Escape In You

by Rachel Schurig

  I need coffee, bad. My head is pounding, my tongue horribly swollen and cottony. I make my way slowly to the kitchenette and fumble with his coffee maker, pouring myself a glass of water to drink while I wait. I bring my water to the breakfast bar and perch on one of his bistro chairs.

  It isn’t like me to forget so much of a night, even after heavy drinking. Sure, I’ve woken up plenty of mornings without knowing exactly how I’d gotten home, but today I can't remember anything from the party. I know I showed up with Taylor and we separated fairly early. I drank vodka with Mary. I scrunch up my face. Had I talked to Grace? That’s weird, why would she have been there? I remember that Everett joined me eventually and we finished the bottle. Then we went upstairs in search of a full one, right? But I hadn’t made it to the kitchen. What had happened?

  It comes back to me in a flash. Feeling dizzy at the top of the stairs. Preston walking by and laughing at how drunk I was. He’d offered me a place to lie down, said he’d go find Taylor for me. But he hadn’t.

  “Zoe?”

  I spin around to see Taylor standing in the doorway to his bedroom, rubbing his face. “I woke up and you were gone.”

  He had found me. Preston was holding me down on the bed, covering my mouth, taking off my hoodie, kissing my neck and telling me to relax. I’d been too drunk and weak to stop any of it. But Taylor had found me.

  “I’m going to be sick,” I say, tripping as I try to get down from the chair. He’s next to me in a flash, helping me to the bathroom. I collapse in front of the toilet just in time. Taylor holds my hair back, rubs my shoulders as I’m sick. It feels like my body is trying to expel every last bit of the horrible night. When I’m finally finished, I lean back into him, shaking and crying.

  “You’re okay,” he says, his deep voice rumbling through his chest. He shifts me gently so he can flush the toilet and grab a tissue to wipe my face. “I’m here, Zoe. You’re okay.”

  “Preston,” I say, and his arms go taut.

  “I know,” he says, his voice almost a growl. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Nothing happened, right? I don’t remember anything happening.”

  “Nothing,” he says firmly.

  “Because you found me.”

  His arms are trembling now. “I shouldn’t have had to look. I should never have let you out of my sight. It was all my fault, Zoe.”

  “No,” I say, trying to turn to face him in the vise of his grip. “No, it wasn’t, Taylor. Don’t say that.”

  He just shakes his head, and tucks my hair behind my ear. “Think you can stand up? That coffee is probably ready.”

  The thought of coffee is so wonderful I actually grin. Taylor gives me a fleeting smile and pulls me to my feet. “I thought coffee might do the trick.”

  He helps me to the bistro chair and then busies himself filling our mugs. He adds one sugar to mine without asking, and, despite how terrible I feel, the fact that he knows how I take my coffee still sends a warm rush through me.

  He brings the mugs to the counter and sits next to me. “Drink that,” he says. “It’ll help.”

  I take a gulp of the scalding liquid, letting it burn my tongue and throat and take away the horrible cotton-mouth I’d woken up with. I wish it was as easy to remove the memories of the night before.

  Taylor watches my face closely, as if trying to read how I’m dealing with everything.

  I turn to him, and remember for the first time what he’d looked like last night. “Shit, Taylor. You were bleeding.” I reach a finger up to a cut above his eye. It had closed up in the night, blood crusting along his brow. He shrugged off my touch. “Did Preston do that?”

  “I did much worse to him,” he says, his voice low and dangerous. He brings his mug to his lips.

  “Shit.” I stare at his knuckles. They’re cut open, blood crusted across his hands.

  “Don’t worry about it,” he says, shaking his head. “It was worth it, I promise you.”

  I have a flash of cowering by the dresser, watching as he pummels Preston’s face over and over. He’d been out of control, almost like he was unaware of what he was doing. It had taken Fred pulling him off and calling his name four or five times before he finally stopped.

  I meet his eyes, knowing mine are wide.

  “You’re scared,” he whispers. “I can see it in your eyes. You’re remembering how I was.”

  He looks so broken, so horrified that I might be afraid of him. I can't stand to see his face like that, so I do the only thing that makes sense to me—I lean forward and kiss him.

  It takes him a moment before he responds, and I figure I must have surprised him. But then he’s kissing me back, pulling me from my stool and into his lap. His mouth is rough on mine, but his hands are gentle, cradling my head, brushing my hair back, running lightly along my face.

  “Taylor,” I say, my voice breathy.

  “If something had happened to you,” he says, and there’s real pain in his voice. “I don’t know what I would do. When I saw him…I wanted to kill him, Zoe, I swear to God. I would have, if Fred hadn’t shown up.”

  I do feel a flash of fear then. He’s completely serious. But the fear can't compete with everything else I feel for this man. “I’m not afraid of you,” I whisper fiercely, pulling back to clasp his face between my hands. I stare into his eyes. “I am grateful though. Grateful that you found me. Grateful that you beat the shit out of that asshole.” I kiss him once more, gently this time. “Thank you, Taylor.” I kiss the broken skin above his eyes. “Thank you.” I bring his fist to my mouth, kiss his wounded knuckles. “Thank you.”

  “Zoe,” he moans, and pulls me back to his mouth. “God, Zoe.”

  I remember Preston’s hands on me, holding me down, covering my mouth. I was so sure I wouldn't be able to breathe. So sure I wouldn't be able to fight back. I’d almost passed out—I couldn’t even defend myself.

  “Shower,” I gasp, pulling back. I feel dirty and broken, weak and scared. I need to wash it away, wash it all away.

  Taylor doesn't question me. He seems to know exactly what I meant, and why. In one movement he pulls me up into his arms as he stands, and leads me to the bathroom. Without releasing me, he turns on the shower and steps under the stream of water with me, clothes and all.

  “Hotter,” I mutter, wanting it to burn the way the coffee had. It’s the only way I’ll get this feeling off of me.

  Taylor obliges, turning the dials up until steam fills the little shower and the water pours down, hot and angry on our skin.

  Without speaking, he pulls my tank top over my head, and throws it on the floor. My jeans follow and my bra and panties. He guides me under the spray and then pulls off his own clothes, pulling a condom from his pocket before tossing the jeans to the pile with mine.

  In spite of all the horror of the night before, and the pain of reliving it this morning, I’m overwhelmed with pure desire by the sight of him as he slides the condom onto his length. I had thought I’d seen the sexiest versions of Taylor already, but I had been wrong; Taylor naked and standing under a stream of hot water was a different matter entirely.

  I wrap my arms around his neck, and his hands go to my thighs, pulling at them so my feet come off the ground. I wrap my legs around him, and plunge my tongue in his mouth. He groans, and his fingers tighten on my thighs. My entire body is pressed against his, the water and the heat from the shower intensifying the experience. I’m wet and aching for him so fast that it makes me dizzy.

  “Want you,” I say against his mouth, my hands running along his water-slicked skin. “Need you. Please.”

  He enters me without a word, without a pause, and I gasp. He feels amazing. Like, brain-numbing, forget-your-damn-name amazing. I dig my fingers into his shoulders, my head arched back. Taylor groans and presses me against the wall. I gasp at the feel of the cool tiles on my overheated skin.

  He doesn’t give me the chance to get used to the tiles. He’s moving in me so fast, so overwhelmingly fast, t
hat all I can do is hang on. He buries his head in my shoulder. “So good, Zoe,” he says.

  “Taylor, please.” I don’t even know what I’m asking him for, but he doesn’t question me. He merely moves his mouth to mine, taking my lips against his, and kisses me until I can’t breathe, until my entire body is thrumming with the pure passion and pleasure of it.

  Neither of us lasts very long. We come together in an explosion of heat and gasps and whispered promises that everything, finally, is going to be all right.

  ***

  As we get ready to get breakfast, I check my phone and am surprised to find Ellie has left me ten messages.

  “Hunter probably called her,” Taylor says.

  I groan and call her back. It takes me a while to talk her down; she’s been making plans all day to go beat the crap out of Preston. And maybe Everett, Hunter, and Taylor as well.

  Once I convince her I’m fine, Taylor takes me to the Burrito Barn for my favorite hangover remedy. The waiter brings us Cokes, and the sugar is exactly what I need.

  “That’s perfect,” I say after taking a long gulp. “Nothing like sugar and fat for a hangover.”

  Taylor watches me from across the table and doesn't respond.

  “What?” I ask, reaching up to fiddle with my hair. “Why are you staring at me?”

  “Zoe, last night really scared me.”

  I give a shaky laugh. “It scared me too.”

  He leans across the table and takes my hand. “I know. But Zoe…the worst part was how I felt. How hard it was to get to you when I could barely walk.”

  I scrunch up my face, unsure of what he means.

  “I was trashed, Zoe. Completely-off-my-face hammered. I could barely get up the stairs to find you, and that was after I knew you’d gone up with Preston. What if I had passed out or something?”

  I shudder at the thought of what might have happened had Taylor not made it up those stairs.

  “I was scared, too.” I swallow. “I’m not the damsel-in-distress type, Taylor. I’ve kicked the asses of plenty of handsy guys over the years. But last night, when it really counted…I couldn't even try to fight him. He was taking off my hoodie and covering my mouth and all I could think was how close I was to passing out.” A shiver runs through me. What would it have been like to wake up in a strange bed, naked, not even remembering what had happened? “So stupid,” I murmur.

  “Hey,” he says, his voice harsh. “It was not your fault, Zoe. At all. I don’t care how drunk you were, that doesn’t give him the right to…to…” He trails off, as if he can't even make himself voice the possibility of what might have happened. “Actually, the fact that you were that drunk makes him even more of an asshole.”

  “I know that,” I say, patting his hand because it’s starting to shake again. “I know it wasn’t my fault. But it scared me to feel so out of control.”

  “I don’t ever want you to be in that situation again,” he says, his voice hard. “And I don’t ever want to feel like I’m too out of it to get to you if you needed me.”

  “Okay.”

  “I think maybe we should take a break from the drinking.”

  I look up at him, surprised. That is the last thing I thought he’d say.

  Before I can respond, the waiter arrives with our burritos.

  “Eat,” he urges me. “You’ll feel better.”

  I take a few bites and another sip of Coke before I respond. “That seems kind of drastic.”

  He gives me a rueful smile. “And shouldn’t that be a huge warning sign right there? That cutting back on booze seems, like, unheard of?”

  I chuckle softly. “Yeah.”

  “Look, Zoe. We both drink to have fun, and that’s fine. But you know as well as I do that most of the time we’re drinking to forget. Or to feel better. Or to feel nothing.”

  I can only nod because a lump has formed in my throat. It sounds pretty pathetic put that way. I have a flash of the way Grace had looked at me last night and the lump grows. Taylor reaches across the table and takes my hand again. “Neither of us deals with our shit all that well, do we?”

  I smile, shaking my head. He looks down at the table, and I see him swallow, hard. “Look,” he says, sounding embarrassed now. “The truth is, most of the time when I’m with you, I don’t feel like I need to forget anymore. I don’t feel like I need to get numb, not the way I used to.”

  It’s suddenly hard to breathe. He finally looks up and gives me a half smile. “What can I say, babe. You’re like my new drug.”

  I feel like I might cry, so I laugh instead. “Really?”

  “Really.” His gaze is intense. The seriousness I see there makes my stomach flip. “Like I told you the other night; you take the edge off.”

  I grin at him, loving so much that he remembers his exact words. They have the same effect on me now as they had then.

  “So what do you think? Want to cut back on the party stuff? Take it a little easier for a while?”

  For a brief moment I feel a little rush of panic. Can I really get through the days without drinking at all? Will I be able to sleep? Will I be able to deal?

  But when I look up into his eyes, I realize he’s right. When I’m with him, I no longer need to turn it all off. He makes me feel calm, makes me feel whole. He’s far more effective than any bottle of liquor has ever been. And, so far, there haven’t been any nasty side effects.

  “Yeah,” I say. “I think I can deal with that.”

  His smile fills me with a warmth that spreads right down to my toes. In that moment, I figure I can deal with just about anything if it will make him smile like that.

  “So…” he says, rubbing his thumb tantalizingly over my knuckles. “How else will we fill our time?”

  I grin at his flirtatiousness. “I don’t know. I’m kind of at a loss. Got any ideas?”

  “Oh.” His voice drops a notch. “I can think of a few things.”

  “You really know how to put the moves on a girl, don’t you? I mean”—I look around the dining room and put a hand to my heart—“as if it wasn’t enough that you brought me to the Burrito Barn.”

  He laughs, loud and deep. I’m grinning like a fool, but I can't help it. It’s hard to believe the morning started the way it had. What is it about this boy that makes it so easy for me to forget the bad shit?

  “Seriously, though,” I say, leaning toward him. “I know this is probably lame, but I’ve partied pretty much every weekend since I turned seventeen.” I choose not to mention that in the last few years that partying has spread out into more weeknights than not. “I’m kind of at a loss as to what else we’ll do.”

  Something like sadness crosses over his face. I’m not sure why, but for some reason it makes me ashamed. But then he’s smiling again, and I try to push the feeling away.

  “We can do all that normal shit that boring people do,” he says, his tone teasing. “Like…go to the movies. And out to dinner.”

  I fake a huge yawn, and he laughs again.

  “We can go to the beach.”

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s summer, Zoe. Normal people would totally go to the beach in the summer.”

  “That actually sounds really good.”

  “I have an idea. How ‘bout every week one of has to come up with some normal shit to do. Like go to the beach or…I don’t know, a fucking museum or something.”

  I burst out giggling. “We are so not museum people.”

  “Hey,” he says in mock outrage. “I am totally a museum person.”

  “Sure you are.”

  We look at each other for a moment, just smiling. I know Ellie would kick my ass for being such a girl if she were here.

  “Maybe this will be fun,” he says softly. “Getting out there and exploring what else the world has to offer.”

  His words hit me like a punch to the gut. It’s been years since I’ve thought of the world that way—as something to be explored and discovered instead of just something to get thr
ough. A wave of disappointment and regret rushes through me, making it hard to breathe. It’s as if the weight of how much I’ve changed over the last few years, of how much I’ve given up, how much I’ve lost, is crushing me.

  “You okay?” Taylor asks, gripping my hand more firmly.

  I look up into his gorgeous eyes, so intent on mine. I’m shaky and scared, as if I’ve suddenly caught sight of my reflection and can no longer recognize myself. Every decision I’ve made in the past four years has been designed to help me forget my real life. I’ve been on a constant quest to get numb, to stay asleep. With Taylor, I feel like I’m waking up for the first time in years. Am I ready for that? Will I be able to deal with what I find when I’m no longer sleeping?

  I have no idea. So I do the only thing that I can think of. I squeeze Taylor’s hand and hold on for dear life.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Zoe

  Taylor drops me off at home so I can check on my mom and informs me he’ll be back in forty-five minutes.

  “Wear your swimsuit,” he tells me, his eyes shining.

  Unfortunately, Mom is sleeping when I come into the house. I sit with her for a while, watching her chest rise and fall. She’s been showering and eating regularly, so she’s looking relatively clean and healthy. Her face is pale though, and when I try to wake her up to eat she rolls away, refusing to open her eyes. My stomach churning with worry, I take the sandwich to the kitchen.

  Jerry ambles in as I open the fridge to store the sandwich for later. “I’ll take that,” he says.

  I glare at him. “It’s for Mom. Have you even tried to get her to eat anything today?”

  He laughs nastily. “What’s the fucking point? It’s like having a damn baby in the house, I swear. Wake her up to eat, to shower, to piss.” He gets right up in my face, and the stench of smoke and beer on his breath overwhelms me. “You’re wasting your damn time.”

  I push into his chest, hard. “You’re a joke,” I say, and turn to head back to my bedroom.

  “You don’t talk to me that way in my house,” he bellows. “Do you hear me, Zoe? This is my house!”