Strapped

by Nina G. Jones

“No, no, no...” he whispers, his hands out in front of him as if he is trying to coax a scared animal. “It’s okay...it’s okay...” We both pant heavily in the stillness of the night. “I’m not gonna hurt you, okay?” He keeps his volume low and his tone very slow.

  I nod, my face covered in tears. I don’t know if they are from fear or a physical reaction to being choked. My body trembles uncontrollably.

  “Listen. Look at me. I thought you were someone else.” He moves forward just an inch with his hands still up. “Shyla, I was dreaming and I thought you were someone else. Do you understand?”

  I nod, still shaking, still panting.

  “Can I come over to you?”

  I don’t respond. I know he was dreaming; I could tell from the look in his eyes when I turned on the lamp, but I am still in shock. I try to steady my breathing, get some control over my panic, but each inhalation is shallow and choppy.

  “I am so sorry Shy. I am so sorry. Please, let me come over to you. I promise I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to explain” His eyes convey a level of compassion I have never seen in him.

  “O...okay.”

  He crawls over to me carefully, so as not to trigger me to flinch. Once he is close enough, he reaches out one hand, very slowly, and I watch it intently, still feeling a little distrustful. He pushes my hair out of my face; strands of hair are stuck to my tears. Then he moves just slightly faster as he comes even closer. He rakes his fingers into my hair and sits beside me, and then he pulls my head to his chest, cradling me. “It’s okay,” he assures me. “I’m sorry,” he whispers into my ear. “Please forgive me. I didn’t know it was you.” His physical tenderness is entirely new to me. Ever since he came to my apartment, I could sense him struggling with how to use physical touch in a non-sexual manner.

  I lay on his chest in silence, using the rhythm of its rise and fall to help sooth my jagged breathing. After minutes, we sit there in silence, breathing in unison.

  “Taylor, what happened? You could have killed me.”

  “I don’t know. I had a dream and I thought you were someone else.”

  “What was it about?”

  “I can’t remember.”

  “Has this happened before?”

  “When I was a kid, occasionally it would happen. I couldn’t go to sleepovers because of it. But as an adult, I don’t sleep with other people, even women. Not specifically because of this, but because I don’t like people in my space. They usually leave or sleep in another room. I thought it might have gone away by now or that it wouldn’t happen because you make me feel relaxed. I am so sorry.”

  “You scared me. Does this mean we can’t sleep in the same bed?”

  “I don’t know. I have some medication that I can take before bed that sedates me.”

  “Why do you have these dreams? Are they about something?”

  “I don’t know.” He guides my chin up to look at him. “Listen. I feel terrible. I would never want to hurt you, you have to understand. That was not me.”

  “I know. I could tell you weren’t present. Your eyes...they were vacant.”

  “Can I kiss you?”

  I nod.

  At first his kisses are soft, along my temple and cheek, but when I turn to meet his lips they get intense. He frantically runs his hands through my hair and kisses me all over my face and neck as his body lies on top of mine. His breathing is again heavy and fast. His approach feels frantic and I know this is for him more than it is for me. I think he knows more about these dreams then he is letting on. He is panicked, as if he is trying to rid himself of something. He pulls off my panties and I feel him reach down to pull himself out of his shorts. He slides into me, I moan, this is happening so fast, my body is not ready for it and feels especially tight. Once he is inside of me I begin to loosen up, and he slides effortlessly in and out. I wrap my arms around him, holding him close. His presence is so silent, so haunting. Finally he breaks his silence:

  “Shy.”

  “What is it?” I say, taking his hands into my face, looking into his jade eyes.

  “Please don’t ever leave me.” I run my hands through his hair.

  “I am not going anywhere.” He seems so small, so scared.

  “Do you trust me?” His voice still has a trace of desperation. Do I? My mind races through all the things he hasn’t told me, all the secrets he has kept.

  “Yes.” My voice is breathy because of his weight on top of me. He needs to hear this. He continues to thrust in and out, his mouth just by my ear where I can hear and feel every breath. My moans become more consistent and louder, and I begin to tighten around him, gripping him close to me.

  “Trust me Shy.” He takes his hand and covers my mouth and nose firmly. My instinct is to push him off, but he continues to thrust and he is too strong for me to move him. “Shy, this time it’s different. I want to make you feel things you never imagined you could feel. Just trust me, I won’t hurt you.” I stop resisting him, and allow myself to just let go. I try to suck in air, but the seal he has created with his hand is too tight. He keeps his hand over my mouth and nose, I hear my muffled gasps, but I am outside of myself. The feeling of him inside me becomes so intense, so explosive, so amplified. I clutch his body close to mine, my nails digging into his back as he grunts my name, releasing into me. He uncovers my mouth as I gasp for air, my body still tingling from the aftereffects.

  He lays his head on my bare chest as I run my hands through his hair. I break the silence.

  “Taylor, please tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Nothing is wrong.”

  “That was something. I think you do remember what you were dreaming about.”

  He pauses and as usual changes the subject back to me. “Tell me about your father.” He runs his finger along the inside of my right leg, which is bent, my knee pointed to the ceiling. I answer, hoping that by opening up to him, he will do the same with me.

  “There’s not much to tell. He and my mom married, had me, and then he got into drugs, left my mom, and died.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Four.”

  “Do you remember him?”

  “Not really. I do know he is the only other person that I ever let call me Shy. I do remember him calling me that.” Taylor looks up at me, resting his chin on my chest and kisses the space between my breasts.

  “Tell me about your father.” I say, flipping the script on him. He sighs.

  “He’s not perfect, but he’s a good man. He taught me everything I know.” As usual, he keeps it short.

  “What are your nightmares about?”

  “I don’t like to talk about it Shy.”

  “Please, let me in.” He remains silent. “Taylor, I have let you practically suffocate me just a few minutes ago. I trust you, you have to trust me.”

  “Shy, the goal was not suffocate you just then. I want to tell you. I do. But, I have never told anyone and I don’t know how to start.” I realize that in order for him to expose himself, I will have to do the same. Is he is afraid I will judge him and leave? He has to know that I am here for him unconditionally. I feel crazy for what I am about to say, but it is the truth, a truth I have been trying to avoid. I look him in the eyes, the glow of the lamp casts a shadow on his face. I brush back his wild hair.

  “Taylor. I love you.” He stares into my eyes, not saying a word. I feel a pang of regret, maybe I said too much, too fast. He puts his head back down on my chest and runs a trail with his index finger down my torso, stomach and legs.

  “Don’t say that.” He says, sounding choked, and while I can’t be certain, I believe I feel the moisture of his tears on my chest.

  After a few minutes of silence, he sits up. “I should sleep somewhere else until I sort out the meds. It’s been a while since I’ve used them.”

  As frightened as the incident made me, I don’t want him to go. Part of what makes me feel so special are the things he can do with only me, like sharing a bed, but I know we
should sleep separately tonight.

  “Okay,” I say sadly.

  He kisses me on the forehead and then presses his against mine. “I’m so sorry.” He hands me the keys to the bedroom and tells me to lock the door behind him, just in case.

  I nod and he slips out of the bedroom. Even though he is in the same house, his absence makes me feel so alone.

  The next morning, I find Taylor asleep in the guest bedroom. This is the first time I have seen him sleep in, and I don’t want to wake him up, so I watch him. I assume this is a result of the medication he said he would try. He looks so peaceful, a different picture from the chaos that woke us up last night. My stomach knots a little, having confessed already that I love him and not hearing the same in return. I fear the power dynamic is for certain in his favor now, but I reassure myself, knowing that I too have seen him at his most vulnerable. There is still a secret he doesn’t know: Love doesn’t cover the breadth of feeling I have for him. To just say I love him oversimplifies the situation. He has me totally and completely, and this I must keep a secret.

  I watch him shift around for a second and open his eyes. He looks up at me and I smile at him.

  “What time is it?”

  “It’s around ten I think.”

  His eyes widen with disbelief. “You let me sleep this late?”

  “I figured you needed it. Plus, I loved watching you. You’ve never looked so tranquil.” I wonder if I should bring last night up: the attack, the asphyxiation, me telling him I love him. Instead, I leave it all behind and will let him bring it up if he decides.

  Taylor pops up. “It’s the meds, they’re strong. Let’s have a lazy Sunday morning. I haven’t had one of those in a long time. First though, I would like to take you into the shower upstairs.”

  I remember just weeks ago being alone in that bathroom, wondering about who has been with him in that shower. It feels so unreal that it will be me in there with him now. He goes into his closet and throws a T-shirt at me. It brings to mind the mysterious room in the back of the closet. I can’t help myself.

  “What’s behind that door in your closet?” I ask nonchalantly. The fuss of him opening drawers in the closet ceases immediately. I imagine him rolling his eyes in exasperation.

  After a pause, he responds. “I don’t think you are ready to know.”

  “Shouldn’t I be the judge of that?”

  Finally, he walks out in a huff. “Am I going to have to deal with this every day? You interrogating me?” I cannot believe he has the nerve to get snippy with me. This morning is not going to turn out as promising as I once thought.

  “You know what? Yes, you are. You asked me to trust you last night and I did. Multiple times! I told you about my father. I even told you...” I am afraid to repeat the words to him. “Yet, you can’t share one thing with me. Not one! I must be the biggest idiot in the world. I am sleeping with someone who just takes and takes and doesn’t give anything back!”

  “Take? What more can I give? I take care of you, I get you anything you need. Whatever you want, it’s yours!” It hits me like a dagger to the heart. He doesn’t even understand what I am talking about. He doesn’t even understand how to love. He thinks that sex and money equal love. I will have to show him. I have to teach this 32-year-old man how to love.

  I calm myself down and I walk from the bed over to him. “Taylor, that’s not what I mean when I say I want you to give to me. Take the money, take Ladybug. I want you. I want what is inside of you.” He looks uncomfortable and confused. “It’s my fault for accepting all of this.” I gesture my hand to the surroundings.

  “No, Shy. I want you to have the best.”

  “And I appreciate that, but if that is all you want to give me, It’s not enough. I need you.”

  “This is me.”

  “This is part of you. I want all of you.” I kiss him softly. He guides me into his master bath instead of the upstairs bath, presumably because I am naked and he doesn’t want Harrison to see me. We get into the shower together. He creates a rich lather with a body wash and begins to rub me down.

  He draws a deep breath.

  “You asked me about my father. He is a good man, but I didn’t know him until I was seven. My mother took me away for several years before she died and only after she passed away was I reunited with my dad, who subsequently raised me.” I try to take it all in, I had always assumed that the woman Holden Sr. was married to was Taylor’s mom.

  “I’m sorry about your mother.”

  “I’m not.”

  I am taken aback by the harshness of the statement.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “That’s for a different day Shy. Freud would have a field day.”

  “You said your older brother has a different mother.”

  “Yes, my stepmom. The only woman my dad has ever married.” I do the math and I begin to put the pieces together. I think it is safe to assume that Holden is the product of an extramarital affair. I appreciate his sharing and I don’t want to push too hard for fear he will clam up as he usually does. I turn to face him. “Thank you for sharing that with me. I like to learn about you.” He looks down and smiles. He grabs a bottle of shampoo and globs some into my hair. I close my eyes as he massages the heaping pile of suds.

  “My nightmares, they are about the things that happened before I was taken in by my father. I haven’t told anyone about them, ever.” I try to open my eyes, but the suds sting. He changes the subject. “How did you feel about what I did to you last night?” I start to blush. I believe he is talking about when he covered my mouth.

  “I, uh, was surprised, especially after what had just happened, that you would do that again, but it made everything so incredibly intense. I knew you wouldn’t hurt me. Even though I couldn’t breath again, the outcome, the entire experience felt different.” I am speaking very loudly because I can’t see him.

  “That’s because it was, we did it from a place of trust and with a different intent. And in the locker room. Did you like it rough?”

  This line of questioning makes me very shy. “Umm, well couldn’t you tell?”

  He laughs a little. “Well yes, but I mean, were you comfortable?”

  “I am always comfortable around you. I mean if someone had told me I would be doing those things a few weeks ago, I would have thought they were mad, but everything feels so good with you. It’s like you know more about my body than I do.”

  “That’s something we should fix.”

  “I’ll do whatever makes you happy.” He pulls the shower head off the mount and rinses my hair. He grabs a bottle of conditioner and points at it, awaiting my approval. I nod. He adds it to my hair, combing it through with his fingers.

  “You’re pretty good with hair sir.”

  “My mom used to have long, wavy blond hair. I used to love watching her wash it and take care of it. With regard to your last statement, it should be whatever makes us both happy. Would you be open to some more play?”

  “Play? I love to play.” I smirk at him as I lower myself onto the shower bench in front of him and watch him tip his head back with pleasure.

  We spend the rest of our Sunday like lovers do, enjoying a meal and reading peacefully, content just to bask in each other’s glow. It is already late afternoon before I know it.

  “I should go home. I need to start looking for a new job or work on getting my old clients back.”

  “I don’t want you to leave.” His words tug at my heart. I desperately want to stay, but I feel like the healthy thing to do is go home and give him some space. We are growing very close very quickly.

  “We can meet up for dinner during the week, or lunch. You are so busy anyway, it’s not like we could do much.”

  “Do you want me to make any calls about openings?”

  “No, let me do this on my own. I need to know I still got it.”

  “Oh baby, you never lost it.” Taylor says in an old-fashioned voice. “I’ll write you a recommen
dation then.”

  “That would be great. Do you mind if I list H.I. as an internship? Otherwise, my stint will look suspiciously short.”

  “Of course. I’ll give you a ring once I am done with work tomorrow. Do you need Harrison to take you?”

  “No, I’ll take the bug.” Taylor insists that he walk me to the car left parked in front of the house. I lean my back up against the car as Taylor leans his tall body over me, one of his hands supported on the hood of the car. He kisses my nose.

  “Shy, you’ve done something to me. You know that?” I look down and smirk, he makes me feel so childlike around him. He cradles my chin, I can tell he doesn’t want to let me go. I don’t want to leave either and I fight with everything inside of me to pull away from him. “I’d never intentionally hurt you. You know that, right?”

  I nod. Despite what happened last night, I believe him, especially after what he told me in the shower.

  “Hasta mañana!” I say as I speed away in Ladybug, my heart heavy as I leave him in the rearview mirror, if only for a day.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I snuggle into my couch with the latest issue of Wired and a blanket, trying my best to take my mind off of Taylor. I wonder if he is thinking of me at that very moment. I start to nod off to an article when I hear the ping of a text.

  Taylor:

  I can’t take this stupid grin off of my face. What have you done to me?!?

  The stupid grin is contagious.

  Shyla:

  I have my ways. I pegged you as a sucker in the coffee shop. Scalding you was part of my master plan.

  Taylor:

  Well I am glad you decided to prey on me. I have a fun game for you tomorrow.

  Shyla:

  Do tell.

  Mr. Holden:

  It’s a surprise. Goodnight ;)

  Shyla: