Chapter 10
“I’m shocked that we’re driving ourselves to Hella,” I say to Taylor in our rental Jeep.
“I wanted to make this our adventure. I figured arguing over directions would bond us. We could be like those couples in those horrendous old sitcoms you like to watch.”
“You are such a snob. And those storylines were before GPS. So don’t even.” Taylor doesn’t say anything, but maintains a satisfied grin. “So I take it you don’t speak Icelandic?”
“Not a lick,” He says as the GPS interrupts with her next set of directions. “Sorry to disappoint.”
“So uncultured. At least there’s finally something you aren’t good at.”
“You got me,” Taylor says sarcastically. “If I had time to buy Rosetta Stone, you would be singing a different tune.”
After my “lesson,” we had to move quickly to get to Hella, so there was no time for chatting or catching up. While his abrupt re-entry into our vacation was a more than adequate distraction, now, sitting here in the silence of our Jeep, with the titanic mountain ranges in almost every direction, the burden of knowing that Taylor lied to me is back. The ancient snow-covered slabs of rock glare at me from their mighty positions, silently judging me for not taking action.
If you can’t confront him about lies here, in the privacy of your vehicle, then when can you?
It’s not fear that is preventing my confrontation, it’s hope. I want to give him the opportunity to tell me. If I drag it out of him, then it will forever be a lie. Any confession, any truth, will have lost its value.
“So how was your trip to Geneva? Did everything work out?”
“Yes, everything is under control.”
“How’s Henry?”
“He’s Henry. Nothing changes with him.” Liar. Okay, technically that’s not a lie, but it’s at the very LEAST disingenuous. “How are you doing, Shy?” Taylor asks with a richness in his tone.
This is not a polite throwaway question. He wants to know how I am handling my life as I now know it: How is Shyla doing at her very core? How is she handling the revelation of her father’s identity, the lifelong link between her and the man she loves? Being raped, later kidnapped, and then watching that man die at the hands of her love? How is she handling the knowledge that the man who she is completely infatuated with has used and exploited his previous partners? How is she handling the fact, that deep inside, she knows she doesn’t even care if he did? And that she knows that makes her just as fucked up.
That’s what he’s really asking.
“I’m better,” I say. “I ate a ton, you’d be proud.”
A slow smile peeks through Taylor’s lips as his eyes stay on the road. “That does make me proud. A healthy appetite for food is a sign of a healthy appetite for life.”
“Geneva…I bet it’s beautiful there.” Fucking-a. I just can’t drop it.
“It is, but I barely looked out of my window. We can go back. Make it our next stop when we are out of this region if you would like.”
“How long will we be traveling?” I can’t believe that in the midst of this, I didn’t ask.
“I could only swing three weeks at the last minute. But we are going to do a lot more of this. I want our lives to be rich with experiences.”
“I should think about getting back to work.”
The GPS chimes in again, as if she’s sagely trying to stop me from bringing up the topic.
“Don’t worry about that.”
“Taylor, I can’t just live off of you.”
“No one is suggesting that. Frankly, you are in no condition to work. I wouldn’t hire you myself.”
“Excuse me?” I ask, feeling wounded, but I know he’s right.
“Besides, if you really want to support yourself, you can. You have plenty of money if your personal account, I am sure.” He’s right. Even after paying MacAllister his fees, I have plenty of severance left over and thanks to Taylor buying me a condo and car, I saved a majority of my Rubix earnings.
Taylor sighs, understanding my constant internal struggle for independence under the force of his dominance.
“Shyla, you are intelligent, and you can do whatever you want. But you need to get back to a stable place. Then I’ll support anything you do. We can start your own design firm. Or you can do something else. Art. I don’t know, but getting another job just because you feel guilty about leaving Rubix or me taking care of you is foolish.“
“Foolish?”
The light from Taylor’s eyes vanishes and while he keeps his voice calm, I can tell his patience is lost. “Days ago you were crying all day in bed, and now you’re ready to rejoin the workforce? You’re not there yet. Plain and simple. I am not trying to hold you back or stop you. But I won’t allow you to put yourself in a situation where you could relapse. We are going to take this one step at a time. All that should be on our minds now is this trip, and you, and me. That’s it. You’ve got your whole fucking life to work. It’s just work. Working for work’s sake is an worthless undertaking. It only matters if there is meaning behind it.” The luxury of the wealthy, choosing to work only where one feels there is intrinsic value in the task. I never thought I would be one of those people.
The way Taylor declares his verdict is unexpectedly reassuring. He’s right. I can’t go back so quickly, but I needed someone to reaffirm that I wasn’t just being weak or taking advantage of my rich boyfriend. If I am being honest with myself, I was a low-rent version of myself at Rubix anyway. Sure, I got things done, and rather well sometimes, but almost as soon as I started there, my world was spinning out of control. I was not working up to my potential and I got away with a lot of shit because Chad was willing to give me the benefit of the doubt.
My only job now is to get better, and even though Taylor doesn’t realize it, help him get better too.
***
Never did I think I would be staying in an African-themed suite in the middle of the Icelandic tundra, but that’s exactly where I end up. As I lie in the bed, staring up at our faux thatched roof, I laugh to myself.
“So, Africa?” I ask.
“Listen, the options in this part of Iceland are limited.”
“No! It’s nice! I mean the irony of it.”
“There was an Antarctic one that was just too much. It was like a ‘80s interpretation of a spaceship. This one seemed more hospitable.”
“Well, thank you Taylor. It’s beautiful and a little funny.”
I roll over onto my stomach and pleasantly sigh. It seems everyday I feel a little better. Taylor may be right. Eric’s death might be sharp and shocking at first, but maybe over time, the harshness of it will fade. Maybe it just becomes a hazy memory the way even the most vivid nightmare goes foggy when you try to recall its details.
Taylor’s silhouette darkens the bedding as he stands over me. Before I can turn, he’s tugging on my waistband.
“No underwear. I’ve learned my lesson loud and clear,” I say, turning onto my back. “Now will you let me come? You really teased the shit out of me earlier. And I am still feeling antsy.”
“No. Not yet,” he says, walking, almost gliding, away.
“So why did you peek?”
“To check. I’ll decide when you can come again. Questioning me will only hurt your cause.”
“You are so cruel.”
“Trust me. When you finally come again, you will be thanking me for making you wait.”
***
Hella was beautiful. I saw my first glimmers of the northern lights, and as the season was just beginning, they would likely get stronger throughout our trip. Taylor promised me that we would see them in full effect, as if he could control the magnetic fields around the earth, though sometimes I wondered if he could.
Our next stop was the Blue Lagoon resort. The volcanic springs were something I had always dreamed of visiting. The spa-clinic was something I needed. Being in such quiet, stimulus-free, clean spaces helped my mind rest. The nightmare hadn�
��t recurred since the night Taylor said he went to Geneva, but all the while, there was one looming distraction: What the hell was Taylor hiding? I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt, allow him time to tell me what he might be concealing, but a confession seemed to be the last thing on his mind. Maybe it was a business project no one could know about until it cleared. That was my only hope. I couldn’t think of anything else that could be positive. And the quiet days at the spa allowed the nagging question to fester at me.
Oh, and he still wouldn’t let me come.
***
My eyelids burst open. Fuck, the nightmare returned on our last night at the Blue Lagoon. This time, it isn’t as terrifying. I don’t scream or flail. My eyelids simply pop open, like someone shot me full of adrenaline. I turn over to Taylor, who is sleeping peacefully. Good. He has been so pleased that I am getting better and I don’t want to worry him. Nothing will disappear overnight, and the mere fact that this episode didn’t turn me into a screaming, flailing mess is a sign of progress. Thirst claws at my tastebuds, it must be from all of the sweating in the saunas. Poor me.
I stealthily sit up, and quietly press my toes to the floor as I make my way to the sink for some water. The room is dark, but out in this landscape, the moon and stars shine so brightly through our windows, that once my eyes adjust, I can see the outlines of shapes as I walk across the suite.
As I pass a small table, the glimmer of Taylor’s cell phone screen catches my eye. Fuck, not my dangerous curiosity. It always fucking gets me in trouble. It also has a way of finding the truth. My eyes dart over to Taylor, whose breathing is still shallow and undisturbed. And before I can stop myself with the part of my brain that likes to stay out of shitstorms, my left hand juts out and snatches the phone. I tiptoe into the bathroom, shut the door, and see if I can find out who he has been speaking to during his private phone conversations.
Funny thing, I have always known Taylor’s unlock code from my days as his assistant, and he seems to have never thought to change it. I urgently scroll through recent calls, my heart and fingers jittery. This is wrong. But so is lying about a last minute trip to Geneva.
As my eyes scroll the list of contacts, my chest tightens and my stomach knots up. One name repeats itself several times and upon closer inspection, the timestamps match the morning on the jet, and the time I hopped into the shower before he announced he was visiting Geneva: Céline.
I scroll through his texts to see if I can gather any further details. There is only one correspondence:
Taylor:
I am on my way, I was only able to get one night away from Shyla to see you. She’s asking a lot of questions so we have to be careful. I’ll see you at the apartment tonight.
Céline:
Perfect. I love the adventure ;)
No. No. No. This can’t be happening. I lower myself onto the toilet lid as I stare at the pretty French name. It stares back at me like some sort of accusation: You lied to Taylor. You didn’t fully support him after he saved you from Eric. You abandoned him because you were too weak to withstand the pressures of your lives together. You weren’t a good enough girlfriend, and you were an even worse sub. You pushed him away.
The fact that she speaks English, but he chooses to speak to her in French in my presence only confirms the fact that Taylor is hiding something from me. At first, a surge of anger steamrolls through me. How could he treat me like some sort of fool? Speaking to this woman in another language, practically in my face; it’s like he’s taunting me. But after the first wave of anger hits, fear and sadness follow in its wake.
I choke back tears, I can’t lose it. I have to be strong. The familiar tunnel vision starts to set in. No. Don’t let it overtake you. Fucking fight. I feel like I could be losing it all. If there was anything I was certain of, it was that Taylor loved me. He might have not always known how to show it, and his love might be something to fear, but I never thought he would want someone else. He had made me feel so desired, both emotionally and physically, that I never thought he would look for that in another person. But maybe in my despair, laying in the emotional wreckage of witnessing a killing, I had made myself undesirable. Maybe Taylor was starting to see hints of my father in me. Maybe these past few weeks had done far greater damage than I could have anticipated.
I take a painful, long breath as I sort out what to do with this new discovery. I won’t wake Taylor up in hysterics. I need to know more.
Céline.
At first the name was an accusation, but now, the bitch is mocking me. As if I don’t have to balls to do anything. But I do. My thumb presses the call button on the phone. It’s late, very late, but I want to hear this bitch’s voice. I need to know who he’s been sneaking away to talk to—to see—to fuck.
My anxiety lessens with each ring, but then she answers.
“Monsieur Holden? Ça va bien? C’est très tarde.” As one would expect, her voice is drowsy. But even her throaty sleep voice is precious and jewel-like. They speak to each other in French. I wonder if she speaks dirty to him in French. “Monsieur? Bonjour? Bonjour?”
I open my mouth, but the words trap in my throat: Who are you? Why did Taylor see you in Geneva? Are you sleeping together? But they stay trapped, and instead I press the “end” button and clench the phone to my temple as I take calming breaths.
Who have I become? My entire identity is now wrapped around Taylor. Even my history is. I don’t exist without him. Taylor is my story. I don’t know who I am without him. He may as well be in my DNA. I don’t know how to live without him.
Dear god, what have I done?
The phone rings. It’s Céline. I am so lost in despair that I don’t realize until after few rings and then I reject the call. I need to go back to bed. I’ve been in the bathroom too long now. Maybe the night will pass and the answers to my dilemma will find me in the morning. But I know that’s not the truth. And I don’t know if I can survive this type of heartache. Not on top of everything else.
I switch off the bathroom light so that the glare doesn’t awaken Taylor. Dejected, I slowly turn the knob of the bathroom door and pull it open.
My gaze falls at the ground before me; my environment is of no consequence at this moment, I am living in my head.
But the moon is strong, it casts shadows on the curves that emerge from the ground, like a moonlit statue of a warrior.
My eyes follow up the curves of the long limbs to the towering nocturnal figure in front of me.
He is only inches away, and though I can only see hints of him, I feel his menacing glare.
Chapter 11
I observe him for a moment to assess how much he knows. If he knows I have his phone, he will be outraged. If I want to guarantee a pissed off Taylor, all I have to do is invade his privacy.
“Are you okay?” His voice is groggy and his disorientation appears to be in my favor.
“Yes. I was just getting some water.” Thirst still clenches the back of my throat as I never got around to drinking anything.
“No nightmare?”
“Well…yes, but it’s fine. Just a normal one.”
He reaches over and smoothes my hair. The warmth of his touch extends from his naked sinewy body, and cascades over me from the spot where he makes contact. I clench his phone at my side, doing my best not to tense up, all the while silently praying to myself that Céline does not call again.
“That’s good.”
I force a smile. Taylor would spot its falseness in a fraction of a second, if it weren’t for the mask of the winter night.
I slink past him, granting him access to the restroom and I brush my fingertips against the slopes of his arm muscles.
“Shy?” Taylor asks quietly, but pleadingly, as if there is a confession on the tip of his tongue.
Now feet away, so close to being able to put the phone back and give myself time to think, he has hooked me again. I let out all of the air from my lungs and turn.
“Yes?”
&nb
sp; “I’m proud of you. If we had never met, but someone told me they found the little girl I had loved as a little boy, the girl I thought had died, and they showed me who you had become…Even if I never got to speak to you, I would have been proud of the person you had become.”
Those kind words are torture. I bite my lip, I want to turn and scream, “Then why do you lie to me!” His confession only makes the potential betrayal even more difficult to comprehend.
“Thank you.” I resist the urge to self-deprecate, or compare my meager accomplishments to his impressive ones. Doing so would minimize his feelings. I want to say more, but I can’t. I need to get the phone back and frankly, I am afraid I may choke up.
He flicks the bathroom light on, and I shield my eyes. He thinks it’s from the bright light, but I don’t want him to see how red they’ve become. Once the door clicks, I run back to the table and place the phone back in its spot. I pop back into bed and let out a tense exhale. Shit. Taylor surprised me so much that I had forgotten so erase the traces of my phone call. I sit up to shoot back over to the table, but just as quickly, the bathroom door squeaks open. There’s nothing I can do now. What are the odds he will even look at his call history anyway? I can’t recall the last time I ever did. I lay on my side and seconds later, Taylor’s long limbs engulf me. Normally I would welcome being wrapped by his large frame, but on this night, when I need to think, to sort out what I will do next, it suffocates me.
***
I don’t recall dozing off, all I can remember is that for what seemed like hours, I replayed various moments of our trip in my head. Was there something I missed? Is there any underlying clue that I have glossed over? How could I feel so entirely and completely like the center of this man’s world and, yet, he still held onto a part of himself for someone else? No new revelations came to me. Taylor may have been sloppy by his own standards, but his lie is still well-guarded.
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