Strapped

by Nina G. Jones

  “Rick, I am so sorry, about yesterday. I’m so sorry.” I have no other words for him. Nothing I can say will make this better.

  “Do you even love me anymore?”

  “Of course I do Rick. I love you, I always will.”

  “You’re just not happy anymore.”

  “I don’t know what it is.”

  “Why couldn’t you just tell me? It’s me Shyla. Why did you have to leave me in the dark?”

  I can’t tell him the truth, because it is sick. The truth is I was only thinking about myself. Taylor was just a fantasy, but Rick was real. I didn’t want to show my hand too early and lose.

  “I didn’t want to hurt you and I promise you I never planned anything. I never lied to you about where I was or what I was doing.”

  “Can you just tell me why? Is it the money? The power?”

  “You know I’m not like that.”

  “I’m not sure I know you anymore.”

  “Rick, don’t you just wonder sometimes if there’s more out there for you? Honestly?”

  “No. You were it for me. You were enough.” He sits on the couch, and faintly laughs. “God, I was such a sucker last night. You should have seen me. Sitting here with the teddy bear. I know sometimes dates escape you, so I thought I would surprise you with dinner plans. But ya know what? I knew...I knew something was off.”

  “I am so sorry.” I bury my face in my hands.

  “I can honestly say months ago I didn’t see us going down this path, but I guess I’m just clueless.”

  “I understand if you hate me, but I really do love you. I want us to stay a part of each other’s lives.”

  Rick stands up. “I am going to be staying with Pete. I don’t want to know the details. I’m not mad Shy. Really. People change. I’m just sad. And to say I don’t feel betrayed would be a lie. Of course, I want to stay a part of your life, but I need some time.” I nod and walk up to him, put my arms around his torso and we hug. I will always love you Rick, but we are not the end for each other, someone else is out there for you. I am so grateful he doesn’t ask about me and Taylor, and he doesn’t lash out, but there is a part of me that wishes he would. I deserve it.

  Rick packs a bag and leaves to stay at his best friend’s apartment. I am alone, in the stillness of our home, left to mourn our relationship.

  ***

  The next week, each day melds into the next. I don’t eat, I sleep as much as my body can allow, and I completely isolate myself from the world. Lizzy is the first to call and leave a voicemail.

  “Shyla, it’s Lizzy, I stopped by your office and Marsha said you were gone for good? Taylor didn’t say a word to me about it. Was it him? Did something happen between you two? Are you okay? Call me, okay?”

  To avoid people dropping by to make sure I am not dead, I send her the same text I sent everyone who tries to reach me:

  Shyla:

  I am okay, really. I just need some time alone this week. I’ll give you a call soon.

  My mom calls. She lives across the country, so it is much easier for me to keep up a facade about my chaotic life.

  “Hi mom.”

  “Hey sweetie. How are you? I haven’t heard from you in a while.”

  “Sorry, I’ve been really busy.”

  “Are you okay? You don’t sound so good…”

  “I think I have the flu. Mom, I’m really tired. Can I call you back next week when I feel better? I feel awful and I won’t be much fun to talk to.”

  “Of course! Make sure you go to the doctor, okay? Tell Rick to take care of you.”

  If I wasn’t feeling sick, that last reference of hers made sure of it.

  “Yes mom,” I say like a child accepting orders. While I shorten the conversation to avoid bursting into tears, it is so good to hear her voice.

  Kristin gets a call, since I know she is the most likely to try to come and rescue me. I beg her not to, I can’t share what happened between Taylor and me, and quite frankly I don’t want to. I just want to absorb the pain, like jumping on a grenade. I don’t want to burden anyone or rehash my feelings, even if I could, because it would only bring the pain back to the surface. Of all the people to reach out to me (I even get an email from Henry), I hear nothing from the man who can pull me out of this. I put the ball in his court because all I have left is my pride. I want to tell myself that he is respecting my distance, or truly trying to protect me, but the nagging voice taunts me. It chants over and over and over:

  You’re not beautiful enough. He used you. You’re a page in his journal. It was just a game to him.

  Eleven days pass and I need to venture out for something to eat. My clothes hang off of me, I maybe eat two bites of food a day due to the “sickness.” I consume my first full meal of the week: chicken fingers and a salad. Without the influence of Taylor and H.I., I am back to my juvenile eating habits, no fine wine and room service spreads. I camp out on the couch, every light off in the apartment, the only glow coming from my laptop which is playing a playlist I created, devoted to my pathetic life. “The First Taste” by Fiona Apple starts to play and it feels like the lyrics were written specifically for me.

  Music has been my only tool to filter through the tidal waves of emotions I deal with daily. I battle so hard, but distance is my only weapon. If I see him, I don’t think I’ll have any fight left in me.

  As I sing along with Fiona, I smile, remembering the night Taylor took me in the elevator. Then I cry, thinking I will never feel that way with anyone again. Then I think about Rick, the innocent bystander to this collision, and cry harder. On the eleventh night I hear a knock at my door. I shoot up and run to my laptop to silence it. I very quickly try to tidy the apartment. I assume it is Kristin defying my texts and I don’t want her to know how pathetic I am being. I smooth out my hair and look for the time. It’s just after nine. Another knock. I look through the peephole and my heart can barely take the shock. It’s him.

  Chapter Fourteen

  My mind goes blank. I try to collect my thoughts, but my brain scrambles. I draw a deep breath and open the door.

  “Taylor, what are you doing here?”

  “Shy, my god, you look so worn. Are you okay?” He brushes my hair back as he walks in. His eyes scan the apartment.

  “Rick isn’t here anymore.”

  “I know.” Of course he does.

  “Shy, you have everyone worried sick. You just vanished. Lizzy has been on my ass like a psycho.”

  “But you didn’t care.” I say quietly.

  “Shy, that couldn’t be further from the truth. Do you remember what you said to me when you left? You told me that you didn’t trust me; you wouldn’t even kiss me. I thought this is what you wanted. Why do you think I’m here?”

  “Because Lizzy sent you.”

  “Let’s be clear. Lizzy works for me, not the other way around. I just wanted to let you know that people care and you have them worried.”

  “Well, I’m alive,” I say. My head sinks, I know the tears will begin to flow. I have become such an emotional mess. I don’t recognize myself anymore.

  “Hey.” He tries to lift my chin, but I rebuff his attempt. “Can we just talk without making assumptions about what the other is saying?”

  “Of course.”

  We sit on my couch facing each other, but with no physical contact. I want him to reach over, but I know my earlier rejection of what was a very uncharacteristically tender moment has eliminated that possibility.

  “Shy, you have to understand when I say something, I mean it 100%. I don’t speak in code, I don’t say I care about you if I don’t.”

  “Are you seriously trying to convince me of that? What has the past couple of months been?”

  “That was different. I mean since Russia, when I told you the truth, now there is nothing for me to hide. I don’t pretend to have feelings for people. In other words, if last week I never wanted to see you again, I would have just told you that.”

  “Ouch.”


  “But I didn’t.”

  “I mean ouch for whoever has been on the receiving end of that in the past.”

  “That’s not relevant to this conversation. Listen, the truth is, I can’t stop thinking about you. Ever since I met you, there’s something about you.”

  That is all I need to hear. That is the only assurance I need.

  “I can’t stop either and I feel like a terrible person because of Rick, but really, you’re all I think about.”

  “I’ve told you already. I’m not an easy person, and there are things...but I want to try to make this work.”

  “Me too. I’ll do anything.” I don’t even care if I sound pathetic.

  “I’m not so sure about that.”

  “I am.” He has no idea that he owns me completely and totally. I reach my hand onto his thigh. He looks at it tentatively, and then looks back up at me.

  “Looks like you’ve had a rough week. You look like you’ve lost weight and your complexion is sallow.” There goes Taylor Holden’s spirit of honesty.

  “Gee...Thanks for making me feel beautiful.”

  “Come on, you know I think you are beautiful, but you don’t look your best. Nothing nourishment can’t fix. We’re ordering food.” I’ll do whatever he wants. I’ll eat a hippo. “But first, I would love to wash your tears away.” Huh?

  He leads me to the bathroom, which isn’t very hard to find in the two-bedroom, one-bathroom apartment.

  “This isn’t quite up to your standards,” I say in my usual self-deprecating fashion.

  “A clawfoot tub is perfect.” He begins to run the bathwater. He asks for oils and salts, which I dig up from the under the sink cabinet. As the water runs, he kicks off his shoes. He is wearing a white linen button down shirt, the sleeves rolled up, and a pair of jeans. His hair looks a little longer than the last time I saw him and has a little bit more curl. Completely naked underneath the T-shirt I am wearing, I feel like a mess until he looks at me, like a wild animal hunting prey. It makes me feel irresistible. He asks me to hold my arms up and pulls the shirt off. I reach out to touch him and he gently stops me. I put my hands down to my sides.

  “You are so delicate, Shy. Like a doll.” He touches my cheeks with his fingertips, runs them down my neck, and grazes my nipples. This causes an immediate tingle in between my legs, I take a quick breath. “You are so soft, so feminine. I want to take care of you. Would you let me do that?” I nod, like a baffled child. I’ll say yes to anything right now. He adds the ingredients to the tub and leads me to it by my fingertips. I step into the bath, and wince. It feels almost too hot, but once I am submerged, it feels perfect.

  “Relax, tilt your head back, close your eyes.” They are all orders, but they sound so gentle. He closes the faucet so that the water line cuts right along the midline of my breasts. He grabs a loofah, squeezes a big dollop of body wash and he meticulously washes me. He glides the loofah over my breasts, he lifts each arm and rubs it with the loofah so delicately. I have never been cared for, so utterly and completely, at least not as an adult. I sneak a peak at his face. His eyes are so focused on his task, as if I am a butterfly and he does not want to injure my wings. He studies every part of me that he rubs with the loofah. I giggle.

  “What?” He asks, breaking his focus.

  “You’re concentrating so hard.”

  “I’m just admiring you. You’re mesmerizing.” I smirk, I want to say something sarcastic because I don’t feel that way, but I don’t want to risk him closing up. “Now, head back, eyes closed. Promise you won’t open them.”

  “It’s hard not to admire you, Taylor.”

  “Hush.” I smile and tilt my head back. A cold swirl of body gel slowly oozes on my chest. I feel his fingers slowly spread it onto my breasts, then onto the peaks. It’s slickness makes his fingers glide so easily. I bite my lip to contain myself, trying not to squirm. “You look so sexy right now Shy. Don’t open your eyes.” He plays with my breast, his hands moving with artful precision, like a sculptor, applying just the right amount of pressure. Then he squeezes and tugs on one of my nipples.

  “Ahhh.” I squirm.

  “That’s right baby.” It’s his sex voice, a little lower and raspier that usual. “I love when you writhe like that. I makes me want to tease you.”

  “Don’t tease me.” I beg.

  “Oh, we’re dishing out orders now? Just relax, I want to take care of you.” I hear the water part and then I feel his fingers in between my legs. He gently flicks my clitoris.

  “Oh Taylor.” I let out. It feels so incredibly good. I want him inside of me so badly. “Please come in the tub.”

  “No baby this is all for you.” As he says this, I feel his forefinger and ring finger slide into me. I tilt my head back further. His thumb continues to massage my clitoris. I brace the sides of the tub. “You have the most beautiful lips.” Taylor and his signature double entendres.

  “Oh, Taylor.”

  “I want to watch you come, you have no idea how much that pleases me.” He hooks his fingers slightly and rubs rhythmically over and over. I am in a state of total surrender.

  “Oh my god.” It feels so good I could cry. The tension inside of me builds and builds as I tighten around his fingers.

  “Shy...baby.” His forehead presses against mine. His warm breath blows on my lips with each word. He is deriving as much pleasure from this as I am and it sets me off as I fall into a million little pieces in the bathtub.

  ***

  As we eat dinner on my living room couch, I am in a state of utter bliss which is heightened by the depth of the depression I felt when I was uncertain if I would ever see him again. I don’t ever want to go back to that feeling, even if he doesn’t tell me all of his secrets right away. In the meantime, I will have to hope it is something I can handle. So much of my future is uncertain, but I do know that at this moment, I am just happy to see him, feel him, and enjoy his touch.

  “So HR tells me you won’t be coming back to H.I.”

  “I just can’t. I don’t want people to think I’m that girl.”

  “Who gives a shit?”

  “I do.”

  “It’ll be impossible to replace you, literally.”

  “I know, but I can still come to events and stuff. I’ll just be a real date this time.”

  “So, Rick plans on coming back? His stuff seems to be all over the place.” Pictures of happier days are on shelves and walls. I have been keeping them up as a self-inflicted form of punishment.

  “He’s moving out on Sunday. Then this palace is all mine.” I make a grand gesture around me.

  “We should get you a fresh start.”

  “We? Taylor, this is fine. I am just one person.”

  “It would be nice for you to have a place closer to H.I. I could stay over on late nights. You need to get used to the fact you’re dating a rich person. Hell, I bought you stuff when I thought there wasn’t a chance of us being together, just because I wanted to make you feel good.”

  “You make me feel good.”

  “I know how you grew up and I want you to have the finest things. It’s okay to like money. I love it. It’s the only thing that makes my life bearable.”

  “Don’t say that. You have so much more than money to offer. Plus, we just signed the new lease a couple of months ago. So case closed.” I know I can’t stop him, but I want him to know that he matters to me, not the material possessions. I throw away our takeout and when I come back into the apartment, Taylor grabs my arm and pulls me into his lap. I can feel his hardness. The bathtub was all about me. I decide to return the favor.

  “I don’t think I will ever get tired of looking at you” I say, taking him in. “Now, this is all for you.” I force him to lay back. He has a devilish grin on his face. I unbutton his pants and slide them down. Then I pull down his underwear to reveal him. I love the way it just pops out from underneath the waistband. Like the rest of him, his penis is perfect: thick, long, and symmetric
al. Where does this man get the nerve? I look up at him, ready to devour him as he holds my loose hair away from my face. I take him in my mouth. I want to please him, I want to drive him mad. I take care not to use any teeth and slowly take him in, all the way to the back of my throat and then suck as I pull away.

  “Oh Shy...” Hearing him makes me so horny. I know now what he felt in the tub when he was pleasing me. Selfishly, I want to mount him, but I resist the urge. I have one hand at the base of the shaft, countering my mouth. His heavy breathing tells me I am on the right track. I feel him getting harder and harder. Sometimes, I gag a little bit taking him all the way down my throat, tears streaming down my cheeks, but that’s when he moans the hardest. His breathing gets heavier, the grip on my hair gets tighter, and he releases calling out my name in a great sigh. I take every last drop of him inside of me, grateful to be the one to please him.

  I lay on the couch, my head in his lap, looking up at him.

  “So, tell me about your other girlfriends.”

  “Do you think that’s wise?”

  “Maybe not, but you never talk about yourself. It’s either your girlfriends or your family. Pick one.”

  “Both subjects would make for long stories. Can I tell you just a piece here and there? I really don’t like to rehash things.”

  “Okay, I hope eventually you will be comfortable telling me more.” If I can just open the door, show him that he can tell me anything, he will open up.

  “Okay...my father lives in our family home, he’s retired, as you know. I have a half-brother and we don’t really talk.” He stops. That is all he is going to give me.

  “You have a brother? Older or younger?”

  “Older.”

  “Different moms?”

  “Yup.”

  “Why do you have H.I.?”

  “Shy, you’re breaking the rules.”