Escape In You

by Rachel Schurig

Well, what the hell can I say to that? I nod once, closing my eyes and taking deep breaths through my nose. My hands are still shaking, my vision still clouded. I’m used to feeling like this. Ever since Jim I’ve had what my probation officer calls “anger issues.” It’s landed me in a lot of trouble, including a short stint in jail two years ago.

  It takes me a minute to realize Zoe is rubbing the backs of my hands, her fingers light and soothing. I let out a shaky laugh. “You shouldn't be comforting me.”

  “You’re upset,” she says simply.

  I turn to face her. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  She nods. “Can we please just go to your place?”

  I need another minute before I’m ready to drive. I’m relieved we’re only a few blocks away. I just want to put my arms around her.

  The lights are all off now in the main house, and I breathe a sigh of relief as I pull up to the curb. I jump out of the car and run around the front so I can get her door. When I take her arm to help her out of the car, she makes a scathing noise in the back of her throat.

  “I’m perfectly capable of walking,” she tells me.

  I shove my hands into my pockets, a little surprised by the visceral reaction I’m experiencing. If it were up to me I’d pick her up and carry her up the stairs to my place. I hate the idea of someone hurting her, of someone stronger than her putting his hands on her. I want to protect her with everything in me.

  I don’t tell her any of this. She’d probably just call me a loser.

  When we’re upstairs, I finally pull her close. I sink into the couch, setting her in my lap and wrapping my arms around her. “Please tell me what happened.”

  She sighs. “It’s not as bad as it seems. It was just a shitty night.”

  I swallow. “Does he do this often?”

  She shakes her head firmly. “No. I swear, Taylor. It’s not like that.”

  “What’s it like then?”

  She’s quiet for a moment before she continues. “My mother has…episodes. And when she does, he drinks a lot. Tonight was one of those nights.”

  I have to take my hands off her. My anger is so strong I’m afraid I might hurt her. “So it’s okay he hit you because he was drunk?”

  “Of course not.” She sighs again, obviously not eager to talk about this. “I had just gotten my mom to eat something, she was doing a little better. And then he came home, totally wasted, and started yelling about the mess in the house. Then he got…he got nasty with her. About her…condition. Then she—there was a lot of yelling.”

  I close my eyes. I had no idea things were so bad at her house.

  “Anyway, I eventually got her settled down, and the next thing I know he goes barging down the hall to their room. Said his buddy was coming to get him to go to the bar, and he wanted to change. But I’d just gotten her to sleep, and I didn't want him making a scene and upsetting her. So I grabbed his arm to stop him. I just didn't want him to wake her…”

  She trails off, and I tense. “So he hit you?”

  “He pushed me off. I don’t think he knew how close I was standing. He got me with the back of his hand.”

  “Zoe, that is not okay—”

  “I know it’s not okay, Taylor.” She sounds pissed suddenly, her voice tight. “It’s awful. Everything about that house is awful, okay? But it usually doesn’t go that far, and there’s not a lot I can do about it. So what’s the point of going over and over it? I want to forget it.”

  “You shouldn’t be there. You should be in a place of your own.”

  “Not an option,” she says flatly. “Drop it.”

  “Zoe—”

  “I swear to God, Taylor, if you don’t drop it I’m out of here.” I can hear in her voice how serious she is. “I came over here because I had a shitty night and I thought you might make me feel better. Is that something you’re interested in, or do you want to lecture me some more?”

  “I’m not lecturing you.” She just looks at me, clearly unconvinced. “Fine. Dropping it. Are you hungry?”

  “Food would be great.”

  We slide off the couch and head to the kitchenette. Since Zoe has been hanging out here so much I’ve been stocking more food in my own fridge. I still shop for the main house, but I’m determined that Zoe will never set foot in there again.

  I open the fridge. “What do you feel like?”

  “Do we still have that Chinese from the other night?” I don’t tell her how much I like hearing her say “we,” as if the contents of my fridge are equally hers, as if she feels at home here. Instead I get out the cartons of food while she rummages through a drawer for the chopsticks. “You want beer?” she asks, and grabs us each a can from the fridge before I can respond.

  We curl up on the couch with our food, and she asks me about my night. I tell her about the party, and she frowns. “I don't get why you hang out with that guy,” she says, meaning Preston. “You don't seem to like him too much.”

  “I don't hang out with him that much. He’s just an old friend.”

  She doesn't seem convinced. “He stuck around after Jim. He wasn't as supportive as Fred, but he was still there. So when he comes home in the summer we hang out sometimes.”

  She’s quiet next to me, and I wonder what she’s thinking. “It’s weird, isn’t it?” she finally asks. “How everything feels different when they come home from school.”

  “When who comes home?”

  She shrugs a little. “Everyone. Just, like, all the kids we grew up with who went away. They come home with all their new stories and friends and experiences and…I don't know. It just feels weird to me.”

  I remember the first night we met, our discussion in Preston’s basement. She had told me that she hated the summer. I hadn't thought of it much—I’d been too distracted by my own negative feelings about the season, but now I wonder why.

  “Did you want to go away to school?”

  She doesn't respond for so long that I think she’ll ignore the question. But then she breathes out, so softly that I can barely hear it, and says, “I was supposed to go to U of M with my best friend, Grace.”

  I’d never heard her mention a Grace before, and I’m about to ask why when she continues. “We’d been planning it for years. Since, like, junior high. We’d both get scholarships and share a dorm and go to all the football games and pretty much have the best time ever.” She laughs softly. “We even did a summer program there before junior year. We got to live in the dorms for two whole weeks and take special classes.” She looks up at me, laughter in her eyes. “That probably sounds totally lame to you, but I loved it. I felt so grown up and cool, and I loved the professors and everything.”

  “Why didn't you go?”

  I regret the question immediately. Her face closes up, the brightness and laughter slipping from her eyes. “Things changed at home. It wasn’t an option anymore.”

  That gives me pause. She had told me before that she started hanging out with Ellie her junior year. Ellie doesn't seem like the kind of girl who’d get excited about a summer academic program. I wonder if the change at home was what led her to seek out new friends. Could it have been when her mom got married? Or when she had started having her episodes, whatever that meant? I wonder what happened to Grace. But Zoe remains silent on the couch next to me.

  “You know you can trust me, right, Zoe?”

  When she looks over at me, she seems surprised. “Sure.”

  I look into her eyes, wanting to ask her all of my questions, wanting to understand her. But I have a feeling prying will just push her away. Maybe she needs to take it slow, letting me in an inch at a time. I figure the best thing I can do is be patient.

  “What about you?” she asks. “Did you ever want to go to school?”

  I think about my plans with Jim. A year older, he was going to head off to school first. I planned to follow wherever he went, but he insisted I wait to find out what schools might be interested in my playing ball for them. I close my eyes,
knowing I would have made my choice based on baseball in the end. Just another example of how I put my own desires over my brother.

  “Taylor?” she asks softly.

  I open my eyes and smile at her. “Yeah, I wanted to go to school. But things changed at home, and it wasn’t an option anymore.”

  She smiles sadly. But, unlike me, she doesn't quite drop it. “So, if school’s not an option anymore, what do you want to do? Are you happy working on cars?”

  “Happy enough, I guess. I like to use my hands. I like to fix things.”

  “What about your art, though? Is that something you’d like to do professionally?”

  “It’s a hard business to break into,” I say, feeling tense suddenly. “Without a degree I’d never be able to work for any kind of graphic design company. And—”

  “That’s not what I asked,” she says. “If all of that stuff wasn't a factor, would you want to be a professional artist? What would your dream job be?”

  I smile, not quite believing I’m about to admit this. “If I could do anything, I would draw comics.”

  Her face lights up. “Yeah? I didn't know you were into comics.”

  I laugh. “Yeah, well, it makes me sound like a kid. Not exactly the impression I want to give out when I’m trying to get into a girl’s pants.”

  She laughs, and lets her head fall back on the cushions. “Do you want to get into my pants, Taylor?”

  “You have no idea.”

  She stops laughing suddenly, her face serious as she looks at me. “Right back at you.”

  I groan softly, and set the cartons of Chinese food onto the coffee table. She slides up onto my lap, looping her arms around my neck. She feels soft against my chest, and I catch a whiff of her shampoo, the scent soft and feminine.

  “I don’t usually wait this long,” she says. She rests her forehead against mine and closes her eyes.

  “Should I take that as an insult?”

  She shakes her head, a small smile on her lips. I want to kiss her so bad, but I want her to explain what she meant first.

  “I mess around with guys when I’m bored or feel like I need a distraction. And it’s usually pretty lame, to be honest. Like…I don’t know, like it’s just a way to pass time. Or forget about all the shit in my life for a little while.”

  I nod against her forehead. “That sounds pretty familiar.”

  Her next words are so soft I’m not sure she really said them. “It’s different with you.”

  My eyes snap open. “Yeah?”

  She nods, and I see some color creeping up her neck. “Kissing you never feels like passing time. And it certainly never feels lame.”

  My chest swells a little bit. Apparently I blow her other kissing partners out of the water. I can deal with that.

  “But as great as that is, it scares me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if just kissing you makes me feel all these things, what will it be like if we go farther?”

  I can’t help a grin. “Only one way to find out.”

  She laughs, pulling back so she can look me full in the face. “I’m serious, Taylor. You scare me.”

  That sobers me up real fast. “You have nothing to be scared of with me,” I say, my voice low and firm. “Nothing. I would never hurt you.”

  Her smile turns sad again. “You can’t promise that. Feelings are dangerous. Getting attached means it’s easy to get hurt, whether you mean to or not.”

  “Zoe—”

  “Sometimes I think it’d be better if I just walk away right now.”

  Her words send a jolt of fear through me. The idea of her walking away is incomprehensible, and since we’ve only known each other for a few weeks, that fact scares me.

  “Hey.” I grab her hands and hold on, as if afraid she’ll disappear right now. “There’s nothing to be scared of. We’re taking it slow. You were pretty clear in the park that night—you just want some fun. I’m happy to oblige.”

  She watches me intently for a minute before relaxing. “Yeah. Fun is good.”

  She leans in to kiss me, and I’m relieved. I’ve managed to keep her from bolting, as least for now.

  But, at the same time, I’m freaked out by my reaction. What Zoe said about feeling too much is absolutely right—it can ruin you. Letting people in, letting yourself get attached, is just about the riskiest thing you can do. I’ve spent the last four years doing everything I could to make sure I don't fall victim to another human being.

  And I know—even as I kiss her, even as her hands grip my hair and it feels so damn good—that I’m way beyond the point of casual fun with her. No matter what I might have said to her, this isn’t just a summer fling for me, not anymore. I’m not sure what it is, but I do know it’s turning into something big.

  That’s probably why I stop her hand when it goes for my zipper a few minutes later. “We’ll take it slow,” I remind her and move her hand back to my hair. “Let’s just enjoy this part for a little while. Fun, remember?”

  She smiles and returns to our kiss, but I feel like an ass. I’ve been dreaming about her hands in my pants for the past three weeks, and I pretty much just turned her down—though she doesn’t seem offended by it. The real reason I refused her has nothing to do with taking it slow or focusing on the fun.

  The truth is, I don’t want to have sex with Zoe. I mean, I do—of course I do. She’s ridiculously hot and her kisses make me feel like I’m on fire. I think about having sex with her pretty much all the time. But I want it to be more than that. I want it to be real. For the first time in my life, I want it to mean something.

  And I want her to want that too.

  Chapter Ten

  Zoe

  I spend the night with Taylor. We don’t have sex, but we do sleep together, curled up in his bed with the windows open. I wake up the next morning to the feel of his arms wrapped tightly under my breasts, exactly where they’d been when I fell asleep the night before. That he held me all night without moving gives me a rush of pleasure that I try to tamp down. We were both clear last night—this is just fun. No need to get all sappy about it.

  “You’re awake,” he murmurs behind me, brushing my hair behind my ear.

  “Morning.” I’ve never woken up with a guy before, and I’m not really sure how to act. When I’m with someone, I’m usually out the door pretty much right after the condom comes off. The morning after is completely unfamiliar.

  He rises up on one elbow and looks down on me, his eyes raking up and down my body in a pair of his boxers and a way-too-big t-shirt. He nods. “Yup, just what I thought. You’re gorgeous in the morning, too.”

  I laugh, any sense of awkwardness vanishing. Apparently Taylor makes me just as comfortable first thing in the morning as he does the rest of the time. I look up at him, and my stomach clenches. Talk about gorgeous in the morning. He slept in a pair of old sweats, no shirt, and his bare chest takes my breath away. Smooth and tanned, his body is cut. I want to rub my hands over his six pack, his chest, his biceps, want to trace his vivid tattoos.

  His hair is more mussed up than usual, and a fine layer of dark stubble covers his chin. The effect is sexy as hell—but that’s not unusual with him. What surprises me is the way his open, relaxed face and sleep-heavy eyes make him seem younger, innocent. It tugs at my heart, making me want to kiss him and hold him close.

  “You hungry?” I ask instead, determined not to embarrass myself. Last night I’d almost told him how I’m starting to feel about him, and he had responded by reminding me that this was just supposed to be fun. I won't make that mistake again.

  “Yeah.” He rolls off the bed, stretching and giving me the opportunity to admire his bare back and the tats that dot his shoulders. “What do you feel like?”

  “How many tattoos do you have?” I ask. It’s hard to concentrate on things like food when a man as gorgeous as Taylor is standing in front of me without his shirt on.

  He turns to face me. “About a half dozen.�
��

  “Show me.”

  He comes and stands next to my side of the bed. I sit up, and his torso is just about eye-level. Which is also kissing level, and I have to fight to keep from running my tongue along his chest.

  He shows me his left arm. “So there’s the half sleeve here,” he says. All trace of little-boy cuteness has left his face now. He’s all man, dark and teasing. My heart rate picks up a little. His sizable bicep is covered with a collage of brightly hued leaves, vines, fish, flowers, and bold geometric designs. I’ve admired the edges of this tattoo many times as it peeked out from the sleeves of his t-shirts. “I’ve been working on this for a while. My buddy Ed adds to it when I think of something else. Eventually it will probably be a full sleeve.”

  I trace my fingers along the tendrils. “It’s really nice. The colors are so vivid.”

  “I did the original sketch.”

  I look up into his eyes. “Really? Wow.”

  “It’s more personal to me that way. Ed is good at collaborating. I draw something up for him, and he lets me know if he thinks it will work on skin or what we need to change.”

  “Have you ever thought of getting into tattoos yourself?”

  He laughs. “I’ve tried. I suck.” I give him a skeptical look, finding that hard to believe. How could he suck at anything? “I really do. It’s a totally different skill set than the art I do.”

  “What else?” I ask, eager to examine more of him. He turns slightly so his side is in my face and raises his arm. Scripted words trail all the way down to his hip and across the edges of his ribs. “What is it?”

  “A line of a song.” Before I can read the words, or even ask what the song is, he’s turning to show me his back. On the left shoulder is a devilish figure, red and dark. The right is an angel outlined in silver. “I’m extending these, too. Once I get the design the way I want it they’ll meet in the middle and be a full piece.”

  I stand up to get a better look, running my fingers along his shoulders. He shudders, and I feel a rush of pure, feminine power. Standing on my tiptoes, I kiss the angel. Taylor groans and turns around, grabbing me and pulling me into a deep kiss.