with only me, saw only me tonight. But he still thinks I have sex for money. I shouldn’t have to tell him he’s misunderstanding. He should be able to figure it out.

  The lightening backlights the storm clouds that are billowing in. They’re dark and ominous, mimicking my mood. I listen to the wave’s crash onto the shore. I replay the night, trying to figure out where it went off the rails until I finally give into exhaustion. My nights of little rest over the last week set in, but my sleep is restless. I bounce from one tumultuous dream to the next, stuck in that sleep state where I’m aware that I’m dreaming, but can’t make myself wake up. There’s a loud boom of thunder that finally jolts me awake. My breathing is erratic.

  “It’s just a storm. You’re okay.” Graham’s is sitting on the bed.

  “What are you doing in here?” I grumble.

  “Watching you sleep.”

  “Why?”

  “I wanted to make sure you were okay.” He rubs his hand over my exposed back. His tone regretful. I pull the sheet over the front of me even though it’s too dark to see anything.

  “I’m always okay, Graham. There’s nothing to worry about.”

  “Save that bullshit for all the people who think they know you.”

  “And you think you know me better than they do when we’ve spent less than a day together? You think I’m for sale. I guarantee you, they don’t think that.”

  “I may not know your stories or preferences, but yes, I think I know the real you better than they do,” he says. “And if you think I want to buy you, you haven’t been paying attention. But I won’t share you.”

  I’m so frustrated with him, because he’s right. That’s what’s had me so off balance this last week. I can’t reconcile the feeling that he really sees who I am at my core, but also believes I’m a whore. I realize it is because of my association with Colleen, and if he had never seen me with her this would not be an issue. He jumped to a conclusion that I have given him no answers to. Maybe I’m being too hard on him. Thinking I am a high-priced call girl easily filled in missing pieces to his puzzle, but instead of working it out or asking me first he went straight to hooker—he accepted an easy answer. We’re both at fault. Him mostly, but I suppose I could have settled this already.

  “You’re so arrogant.”

  “Don’t mistake certainty for arrogance, Emelia.” Lightening fills the sky and I jump when a deafening clap of thunder immediately follows. He lays down beside me and pulls me into the nook of his arm. I hesitate.

  “Emelia,” he says in a tone that is both scolding and patient.

  Relinquishing, because this really is where I want to be, I place my head on his shoulder. He drapes his arm around me, resting his hand on the curve of my hip. He’s such a contradiction, that I feel like I’m all over the place. He rubs his hand up and down my back to soothe me.

  I’m too tired to argue with him anymore, and frankly I like him being here. I knew he thought I was “for hire” before I let tonight happen. In some ways, he has said things that shows he truly does know me better than most, but there are a few things where he is so far off the mark. I can’t figure out if it’s just the way circumstances have fallen to lead him in that direction, or if he really thinks that about me. The thought is unsettling.

  “I can hear the wheels turning in your head Emelia. Want to tell me about it?”

  “Nope.”

  “Then go to sleep.”

  I didn’t close the drapes last night, so the light of morning wakes me. It takes a moment to remember that Graham was here when I went to sleep last night. He’s left a glass of sparkling cranberry juice beside the bed and a single rose in a bud vase.

  I force myself out of bed, wrapping Graham’s shirt around me, and open the French doors. They’re unlocked, which explains how he got in last night. This room shares a balcony with Graham’s.

  I step outside and breathe in the salt air. From this vantage point you can see the pool, parts of the property, the beach, and the ocean. The sky is an assortment of grays, matching the water. The waves are still going strong—good surfing conditions.

  The storm has brought in cooler air. I go back inside to find the sweater I took from Graham’s closet. He ripped the only pair of underwear I have at the moment, so I dig through Becca’s bag to see if she has any that have some stretch to them. I find a black pair and a matching tank top. These should work. The underwear that is meant to give full coverage, barely covers me, and the tank stops about four inches from its mark. Luckily, the sweater falls mid-thigh. I bury my nose into it for his smell.

  I turn on the news while I brush my teeth and check some emails. There’s a tropical storm off the coast that is accounting for all the rain and the strong currents. They have red-flagged the entire coast line. More rain and cold today, but tomorrow should warm up and make for a nice week on the beach.

  I grab my camera. I want to take some pictures of the waves in this lighting before the rain comes. Getting my toes in the sand, even if it is cold, is just what I need.

  The stairs are a visual reminder of what happened last night, of how things went from amazing to nothing in no time. Still processing my thoughts, I put the mostly full glass of juice Graham left me on the counter and grab a Diet Coke. It’s a short walk to the beach from the house. I leave my can on the railing of the wooden steps between the house and the beach and head toward the water.

  The ocean has always been a love of my family. We used to go to Seagrove Beach in Florida every summer. Play, get a tan, and just have fun. There were never any worries that followed us to the beach. Even dark waters like today’s have a way of calming me with their music. A peaceful wind chime, if you will.

  Adjusting the aperture on my camera I begin taking shots of the beach and the water. Several times I have to turn and face the wind to keep my hair from tangling around my face. I’m grateful for Graham’s thick sweater. Moving to the water’s edge, I turn to take pictures of the house from the shoreline. The water around my ankles is cold and the waves are really picking up.

  Walking north, I explore the beach, taking pictures from different vantage points. I adjust my camera settings again and look out over the ocean to take consecutive pictures of the waves coming in, catching them as they break.

  Skimming the view screen, I run through the pictures to make sure the lighting is right in the pictures I’m taking, when I notice something in one of the pictures. I look out over the ocean and jog down a little ways, searching. Then I see it. A person in the waves. It takes me a second to realize they are struggling to stay afloat. Dropping my camera, I sprint towards the water, throwing off my sweater. I look back to the beach to line myself up with a landmark for reference and dive in.

  The Atlantic water is freezing. I’m able to get under the first waves and make my way out. I turn to get my bearings searching for the landmark where I last saw him. Before I can get under it, I am pounded by a wave that crashes over me pushing me under and holding me down. Determining which way is up, I kick to the surface ready for air. Turning to face the shore again, I see the post that I associated with my last sighting. Based on the strength of the current, I start swimming to the area he should be, getting under as many waves as I can. I pull up and tread water for a minute to look for him. I know he’s out here. I didn’t imagine him. Just then I catch a glimpse of his arm coming out of the water. Lowering my head, I
power swim towards him, my fingertips brushing his arm. He’s exhausted from trying to escape from a rip current.

  I grab him, but he slides underwater. I lose him when a swell of water comes through. Taking a deep breath, I dive to the ocean floor and back up in a deliberate pattern to find him. The water is dark with little to no visibility. Down, feel my way around, up again. I’ve been at it for several minutes now.

  My lungs are on fire and I’m pretty far out. It’s fifty, maybe sixty yards to the shore. I take a deep breath and start the down/ups again. On the second one down, I feel him. Latching on, I start pulling him up. He’s holding on to me and just like that, he let’s go. I kick back down, grabbing him again this time tightening my hold. I pull his deadweight to the surface panting for air. He’s bigger than I am, and in the waves it takes me a minute to get him into rescue position. I swim parallel to the shore until I feel the pull of the rip current finally give way, and then I start making my way to shore.

  We’re about three-quarters of the way in when were pummeled by a wave, pushing us under. The water is shallower here and I get slammed into the ocean floor. If he wasn’t wearing a wet suit that I was able to grip onto, I would have lost him again. Surfacing, I gasp for air, coughing out water. Pulling him into the rescue position again, I eventually get us to shore.

  I’ve been in the cold water with no protection for at least twenty minutes and I’m having a hard time getting him and me out of the water. White foam wafts around us, and I get him far enough onto the sand that I know the current won’t take him back out while I try to find the strength to pull him further onto the shore. He shifts from under me, and I realize he’s being moved. Looking up, I see Graham getting him safely onto the beach. He comes back to help me out of the water.

  “Call 911,” I tell him dropping to my knees next to the unconscious body.

  “They’re already on their way.”

  He can’t be more than twenty years old. I position his head, clear some seaweed from his airway, and start compressions. Thirty compressions, two breaths. I’m on my fourth round when he starts coughing up water.

  “Help me get him on his side.”

  Graham and I turn him as large amounts of seawater pour from his mouth. He gasps for air. The paramedics arrive and begin stabilizing him.

  “Does he have any health conditions we should know about?”

  “I don’t know him.” My teeth are chattering so much I can barely get the words out.

  “You’re going with,” the paramedic says, looking me over, while his partner works to stabilize the victim.

  “I’m f-f-fine. I j-j-just n-n-need to g-get warm.”

  “Emelia,” Graham bellows.

  The paramedic checks my body temperature and vitals and listens to my lungs. “Okay,” he looks at Graham, “but warm her up slowly. Torso before extremities and stay with her for the next twenty-four hours. Make sure she doesn’t dry drown or have problems breathing. Any issues and you call 911. Understand?”

  “I understand she’s going,” Graham says again.

  “Just g-g-get me warm,” I tell him trying to comfort him by placing my hand on his arm. I can’t afford a hospital bill.

  “We got this. Go!” The paramedic waves us off.

  Graham lifts me into his arms and swiftly takes me into the house. My body is shivering uncontrollably now. I’m freezing, and all I can think about as he carries me up the stairs is what happened on them last night.

  He takes me to his room, into his bathroom, closing the door behind us. Making sure I have my balance he sets me on my feet in the shower, holding me up while he turns on the water. It’s hot almost instantly. I cry out in pain as the water hits my cold skin feeling like knives are going through me.

  “Stupid dick,” he chastises himself as he lifts me into his arms wrapping my legs around his waist, adjusting the temperature. He moves us out of the water letting my body adjust to the hot steam. Slowly he acclimates me to the warm water. Starting with my back, he moves me in slow circles, taking time to warm my arms and legs.

  “Set me down. Quick!” is all I’m able to get out before my feet hit the floor, but not in time to turn away. I throw up down the front of him, my stomach convulsing, pulling up strands of brown seaweed. He holds me in place keeping my hair pulled back.

  “Finished?” he asks.

  I nod and hold onto him while I regain my balance.

  Once he knows I’m stable, he removes my tank and helps me step out of my underwear. Shedding his clothes, he moves us both under the water, pulling me into his arms, holding me while the water rolls over us, slowly adjusting the temperature warmer until the chattering and shivers cease. He grabs the shampoo on the shelf behind me. He lathers my hair and massages my scalp, then quickly washes his. Rinsing us both, he repeats the process, this time leaving the conditioner in my hair while he washes over each inch of my body. Standing me under the water to stay warm, he quickly washes then rinses his body and his hair. Working the conditioner out of my hair he gently squeezes the excess water out of it and turns the shower off. Wrapping a towel around me and then his waist, he leads me to the sink pulling out the vanity stool.

  “Sit,” he directs, leaving the bathroom and returning with a blanket.

  I comply and close my eyes as he wraps me up. He dries my hair, brushing it out as he goes. He disappears into his closet and comes out with a t-shirt.

  “Arms up.”

  I comply, grimacing at the soreness I feel as he pulls it over me.

  “Bed,” he directs again.

  I’m too exhausted to argue. He pulls back the covers and I climb in.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  “Emelia.” He shakes me gently. “Wake up.”

  He sets a tray on the bed. I must have nodded off.

  “Can you sit up, baby?”

  “Of course,” I answer, trying to hide the fact that it is easier said than done. “I’m ok Graham,” I reassure him as he moves the tray over my lap and takes a seat next to me.

  “You made me lunch?” The gesture touches me deeply.

  “You need to eat.” His gaze is tender.

  “No Diet Coke?” I look from the tray to him.

  “Hot tea,” he answers with a smile and chuckles at the disgruntled expression on my face.

  “You look like a little girl when you pout.”

  Sitting cross-legged on the bed, he picks up one of the bowls of chicken noodle soup on the tray.

  “It has a little sugar in it. You’ll be fine,” he says, referencing the hot tea as he eats a spoonful of noodles. I eat all of my soup, drinking the broth. It was delicious. And I will never admit it to him, but the tea hit the spot as well.

  “What’s this?” I look at a bandage wrapped over my finger.

  “Something one of my companies is trying out. They sent me a prototype so I used it on you. It’s a Bluetooth pulse oximeter.” He pulls his iPhone out of his pocket. “It sets off an alarm on my phone if you stop breathing. We’re working on a smaller bandage and a different placement on the body. Parents will be able to put them on their babies and an alarm will sound if their breathing drops. A way to combat SIDS.”

  Setting the tray on an ottoman, he adjusts my pillows and pulls the covers up to my chin. He kisses me lightly on the lips and runs the tip of his finger over my nose.

  “More sleep.”

  He hits the button on the night stand that closes all of the shades. Thunder is the last thing I remember as the rain lulls me to sleep.

  My body is moving with the waves. It’s dark and I can’t see anything, but I can tell I’m being pulled away from the shore. I call out, but no one answers. Panic and fear grip me and I am frozen, bobbing in the waves like a buoy. Something grabs a hold of me and tries to hang on. It’s a person. It’s Addie. I’m her lifeline. But like a buoy, my sides are slick and she can’t get enough leverage to hold herself out of the water. She clings to me for as long as she can, eventually letting go and sinking a
way. I cry out for her, but my arms won’t move to reach for her. I watch her slip under the water knowing I will never see her again. Sobbing, drinking in the water around me. Someone tries again to grab hold of me. He’s pulling me under. He’s going to drown me! He slips away, but this time my arms can move and I reach for him, but to no avail. I try to find him. I swim for hours. Crying. Calling for Addie. Calling for him. The sea turns stormy and the waves are crashing into me over and over. I feel his wetsuit. He’s here. I try to save him, but the waves are brutal. He’s crying for me to rescue him. I see his face. He’s a young boy. I don’t know who he is. His hand clasps mine as another wave hits and he’s pulled away from me. I yell out to him, kicking and fighting to get over to him. The wave is stories high now and curls over us. The noise is deafening, like a jet engine. It breaks and begins to crash over me…

  I spring up into a sitting position gasping for air. My face is pouring sweat, and my hands move across the bed trying to find him.

  “You’re okay, baby. You’re safe. It’s alright,” Graham coddles softly. His arms cocoon around me, while he whispers his assurances.

  “I lost them. I couldn’t get to them. I couldn’t save them.” My breathing is erratic. My heart races and the panic evident in my voice.

  “Shh,” he says. “There was only one, and he’s at the hospital. I called to check on him a couple of hours ago. He’s okay. You saved him.”

  “He’s okay? You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  My body eases against him, my breathing slowly returning to normal.

  “It’s okay, Emelia. Everyone’s okay. You can rest.” His intentional words are like taking a sledgehammer to my perfectly compartmentalized life. For the first time since the safety of my grandparent’s I find myself feeling like control is not a necessity. Everyone’s okay. You can rest. I let him hold me and comfort me. “Want to tell me about it?”

  “It was just a bad dream. You’re positive he’s okay?”