unStrapped

by Nina G. Jones

  “Do you feel it Shyla?” Taylor calls out to me over the radio. “Fear? Terror? Did you feel that with Eric? You should have. Do you realize how close he was to killing you? He had a loaded gun to your head. One slip, one fucking slip and you would have been gone!”

  “Stop!” I scream, my heart racing so fast that I think I might pass out. We come upon each turn at such a high speed that I am sure we will spin out. “You’re going to get us killed!”

  “Because that’s what I felt when he had you, when I was racing back home to get you back after he told me he took you. That’s what I have felt these couple of weeks when all you do is cry. I know what you’ve been thinking, I’m not a fucking imbecile.” He shifts the gear and the engine purrs, giving the car a boost of power and sending me into further panic.

  “Taylor. What the fuck are you doing!” I shout.

  “I want you to wake the fuck up Shyla!” He sharply turns the car into a an open field, and the car’s stiff suspension violently jitters underneath us.

  “You’re going to break this thing!”

  “I’m fucking rich, I can buy twenty of these tomorrow! Who gives a shit about a car?”

  “You’re scaring me. Please stop the car.”

  “Tell me you’re coming back to me!”

  “What?”

  “I want you back. I need you back. You need to fight this!” Though he is yelling over the frenetic notes of electronic music, his eyes are focused on the field in front of him. I glance forward and that’s when I see, out in the distance, a row of fences growing in size with each passing second.

  “Taylor stop!” I scream at the top of my lungs.

  “Tell me you’ll fight goddammit! Tell me now!” I glance again, the fences are now so close I can see the detail in the wiring. It’s only a fraction of a second, but I realize I feel so many things all at once. I don’t want to die, I don’t want to have an accident. I want to live, I want to have a life with Taylor. Despite what’s going on inside of me now, there is so much I want to live for and do. “So help me, I won’t fucking stop!”

  “Yes! I’ll fight Taylor. I will fucking fight!” I scream as loudly as I can. “Now stop the fucking car!” I take one look in front of us and the fence is just thirty feet away and looming closer with each passing moment.

  Immediately, Taylor downshifts and hits the brakes while spinning the wheel to turn away from the fence. Mud and debris kick up all over the car. “Ooohhh godddd!” I call out, closing my eyes as my stomach climbs up to my throat. The car spins 180 degrees and comes to a full stop facing away from the fence.

  Calmly, Taylor turns off the engine and shuts off the radio. The screaming, the panic, the intensity, the violence: it all stops in an instant, and then there is just stillness and silence. The only sound filling my ears is of my own shaky panting. Seconds pass, and once the panic subsides, I am hit with a fit of rage. I open the car door, unable to fully burst within the tight confines of the sports car, and stumble out onto the torn up field. My legs quiver from the adrenaline as I lurch across the muddy pasture. Taylor exits his side hastily, but coolly, as if expecting to brace for a reaction from me.

  He walks to the front of the car as I stomp over to meet him.

  “You asshole!” I call out, and then, before I can even think, or internally debate, my hand lands firmly across his cheek, the crack of the strike cutting through the quiet night air. I immediately gasp, instantly filled with regret from lashing out at him and from how he might react. But I quickly compose myself and stand firm, remembering what he just did and feeling well within my rights to deliver that slap.

  Taylor absorbs it like a gentleman, his hands still down at his sides, his chin tucked down to his right shoulder so that all I can see is a the contrast of the bright car headlights and the twilight shadows on his sharp jawline. Although I stand defiant, inside I tremble. I cannot see his facial expression to gauge his reaction.

  It’s his slowness to respond, his lack of reaction that scares me. I watch as his eyes close and notice the rise and fall of his chest as he takes a long, deep breath before he turns up to meet my eyes. His eyebrow arches, his lips curve on one side, revealing that devilish crooked grin. It is frigid and scalding all at once and I can’t quite read if he’s humored or so enraged that he can only smile. The light against his face haunts his glare, turning him into a beautiful monster. His hands quickly reach for my wrists and I instinctually (and somewhat comically) attempt to fight him off.

  “There you go Shyla. You are so fucking lucky I am happy to see this side of you again.”

  “What the fuck is wrong with you?” I ask, wide-eyed, bewildered by the intense and sudden turn of events. At this point, I submit to his firm grip on my wrists as it is a pointless battle, and I melt under his body pressing mine against the warm hood of the car.

  “I need you dammit. I need you,” he says. His voice is not raised, it is a plea. “We are all we have, especially now. You don't think I think about what Eric did every fucking day? How when I look at you I am filled with the deepest love and the most passionate rage? That he…he fucking had you? That video replays over and over in my head. Do you know what that does to someone like me? And you know what? I couldn't protect you, but I could avenge you and it felt fucking good at the time. It did. You know it was either him or me. And feeling bad about it won't change anything. And then I watch you cry…and I wonder is she crying over him? That son of a bitch who raped and kidnapped her? Did my attempt to protect you make you fear me or look at me in a way I can’t fix? Do you even understand what that’s like? To sit here watching you flounder in this deep depression and not have any clue of what it truly means?” Taylor’s eyes never leave mine as he says it. Despite the power in his body language as he holds my wrists and towers over me, pressing my body against the car, I see a rare vulnerability is his eyes.

  At that moment, all I want to do is embrace him and apologize for everything: for how I have acted, for being distant, and for hurting him. But I remember, this isn’t all me. Taylor’s refusal to truly discuss his brother’s accusations has only added more fuel to fire of my doubt. Finally being here like this, open and raw and—I hate to admit it—forced out of my detached fog by his insane antics, I finally am motivated enough to really confront him. Even if it hurts him and makes him snap, I know he would now prefer that to my “absence.”

  “I’m afraid of losing you. I almost lost you that day. And I don't just mean getting caught and going to jail or dying, I mean losing you to something far worse. I keep thinking about what he said about you, and I don't want to believe it. If it’s true, then I've lost my Taylor. Or maybe you never existed. My version of Taylor could be dead, and this could all be some huge fucking illusion! And my heart says it’s not true, because what I feel with you can’t be a lie, but my mind breaks away. All I do is battle inside and I am terrified of what you're capable of.”

  “You think I would hurt you?”

  “No! I don't know what I mean by that. But you've killed someone, that's something that changes everything. I just can’t believe we can just go back to living like nothing happened.”

  “Shyla, I'm not going to pretend I am a saint. I'm not even a good person. A lot of the good I do, it's because logically I know I should. It doesn’t make me feel anything when I do it, but I do it because I know that’s what people are supposed to do. But I'm good to you. I mean from a place of wanting better for you than myself. Not because it makes me look good or human, or because of a sense of obligation, but because I want to. It makes me feel good to see you happy. Eric probably said I did a lot of fucked up things. And most of them are likely true, but when it comes to you, you are the only good in me. And I will do terrible things to protect the only good I have in my life. I do it without apology or regret. I will never apologize for killing Eric, he kidnapped you, he almost took you away from me forever. If you think that makes me dead or not the person you thought I was, I'm sorry. But I will never apologize
for loving you the only way I know how. I fucking need you, like I don't know how I existed before you.”

  His grip tightens around my wrists. “You want to talk about illusions? My life was an illusion. I died the day you left and I came back to life the day you touched me in that coffee shop. This is who I am. This here, who you see here, the man begging for you to come back to him, this is your Taylor.”

  A gust of cold air sweeps between us on this unusually temperate fall night, and I wish for a moment that I could be back in the steamy comfort of the shower. “And that’s what you think I don’t understand, but I do,” I say. “Taylor, I love you as much as you love me. Shit, I constantly fear that I love you more. That I am some sort of fool because there are so many warning signs, but all I do is love you harder every fucking day! You’ve done so much for me, and I don’t just mean what you did to Eric…what you’ve done these past few weeks speaks far more to me than that. I know who you are…and I am prepared to accept it all, but what I cannot accept are secrets. That’s what has been eating at me. I need to talk to you about things, but when I try, you shut me down because you assume my attempts to understand are attempts to validate Eric.”

  He flinches visibly at his brother’s name, but I am in too deep to stop now. “I understand Eric was unstable, but that doesn’t mean we can’t talk about the things he said. And my talking about that with you does not mean he has won or that I don’t understand that you had to do what you had to do. And even if Eric had to go, me feeling badly about having been part of what happened does not mean I love you any less. But the unknown, all it does is make me believe in the worst case scenario. Don’t you understand what secrets have done to us? We have to be the two people who break this cycle. Together. That’s what’s scaring me. It’s not what you did, it’s what you refuse to tell me.”

  Taylor rests his hands on my hips. And now it is him melting onto me, burying his head in my neck as he whispers, “I miss you, Shy. I miss your smile and your clever quips. Watching you crack a smile earlier today was the highlight of my week. I thought I might never see that again. I feel like your light has been snuffed, and the worst part of it is I think it’s me who’s done it.”

  “No…no…” I say, pulling back to look at him as I cup his hands in my face. His expression is softer, and now the light surrounds him like a halo, thousands of flickers dance in the beam of light surrounding him like snow. “I want to fight. I want to be back. Let’s just be us again, okay? I can’t promise I’ll be better overnight, but I am ready to claw back. I am sorry I have left you alone like this.”

  “I’ll talk. I’ll do anything you want to. I just want you back…”

  And now we are nose to nose, and for the first time in weeks, it feels like it’s us again. Not just two pieces of us, trying to desperately reconnect and fit together like mismatched puzzle pieces, but a complete and open Taylor and Shyla wanting to become whole once again.

  Taylor aggressively pulls my hips towards his, rubbing his firmness against me. He grabs my ass with his large hands and lifts me effortlessly, placing me on the muddy hood of the car as he dives his face into my neck.

  “Taylor…” I sigh. “The flight.”

  “It’s my plane,” he smiles into my neck. “Are you ever going to get used to this?”

  “I don’t think so,” I say pulling his face up as I suck on his bottom lip. “Why must you ask so much of me? You cruel, cruel man.”

  Taylor’s eyes light up, as if my sarcasm is some sort of switch to make his eyes glow. “God, I love you so much,” he says, passionately kissing my lips, my cheeks, my eyelids, my nose, every part of me, like he is trying to make up for something. “Don’t ever fucking leave me like that again.”

  And I don’t respond with words, because his words form a lump in my throat and I am so fucking sick of tears and sadness. I don’t want to let that steal this moment away, so instead I kiss him more intensely and wrap my arms around his neck. He rests his heavy, firm body on top of mine and grabs the crook of my knee to pull me in closer to him. His cock is filled with days of pent up arousal, and I gyrate my hips towards him, fumbling with his belt to unleash him. He smirks and stands up, grabbing my wrists and pinning them overhead with one hand as he violently pushes my shirt and bra up past my breasts. My hips continue to gyrate in the air, an involuntary response to being pinned down while still ferociously hungry for his dick.

  He flicks the tip of my nipple with his tongue, then licks his lips and gently rubs them across their peaks. The moisture against the cool night air makes them stand at attention, begging for his touch. “I love the taste of your skin,” he says, kissing and licking the space between my breasts. I moan, tortured by my unmet desire.

  “Fuck me,” I beg.

  “Oh you know I will.” He kisses and bites a trail down my stomach undoing my jeans and pulling them off by the ankles. “Promise me something.”

  “Anything.”

  “No underwear this entire trip. And whenever weather permits, dresses or skirts. I want full access to your pussy this entire trip. Whenever and wherever I want it. Understood?”

  “Yes, Master.”

  “Oh now you are just begging to be fucked.”

  “Yes, please,” I say breathlessly. “May I put your cock in my mouth?” I ask. Lord knows this man deserves to get sucked off. The corner of his smile turns up on one side. “Have I ever told you how much I love your crooked grin?”

  “No,” Taylor says.

  “Well I do.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” he says, as his jeans slide to the ground, the outline of his throbbing phallus bursting against his boxer briefs. “I want you fully naked so I can watch every part of you as you put that pretty mouth on my cock.”

  I pull my t-shirt off overhead, throw my bra out of sight, and slip along the muddy hood of the car on all fours. The bright light illuminates Taylor in a white hue that makes him appear like some sort of sex god. “Fuck, yes,” he says, dipping his head back as I purse my lips around his cock. “Yes, baby…the view of your ass in the windshield is fantastic.” As he says this I take him fully in my mouth and suck hard as I slowly glide my lips up his shaft. “Goddamn,” he utters. Taylor sucks on his fingers and reaches behind me, rubbing them along my lips. “You’re so wet already. I have to taste your pussy right now.”

  I pull my lips off of him and smirk. “If you insist,” I say flirtatiously coming up to my knees. He scoops me up in his arms and turns so that now he is under me on the hood of the car.

  “You’re so dirty,” he says. A clear double-entendre from the mud and the fact that I am now sitting on his face with his cock in my mouth. He sucks on my lips, his soft moan hums against me as he relishes my taste, hooking his arm around my ass to pull me in closer to him. I snake my hips along his face as he glides his tongue along my clit. The feeling is so overwhelming it’s hard for me to keep sucking on him, but then it becomes a competition of sorts to see who can please the most.

  I take his entire length and clench my throat muscles around his head. “Fuck,” he calls out in temporary defeat, squeezing my ass so hard I jump. Then he retaliates, by sucking on my clit with the perfect amount of pressure. And then he groans; he knows that always takes me over the top, the way he savors my taste. Such a fucking cheater Taylor is. I lick his balls and then run my tongue up and down his shaft. I can tell by the way he grips my thighs that it’s working. Then he slides his warm, long tongue inside of me. Is there not one part of this man that isn’t built for sex? It honestly does a better job than most of the other dicks that I’ve had inside of me.

  A sharp cracking sound carries above the steady rhythm of sucking and kissing as Taylor slaps my ass. My reactionary yell morphs into a moan as the initial pain converts into warm radiating waves along my cheek.

  And so we became a muddy mix of grunting, groaning, and grinding. And just as I am about to explode, of course, Taylor stops me.

  “I want that wet pussy wrapped around
me. I am going to feel your pussy come around my cock tonight. Not trying to be a tease, it’s just the way it’s going to be.”

  Taylor sits up, his heaving, muscled, shadowy torso soiled by streaks of mud. He pulls me onto his lap to face him. His long, muscled frame engulfs mine as I slide onto him, wrapping my legs around his waist. We both sigh together as I dissolve into his arms. In this position his length is almost too much, but he understands this, guiding my hips slowly and rhythmically against his. Then our bodies move in perfect sync, my tight nipples grazing his pecs as he wraps his arms around my small frame. One arm supports my waist, enveloping me in warmth and security, as his other hand rakes through my muddy, wild hair. Then the hand slides down from my hair to my cheek, my neck, and onto my breast. He slides his muddy hand along its surface, using it as a lubricant while he plays with my nipple.

  When we lock eyes again, the playfulness dissipates. On top of the car, we are not fully illuminated by the headlights, but enough of its glow reaches us for me to take in the radiant hue of his eyes, a mix of sea-colored blues and greens. And his glare is now intense, as if reminding me that what we have is serious and what he meant earlier was serious too. And my brown eyes meet his overpowering stare, this time not shying away, but reminding him that what we have is serious and I meant it when I said I needed the truth.

  Generations of lies and secrets bind us and somehow we have still found each other. Despite all the odds, the eyes of Lyla Bordeau and Alan Peters have met again. Not in a place of fear, but a place of hope and trust. And may god help me if Taylor breaks this trust we have built. I can make it back from here, but I don’t think I can take another blow, not one as huge as losing my Taylor.

  And so looking into the most beautiful face I have ever seen, wrapped in the arms of a man who has killed for me, I am filled with a flood of so many of the things I was afraid to feel: love, hope, fear, trust, determination, uncertainty, and most importantly, strength. And it assures me that whatever doubts I may have, what Taylor and I have is something I must fight for. Even if I end up losing the battle.