by Jay McLean
“You’ve had experience?” he asked, his head tilting to the side, assessing me.
“My dad and his girlfriend.”
I didn’t need to see him to hear the surprising anger in his voice. “Did they hurt you?”
“Not so much my dad, but his girlfriend.”
With the same tone, he asked, “What did she do, Bailey?”
“She just hit me a lot.”
“So you ran away and ended up on the streets?”
I shook my head and looked back up at him. His eyes bored into mine the second they made contact. “I didn’t run away. They just up and left one day. They left me alone and with nowhere to go.”
Nate sat up straighter, his jaw tense and his eyes distant. He ran his thumb across his bottom lip again. “What’s her name?” he asked.
“Why?”
He responded by lifting his eyebrows, waiting for me to answer him.
I didn’t.
Finally, he let his shoulders relax. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about the shitty life you’ve been handed. And about what happened to you that night. And everything that led to you being here.”
“I’m not,” I said quickly.
“Not what?”
“Not sorry I ended up here. It could’ve been a lot worse. Besides, when you think about it, it’s kind of ironic, right? Your guys probably supplied my dad with the drugs that led me to where I was… and now you’re here, supplying me with what he should’ve been giving me in the first place.”
“That’s not ironic, Bailey,” Nate said, lying back down and linking his fingers behind his head again. “That’s just bad fuckin’ luck.”
12
Nate
She curled into a ball and fell asleep in my bed.
We spent a couple of hours talking. Mainly me asking her questions, questions about her life and her family and about the night it all went down. She answered every one and after a while, she allowed the exhaustion to take over. I watched as her eyes started drifting shut until her body gave in, her breaths calm, her features relaxed. I wondered for a moment if she could ever relax. If she were ever able not to worry about her next meal, her next step, her next decision.
At some point, I must’ve fallen back asleep because Tiny’s phone call had me startling awake. I blindly reached over for my phone and told him I’d be out in a minute. The last thing I needed was for him to come in and get the wrong idea about her being in my bed.
*
“I just need a coffee before we head out,” I told Tiny as he followed me to the kitchen.
“Did you tell Bailey about the body?”
I nodded through a yawn and switched on the coffee pot. A moment later, I heard a door click open. Tiny and I both looked toward the hallway. Luckily the bedrooms were hidden from where we stood.
Bailey shuffled into the kitchen, her eyes half closed and her hair a mess. “Coffee?” she mumbled.
I smiled at her appearance, the emotion strange even to myself. “You want one?”
She nodded and kept taking tiny shuffled steps toward me. She didn’t stop until she was next to me, our sides touching. Then she bent over and folded her arms on the counter, resting her head on them, her ass sticking out in the air.
I looked up at Tiny, but he was already watching me, a single eyebrow arched in question. “You both not sleep well last night?”
I nudged Bailey’s hip with mine. “Did you have a bad sleep?”
She nodded against her arm.
“And you?” Tiny asked me.
I shrugged. “Worked late.”
“Oh yeah?” He looked from me to Bailey. “You should take the day off. There’s nothing important on today. Nothing I can’t do on my own. Besides, I don’t ever recall you taking a sick day.”
I nodded and glanced at Bailey quickly. She hadn’t moved. In fact, she was probably sleeping again. I picked up my phone and looked at Tiny as I typed out a text.
7272: Find out everything you can about Bailey.
Tiny’s phone chimed in his hands, and I watched him read the text before his fingers deftly tapped the screen.
6590: Anything specific?
7272: Everything. Her school. Her parents. Her dad’s girlfriend. I want specifics on her. Name. Address. Workplace.
Tiny’s brow shot up, but he didn’t speak.
6590: Got it.
He shoved the phone back in his pocket and waved a silent goodbye.
A moment later he was gone.
I nudged Bailey again.
“Mm?”
“Coffee or sleep?”
“Sleep,” she mumbled, standing up and heading back to the bedrooms. I followed behind her and caught her arm as she was walking past my room to get to hers.
She turned around, her eyes wide. “What’s wrong?”
I motioned my head to my room.
She didn’t say a word as she got under the covers of my bed.
We’re just getting to know each other, I told myself.
I climbed in after her and tensed when she moved up next to me, throwing an arm around my waist and settling her head in the crook of my arm. A second later, she was asleep.
Two seconds later, I found myself relaxing.
And a second after that, I completely convinced myself that there was absolutely nothing—not a single damn thing—wrong with what we were doing.
If anything, it felt so, so right.
Bailey
I knew it was wrong to enjoy the feeling of him beneath me—to have his hand on my waist as he pulled me closer to him. To feel his exhales on my forehead as his breaths calmed. It was all wrong. I knew I’d started to have feelings for him, the same ones Steven evoked from me that one night which felt like a lifetime ago.
Wrong, I kept telling myself.
I didn’t want to feel this way, and I didn’t want to trust him enough to let my guard down. And I sure as hell didn’t want to want him.
But here I was, lying in his bed, wanting every single part of it.
He shifted beneath me, his hand moving from my waist, up my body, and to my hair. He stroked it slowly, then twisted a strand between his fingers.
“You awake?”
I nodded against his chest.
“What are you thinking?”
I exhaled loudly but refused to look up at him. “How wrong this is.”
His hand froze in my hair, along with the rest of him. “Funny. I was just thinking how right it was.” He sat up, moving me with him.
“It can’t be right, Nate. It might be for now, but when all of this is over…”
He sighed. “You’re just a girl, an incredibly pretty girl, living in my house. And I’m a guy, Bailey. Who says it’s wrong to want to be near each other like this?”
I got out of bed and stood up. “I do,” I said, ignoring the ache in my chest at his words. He said I was pretty, but he also said I was just a girl. And he was just a guy. And that’s all he thought this was. I felt stupid for thinking more, for wanting more. I left his room and showered in the guest bathroom, the entire time I fought to keep the tears at bay.
If this was how he could already make me feel, I’d hate to think about what it would be like after weeks. Months, even. There was no end in sight for my captivity.
*
“Did you want to do something today?” he asked, walking into the kitchen where I was making coffee.
I kept my eyes on my cup. “Like what?” I scoffed. “Go outside? Get some fresh air?”
He sighed and sat up on the counter next to my resting forearms. “I thought we were going to make an effort to make this work?”
My head dropped forward and whatever tiny piece of fight I had completely left me. “I think I’m going crazy, Nate. And it’s only been two weeks. I feel like I’m trapped.”
“You are trapped,” he mumbled.
“No. Not just physically. I mean mentally trapped in my own head.” I looked up at him, and his eyes met mine. “I feel like I�
�m going insane.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“I don’t know, either.”
He jumped off the counter. “I’m sorry, Bailey.”
“Me too.”
13
Nate
For weeks I watched the life in her eyes slowly fade, not that she had much to begin with. But the lifelessness wasn’t what tore my insides to shreds. It was the sadness she didn’t bother hiding, the pain and anger that lay beneath the surface. Every night, she’d only speak a few words to me before locking herself in her room. I can’t count the amount of times I stood outside her door, my hand fisted, wanting to knock. I just wanted talk to her, to see her, to ask her if there was anything I could do to make it better.
Because I would.
I’d do anything.
As long as it meant saving her.
But she resented me. Hated me, even. I could tell by the way she looked at me, cold and distant. Sometimes, it was as if she’d rather be out there with nothing. Or worse, she’d rather I’d pulled the trigger. How could I explain it to her? That I just wanted to save her. Why wouldn’t she let me save her?
Bailey
Weeks passed, and we were back at the beginning. Me avoiding him, and him… I have no idea how he felt. I spent my days cleaning the house and sleeping and cleaning the house again and sleeping some more. Each day created a different mood. Some days I’d be grateful for my life, other days I’d wished to be out there in the rain with my cold feet stomping on the pavement searching for shelter. It sounds stupid, I know this, but at least out there I knew who I was.
In here, I barely existed.
The front door opened, and the beeps of the alarm that had become so familiar sounded as he disengaged it. It took all my energy to get out of bed, my head spinning when I sat up straight. I’d gotten weaker over the past few days. Almost as weak as I was when I’d gone days without food. But I’d been eating, so I put it down to my depressed moods and lack of motivation to do anything.
I opened my door and lazily walked to the kitchen where I sat at the table, waiting for him to dump whatever food he’d purchased that night. I expected to eat in silence like we did every night. Him watching me, me glancing up at him to catch him watching me, and him not bothering to look away when I did.
I picked at a worn spot on the table, ignoring the light-headedness and slow spinning of the room. My breaths amplified in my eardrums. Sweat dripped from my forehead and into my eyes and I wiped them away just as he sat opposite me. He faked a smile. I knew it was fake because he had nothing to be happy about. And if he did, it sure wasn’t me that was making him smile. For a second, I thought about what it could be, and my mind immediately latched on to the image of him with a woman.
My throat made a sound as I pushed down the puke.
The thought of him with someone in that way made me feel even sicker.
“You okay?” he asked.
I nodded and stayed silent.
He sighed, reached down next to him and then set a white cardboard box on the table. I looked from the box, up to him, my heart suddenly racing though I had no idea why.
“Happy birthday, Bailey. I know it’s not much but—”
“What?” I whispered.
He lifted the lid on the box and showed me the cake. Two candles—a one and an eight. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a lighter, then proceeded to light them. “I hope you like white chocolate,” he said.
There was wetness in my eyes, but it wasn’t sweat this time. “How did you know?” I asked him.
“I have my ways.”
I swallowed the lump formed in my throat. “I…” I didn’t know what I wanted to say. I stared off into the distance, trying to remember the last time I’d celebrated my birthday.
“Blow them out,” Nate said, his voice low as he leaned in closer. “Who knows? Maybe your wish might come true.”
I nodded.
Closed my eyes.
And I wished for freedom.
*
He let me choose what to order for dinner considering it was my birthday and all. I chose pizza. Not for me, but for him, because I knew it was his favorite. We sat on the floor of the living room and ate. “I wanted to get you a computer,” he told me. “I had it ordered and everything but Tiny nixed the idea last minute. Sorry.”
“You were going to get me a computer?”
He just shrugged. “I wanted to get something to help you out a bit. I know you’ve been struggling lately with being cooped up in here all day.”
“You noticed?” I asked, looking up at him.
“I notice everything, Bailey,” he said with a sigh.
“I’m glad you didn’t. That’s way too expensive.”
He licked his lips and leaned back on his outstretched arms, his legs crossed at his ankles. “There’s not a lot you can do on the computer without Internet. And Tiny—he kind of crushed my dreams about not allowing you online. Just like he won’t let you watch TV or read books or magazines or anything like that. He thinks it could be dangerous… not just for you getting escape ideas but because it might make you a little crazy not being able to experience it all while you’re in here. He said—” he broke off with a quiet laugh. One I hadn’t heard before. “Let’s just say Tiny’s smart. He thinks with his head and I…” he trailed off, his gaze flicking to mine a moment before looking away.
“You what? You don’t think with your head?”
He shook his head slowly, his eyes on mine. “Not when it comes to you, apparently.”
“So…” I hesitated to ask, “What do you think with?”
He sucked in a breath before quickly coming to a stand, and my heart dropped when he walked away. I assumed the moment was over, so I started picking up the napkins and pizza boxes off the floor, but then he returned, sat back down, and held out a small silver box. “It’s not a computer,” he joked.
I picked it up, finding it impossible to breathe. I’d seen boxes like these in the many jewelry stores I’d walked past, but I’d never held one in my hands. A part of me was hesitant to accept it, but a bigger part of me was just too damn excited. And that excitement couldn’t be contained when I ripped the ribbon off and snapped the box open.
If I could bottle time, this would be one of them. Every sight, every smell, every feeling of this moment… I’d bottle it so I could experience it over and over.
Nate took the box from my hand and removed the gold bracelet, the tiny charms all coming into view. A star. A sun. A rainbow. A car. And about half a dozen others I hadn’t quite made out yet. “I figure you miss the outside world. It’s not much, I know, but maybe having these close to you will make the days go by a little easier.” He laughed once, but it was sad. “It’s dumb now that I think about it. It’ll just make you miss it more.” He grasped my hand and pulled it to him, then proceeded to clasp the bracelet around my wrist. “Do you like it?” he asked, his gaze lifting to mine, his eyebrows arched a little as he waited for my response.
And then it happened.
A single tear.
A single shaky exhale.
A single sob.
All of it escaped me at once.
I hadn’t meant to let it go.
“Why?” I choked out. “Why would you do this for me?”
His head dropped forward, his shoulders heaving with his breath. When he looked back up, his expression had changed. His jaw was tense; his lips thinned to a line. But his eyes… his eyes held a fear that had me struggling for air.
He got up quickly and held his hand out for me.
I took it.
Then he led me to the kitchen and pulled out a bottle—whiskey, I read—and poured two glasses. He offered one to me, and I accepted.
He drank his, and just as I started to lift mine, his hand covered mine around the glass. “Just wait. I need to get this out,” he rushed out.
I nodded.
And I waited.
He took another drink.
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I sat up on the counter.
He watched me watch him.
Neither looking away.
He rubbed his eyes, which had become bloodshot and distant.
Another drink.
Finally, he said, “That room at the end of the hallway was my parents’.”
“Where are they?”
“Dead, Bailey. They’re dead.” He poured another glass, but he didn’t drink it this time. He just stared at it. “My mom died when I was ten. She used to sing that song to me—the same one you sang when I was holding a gun to your head. Every night we’d sing it together, and she’d tell me she loved me.” His teeth clamped shut and anger flamed in his eyes. “She even made me sing it out loud while I was locked in my closet and she was being raped in the room next to me.”
I felt the sob reach my throat again. I didn’t deserve to cry. “Nate…”
“I didn’t know what was happening… not until years later. But at the time… I couldn’t save her, Bailey…”
I reached up and moved his hair away from his beautiful eyes, and I realized what caused the fear I’d seen in them earlier. I cupped the side of his face, and he looked up, his gaze penetrating mine. “How old were you?” I asked.
“Seven.”
“You were just a kid…”
He leaned into my touch, coming closer and resting his head on my shoulder. I combed my fingers through his hair, stroking gently, hoping to comfort him somehow.
Soft and warm, his hands found my legs, and he stood between them. The warmth of his breath on my chest had my fingers curling in his hair. “But I’m not a kid anymore, Bailey,” he whispered. “And now… now you have to let me save you.”
We held each other, my hands in his hair stroking gently, him between my legs and his arms around my waist, gripping my shirt in his clenched fists. There was nothing sexual about it. It was comforting in a way I hadn’t felt in years, and after a while, he pulled back, giving me a half-smile that turned my insides to dust. I’d tried hard to ignore my attraction to him, to push those thoughts out of my head. But in that moment, the way he was looking at me, the way his hands rested gently on my thighs… I couldn’t deny it. “We almost forgot your cake,” he said, shaking his head and backing away toward the fridge. “That would’ve been a shame.”