His wet shorts cling to the outline of his rigid cock and I press my hips against him begging for him to numb the pain the only way I know he can right now. I overhand grab the door frame to my right to brace myself for Taylor’s thrust. He pulls his swollen dick out of his boxers and presses his head against my slick pussy, sliding it up and down to wet his tip.
“Taylor,” I mew, gyrating my hips against him, my nipples taut and firm from the unsatisfied arousal. He looks up at me, his skin glowing against the candlelight, his hair now wet and disheveled, his glimmering eyes penetrating right to the deepest parts of me. And just as he locks his gaze, he slides into me and it all dissolves: the tension, the fear, the doubt. It’s just Taylor filling me, saving me from my own scattered contradictory mess of thoughts.
As he thrusts, he lifts my leg back around him so that he has total leverage. “Shyla…god…” he mutters into my throat. “I’ve missed you.”
I wrap my available arm around him, gripping him close to me as he gently nips my nipple. Our wet bodies, both cold and hot, slide against each other. His contrasting tenderness and roughness makes my skin tingle like there is static in the air, and it only takes a few thrusts before I can’t hold on for another.
“Oh god Taylor, oh god!” I call out, and I can feel him swell just as I begin to spasm around his cock.
Taylor lets out a throaty groan into my ear, making me come even harder as I feel him peak inside of me.
It felt so good, so perfect while it lasted. But Taylor is right. Except I don’t think it’s just me who isn’t ready, I think it is both of us. He knew he wouldn’t have me back after this, and having me just for a short while is more torture than anything else.
We stand there, naked, in the dim golden flickering light of the bathroom, still dripping wet. Taylor is bent with his forehead pressed again mine, my hand still tangled in his thick, dark hair, and we pant in unison. He is still the most beautiful person I have ever seen and he loves me. In our time together, we have been through more than most couples face in a lifetime, and despite it, or maybe because of it, we are still full of intense, passionate, hysterical love – a love that is strong enough to drive one of us to kill, and push the other one to the edge of her sanity.
And yet, I am immediately hit with the tsunami of melancholy that has tried to drown me for the past seven days. I can’t stop it, I know it’s coming every time, but I can’t stop it, dammit.
I slip away from underneath Taylor to slip back into the bath, hoping he won’t see my face, but he knows. He reaches out his arm to catch me, but it’s half-hearted, and it falls down to his side. I slowly lower myself into the hot water, wrapping my arms around my knees, and I quietly weep. This is what I have done for seven days: sleep, weep, and have nightmares. I am not sure if I will get better. I am not sure how much of this Taylor can take.
His shadow hovers over me for a few seconds, but I don’t look up, and he doesn’t say a word. Then I feel the candlelight on my skin again, and I hear his wet footsteps vanish into the bedroom.
There is silence for a minute or so.
And then I hear the crashing of furniture as Taylor takes out his rage and disappointment on something other than me.
Chapter 4
For three weeks I cried and I slept. I didn’t care about my job, I ignored calls from friends and family. It was Taylor who spoke to the owner of Rubix, a “friend” of his, and told him I would not be returning. I didn’t want to face the world.
I begged Taylor to take me into the darkroom, but after the incident at the club he wouldn’t. Actually, we did try once more in the darkroom. It was five days after I watched Taylor kill Eric. I put on a brave face and told him that I was okay, that I needed him to help me. But once I was on my knees begging for him to flog me with a paddle, I began to cry. I’ve never seen the look in Taylor’s eyes that I saw at that moment. It was like he realized he had no control over what was happening to me and he was helpless to stop it.
“I can’t do this Shyla. We have to stop. This isn’t helping. I won’t punish you for something that isn’t your fault again. You need to start realizing when you truly deserve it and when you don’t.”
I curled up into a ball and cried on the floor.
***
I wake up from my fog to the sound of Kristin’s voice echoing through the hallways of Taylor’s house and into my bedroom. What is she doing here?
“We’re worried about her, Taylor. Chad told us she just up and quit weeks ago. She won’t answer his calls or my calls or her mother’s calls. Her mother is worried, she said they had a huge disagreement and she won’t talk to her. Chad said she said she had an appointment with a client, but didn’t show up to the office later and then she was gone. I’m worried too. Do you understand she has a history of mental health issues?”
“I am aware of her past, Kristin. I want nothing but the best for her, you know that. She’s fine, she just needed a break.”
“From what? She’s never done this before. Is she here?”
I hold my breath for a second, I don’t want to see her. I don’t want to see anyone. I don’t want to explain myself.
“She’s not, but I can assure you she is fine.”
There is a pause.
“Something is not right Taylor. Why are you the only person who knows where she is? Why is she hiding?” Kristin’s voice becomes louder and then I hear it coming close. “Shyla? Shyla? Are you here?”
She walks right past Taylor’s hidden bedroom door.
“I am going to ask you to leave Kristin. Right now, it’s up to Shyla to decide when she wants to talk to you or anyone else for that matter.”
“Alright, well let her know that if she doesn’t call me in twenty-four hours, I am calling the police. This isn’t against you Taylor. Maybe you are covering up for her, but something feels wrong.”
“I get it Kristin. I’ll let her know you were here. I promise, but we’re done.”
I hear the front door close. There is silence for a few moments and then the sound of Taylor pounding on something. I think he is having a fit. His cell rings. “No, everything is fine. Thank you, Harrison.”
By the time Taylor returns, I am lying in bed again. He crawls into the bed behind me, his breathing heavy from his recent tirade. His chest presses against my back with each rise and fall as he buries his face into my neck and sighs. I can feel he is lost. For the first time in weeks, in this moment, I can identify my sadness. It’s no longer the vague but persistent sense of overwhelming grief that has haunted the last weeks. Right now, it’s the fact that I am causing his pain. I have lain here for weeks, leaving Taylor alone with a shell of a person. I want to be back, but I don’t know how to get back, how to be who I was before everything turned out so wrong.
“Right and wrong is not absolute. It's relative. People like me exist because we do what needs to be done. Let me take the guilt. You did nothing wrong. Let me take it all.”
The desperation in his voice sends a tear down my cheek. “Shyla, I don’t know what to do. I just want you to come back to me. Shy…come back to me…I need to know you’re not broken, that I didn’t break you.” I silently nod. “There you go. Shyla, I am sure you heard. Kristin was here. Everyone is worried about you. Even Lizzy and Henry are wondering about you. You’ve fallen off the face of the earth. They are going to call the police if you don’t touch base soon. You know we cannot have the police involved in this matter.” I can tell I am pushing Taylor to the limits of his patience. With each sentence, his voice becomes clearer and closer. He needs me now. I can go back to sleep, but I need to do this.
“Give me my phone. I’ll call her.”
“Look at me.”
“I can’t.”
“Please, whatever I said—did—to make you go away like this, I’m sorry. I’ll talk.”
I nod.
Taylor hands me my phone. “Here.”
I dial Kristin’s number.
“Shyla? Thank god! What
the hell is going on?” Kristin asks.
“Hey, I’m fine. I don’t understand why everyone is freaking out.”
“You don’t sound fine.”
My voice is clogged with days of sleep and tears. “Well I am. It’s only been three weeks, can’t someone just take a break?”
“Chad told me you left Rubix abruptly. That you were going to a meeting and then you never showed up to work and then you never came back.”
“I’d appreciate it if you and Chad wouldn’t discuss my work and private life,” I huff at Kristin, truly irked by their sharing of information.
“We’re just concerned.”
“I am fine, I promise. I decided to take some time off and it has been discussed with the owner of Rubix so frankly Chad is not privy to that information. I have to go. I just wanted to let you know it’s all good and please don’t just bombard Taylor like that. It’s not fair to him.”
“He’s a big boy.”
“He is, but it’s not fair.” I hang up the phone. That might be the most serious tone I have ever taken with Kristin, but I don’t care if it upsets her. I am beyond giving a shit at this point.
“I am so sorry about this. I didn’t think she would react so strongly to my leaving Rubix.”
“I think it was your mother calling her that riled her up. I’m just happy to hear your voice. Shyla, please, I don’t know what to do here. There are so many things I can fix or I can buy, but please tell me how I can get you back to me.”
“I’m tired, I just want to go to sleep,” I say turning over and closing my eyes.
***
Hours later I wake up to commotion in the closet. Again a wave of sadness crashes over me, followed by panic. But I immediately recognize the silhouette of Taylor’s tall frame and his smooth movements. Is he packing a bag?
I gently walk over and see he is, in fact, packing a bag, but it’s my clothes he’s putting in there.
“What are you doing?” I ask groggily.
“I’m packing your things.”
My stomach drops. “Are you sending me away?”
“Away? What? No. We’re leaving. I promised you a trip and that’s what we’re doing. I can work from anywhere and we need to leave. We need to get the fuck out of this house. Your sadness, your crying, I can’t keep living like this and neither can you.”
“We can’t just up and leave.”
“Why not? Do you have somewhere to be other than the fucking bed? Tell me, just tell me, what is it, Shy? It sounds like you’re speaking again. Is it that you think less of me now? Now that I took care of our dirty work?”
“No.”
“Then what is it! Tell me goddammit! I have loved you, I have taken care of you, and you just leave me here alone. If you don’t love me anymore then fucking have the balls to say it!”
“What? No, of course I do. I’m just…”
“Don’t cry, don’t fucking cry another tear,” he drops my bag and marches towards me. “Shy, you’re stronger than this.”
“I’m just so sad all the time. I don’t know why. I feel like I am falling down a hole and I just want to disappear.”
“Well, I’m sorry, but you don’t fucking get to quit. People go through shit everyday and they don’t get to crawl in bed and cry, Shy. I’ve tried, I have tried to comfort you, but it’s not working. You may see this as anger, but I want you back. And I fight for the things and people I want. Right now, I am fighting for you because whatever it is that is going on, whatever is happening inside of you is winning.”
I bow my head down in defeat. I am weak, I am pathetic. What is happening to me? Those should be fighting words, but I don’t want to fight. Taylor’s right. I have lost my fight. I walk over to the other side of the closet.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m going to get ready. When are we leaving?”
“The plane is fueling right now. We leave the house in an hour.”
I know Taylor is desperate, he doesn’t just leave town on a whim. That’s not how he operates. His schedule is planned with military precision; important meetings are booked months in advance. This trip is purely spontaneous; he’s taking me and we aren’t coming back until I am fixed.
I glance over at the clock, surprised to see that it’s 3:23am. This is extremely spontaneous. I pick out a a pair of jeans and the t-shirt I wore to the racetrack months ago. Remembering that day sparks the first semblance of happiness that I have felt in weeks. In fact, the realization that I am feeling a twinge of excitement about this trip adds a little more to the pleasant feeling. It’s still far from my “normal” self, but I welcome any variation from the fear, numbness, and sadness cycle I have been experiencing since the field. Maybe the meds are finally starting to cause a break in the vicious cycle.
I quietly slip into the shower, and I feel Taylor’s surprised glare as I do so. I haven’t been doing that on my own, either it’s upon Taylor’s insistence or he bathes me. Just like when I picked out the t-shirt, I have a moment of clarity. Who are you? What the fuck is wrong with you, Shyla? How could you do this to Taylor? And then the sadness and fear rolls in again. Sadness for what I have put Taylor through. Fear he will tire of me and leave me, and right now I wouldn’t blame him.
Stop it. Don’t do it. Don’t turn on yourself. And I stop it. For the first time in weeks, I am able to stop the tidal wave of sadness from nearly drowning me.
As the steamy water of the shower hits me, these moments of clarity begin to slip in like slivers of light through a cracked wall in a darkened room. I smile as tears pour down my cheeks. I am so sad, but for the first time in weeks, I feel the tiniest spark of hope that I can get out of this. I had been saying it, I had been promising myself and Taylor that this fog would come to an end, but the thing perpetuating the sadness the most was the deep certain knowledge that my promises were bullshit. I felt like the sand I was buried in was so compacted, I would never dig myself out. But something, I don’t know if it’s the meds, or Taylor’s unwavering insistence that I get better, time, or a combination of those things, but I feel like I can move just an inch. Like all of those things are small scoops of sand being lifted off of me, and eventually, my arms will be free and I will be able to help dig myself out.
And so I cry because I am still so, so sad, but I also cry at the possibility there will be a time where I won’t be.
But I am cautious; it is far too soon to get excited. Those slivers of light cannot illuminate an entire room. There is so much darkness, so much I can’t yet access or understand, that I know the journey back will be far longer than one or two soul-cleansing showers. Until Taylor is willing to speak of the things Eric has accused him of, there will be entire swaths of darkness inside of my thoughts that will not see light.
When I return to the bedroom, Taylor is not there. I wonder to myself if he has packed everything I need. Another good sign Shyla! You care about what’s he’s packed for you.
I decide that I should be grateful for his assistance and be happy with the job he did. It’s not like I can’t buy cosmetics or clothes somewhere along the trip. That’s when I realize I don’t even know where we are going.
I walk out to the kitchen and Taylor is eating at the breakfast bar. He pushes a plate of food across the counter.
“It’s for you,” he says. I haven’t been eating much and most of the food was being brought to the room for me to eat. I realize this is the first time that I have showered and come out for breakfast, like my old routine, in three weeks. Shame starts to creep up and I fight back tears. Don’t let it. Not here Shyla. Show Taylor you can fight. I take a deep breath and sit beside him.
Though we are inches away from each other, there is a tension between us, an uncertainty that I think goes both ways. I wonder if Taylor has begun to resent my weakness and I think he wonders if I believe that he is some sort of monster. The easy feeling between us has been lost. Something has to break it, something has to make us spill out of ourselves, and I think t
hat’s why Taylor wants us to leave, because we need something to snap us out of this.
I take a few bites of eggs and bacon and finish my hash browns. Taylor eyes my plate inconspicuously. It is the most I have eaten in one sitting since I have been in this state.
“So…you packed my bag?” I ask, trying to break through the tension. My tone is laced with humor and I push out a weak smile.
“I did,” he replies, looking at me from the corner of his eye. His flat response somehow still conveys that he is humored. “We should head out,” he says.
“Okay.”
I follow Taylor out the front door and I am surprised to find a black sporty BMW running with no one inside. He opens the passenger door for me, which slides up instead of opening out.
“You’re driving?”
“Yup.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to.” Taylor loves to drive, but when it comes to lugging bags and driving to the airport, he always relies on Harrison. I cock my eyebrow and slide into the passenger seat.
Taylor gets into the driver side and blares violent electronic music on the radio so that if I have anything to say to him, it will have to be shouted over the music. Just as I wonder why he would turn the volume so high, he shifts the gears and the car screeches down the driveway. My heart drops as he speeds away from the house and peels down the narrow exit of his estate, trees blurrily zooming by my window as the winding curves make my stomach turn. As we hit the exit, I grip the door ledge and Taylor’s arm as he makes a screeching right turn onto the quiet road. The smell of burnt rubber fills the car. I look at the speedometer and gasp—the car is at 90 mph and climbing.
Chapter 5
“Taylor!” I call out. “What are you doing?” The sky is still dark and the empty road only reveals itself to us through the headlights on Taylor’s car, each screeching turn causing me to brace myself. Trees jump out of shadows as if they are about to attack us and then shrink away as he sharply turns. “Taylor!” I scream over the blaring radio. “Stop!”
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