Escape With You

by Rachel Schurig

  Fred is quiet for several long seconds, just long enough for me to wonder if maybe I mistook that look in his eyes, maybe it was fear or pity, and not strength. But then he releases the breath he’s been holding. “Can I hug you now, Ellie?”

  It was the last thing I expected him to say. Before I can react he reaches over and pulls me into a hug. It doesn’t feel romantic or sexual at all—instead it feels like the kind of hug you might give a friend who just told you their worst secret. The kind of hug that makes me you feel cared for and strengthened and comforted, all at the same time.

  “Anyway,” I say against his shoulder. “That’s why I got the oak tree tattoo. My grandma Rose always said oaks were the strongest trees, the ones whose roots went the deepest. And back then, I really needed to be reminded that I was strong.”

  “You are strong,” he says, his voice as fierce as I’ve ever heard it. “You’re the strongest person I know. I can’t believe you…God, Ellie. I can’t believe you fought him off like that.”

  I shrug, pulling away from the hug at last. “It was instinct, mostly. Panic.”

  He shakes his head. “It was brave. And very strong. And something you should always be proud of.” His face clouds a little. “I’m sorry you had to go through that. I’m sorry he touched you. I wish I could take that away for you.”

  “But you can’t,” I say, feeling suddenly tired. “Just like I can’t take away any of the horrible things that happened to you when your mom or your friend died.”

  He nods, his eyes so sad it hurts my chest.

  “But you kept going.” His voice is very soft. “We both kept going, even when all those shitty things happened.”

  I manage a small grin. “Yes we did.”

  He smiles back. “You know, I always liked your tattoos”—he winks at me—”totally sexy. But I like them even more, now that I know what they all mean.”

  “Sexy, huh?” I arch an eyebrow at him and he laughs. “I know what you mean, though, about liking them more now. I would rather have a meaningful tattoo than one that just looked cool.”

  He nodded. “Me, too.”

  I make my eyes go wide. “You would, huh?”

  “What?”

  “You just said you’d rather have a meaningful tattoo. That means you want a tattoo, right?”

  “That’s not what I said—”

  But suddenly, I know exactly what I feel like doing. Ink is a good way to commemorate important things, and what’s more important than finally feeling in control enough to be able to talk about your deepest darkest secrets?

  I sit up, pulling on Fred’s arm. “Come on,” I say, and even I can hear the excitement in my voice.

  “Come on where?”

  “We’re going to get tattoos.”

  Fred stares at me. “Are you insane?”

  I laugh, pulling on his arm again. “No, I’m not insane. We totally need to do this right now.”

  “We need to?”

  “Yes,” I insist. “We need to. It’s, like, a defining moment. We’re young and we’re alive and we didn’t let the bullshit take us down. Now let’s go fucking celebrate it.”

  “It’s two o’clock in the morning,” he points out, but he’s smiling at me now.

  “Ooh, is wittle Freddy afraid of the dark scary night?”

  He sits up so suddenly I almost gasp, grabbing me and pulling me into his lap. “I’m most certainly not afraid.”

  From my new position our faces are only inches apart. I can see the way his eyes are sparkling in the light from my window. He looks equal parts excited, exhilarated, and entirely convinced of my mental illness.

  “If you’re not afraid, get out of bed and put your pants on,” I challenge.

  “Where, exactly, are we going to get tattoos at two o’clock in the morning?”

  I roll my eyes. “Stick with me, kid. I’ve got you covered.”

  He shakes his head, laughter in his eyes. “Do I have any choice?”

  I lean in for a kiss before jumping from the bed in search of my clothes. “Not even close.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Fred

  I can’t believe we’re doing this. I can’t believe we’re driving downtown in the middle of the night in search of an open tattoo parlor.

  I’ve never really been the spontaneous type. I’m more of the stress-about-every-decision-until-I-make-myself-sick, type. But with Ellie, that seems to go away. Some of the stress and anxiousness that has been the hallmark of my life for as long as I can remember loosens up a little.

  I still think this is crazy, though. I’m not necessarily opposed to tattoos, though Jet has tried to get me to get one for years to no avail. I just never really considered it a good waste of my money. Besides, every idea I ever had for ink has seemed trite and cliché—nothing like the meaningful works of art that dot Ellie’s skin.

  “What are you gonna get?” she asks. She practically bouncing on her seat as I drive, that’s how excited she is. For some reason she thinks I’m in desperate need of a tattoo and that us going to get one tonight is the perfect adventure.

  “I have no clue,” I tell her, laughing. “This is your idea, remember?”

  “Come on,” she cries, hitting my arm. “You have to have some thoughts. Haven’t you ever considered it? Even just a little?”

  I shrug. “I decided a long time ago to let Jet be the tattooed bad boy in our relationship.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Whatever. I think tattoos are totally sexy.”

  “Really?” I feign interest. “Well then, that completely changes everything. I definitely have to get a tattoo now.”

  She smirks as she pulls her phone out. “Okay, I think you want to get off here.” She points at the exit ramp ahead. “And you’ll take that straight down for a while.”

  “This is a fantastic neighborhood,” I mutter as we leave the freeway for downtown. “Exactly where I want to be in the middle of the night.”

  She pats my hand. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you. I’m very tough.”

  “If shit goes down I have every intention of hiding behind you.”

  I love the sound of Ellie’s laugh. It’s throaty and deep, just like her voice. But every once in a while, when she’s really amused by something—amused enough that she lets her guard down—her laugh turns into a sound much more like a giggle. It’s freaking adorable and I swell with pride every time I manage to draw the sound from her.

  It scares me a little, the depth of my feelings for her. It’s never been like this for me, the way I feel about Ellie after only a few months of knowing her. I had a few girlfriends throughout high school and college but nothing serious. Once Jim died and I had my hands full with trying to keep Jet from self-imploding, there just wasn’t time. When I went away to college I kind of figured I would have more free time for that kind of thing, but I found myself putting so much into my school work that I pretty much continued on the way I had before—casually dating without any real impetus to get more serious.

  And when you finally fall for someone it’s a girl who has no interest in ever getting serious, I think, shaking my head.

  “Turn here,” Ellie says, breaking into my thoughts. “We’re almost there.”

  I watch her out of the corner of my eye as I follow her instructions to the tattoo parlor. After she hopped out of my bed she pulled her hair back into a ponytail. Her normal heavy eye-makeup is long since washed off, her lips bare of their signature candy-red color. She looks younger than normal, not quite so tough. The thought immediately brings to mind the story she told me a few minutes ago in bed and my fingers clutch the steering wheel so hard they sting.

  Someone hurt her. When she was barely a teenager. It pisses me off so much I feel like I can’t breathe. I wish I knew who the guy was, what he was doing now. I would kick his ass.

  She handled that on her own, I remind myself, smiling a little. Ellie certainly wasn’t some princess that needed rescuing—she could take care of herself. If I had
ever doubted that before, her story tonight had proved it once and for all.

  Is that the reason you can’t really have her? I ask myself. Her insistence on taking care of herself is clearly deep-seated and intrinsically tied to both her mother and her past. What would it take to get through that wall, to show her that she could rely on me without giving up the independence that is clearly so essential to her?

  “Right here,” she says, pointing at a brightly lit store window half a block down. “Just park in front.”

  I pull up to the curb, shaking my head to dislodge the heavy thoughts.

  “You okay?” she asks, watching me as I put the car into park. “You’re quiet.”

  “I’m contemplating my impending doom,” I tell her, eliciting another rare giggle.

  “You’re such a baby,” she tells me, her smile bright in the darkness of the truck. “I wasn’t this much of a baby when I got my first tat and I was nearly ten years younger than you.”

  “Just don’t tell the tattoo guy how white my face got in the car, please.”

  Her eyes flash before she turns to open her door. “We’ll see.”

  I meet her on the sidewalk, looking up and down the deserted street. “My truck is totally going to get stolen tonight, isn’t it?”

  She bumps my shoulder with hers. “It’s part of the risk. Which is kinda the whole point, you know.” She looks up at me and, though she’s still smiling in that teasing way, there’s something serious in her eyes. “To take a risk. You could use a little risk in your life.”

  “I hang out with you, don’t I? What could be riskier than that?”

  “Ha ha,” she says, her voice dry. “I mean it, though, Fred. You need to just let go for a while.”

  I feel something in my chest soften at her words. She’s completely right, of course—I do need to let go for once. How does she know so much about what I am and what I need?

  “Well, let’s do this, then,” I say, straightening my shoulders. “Before I lose my nerve.”

  The tattoo parlor is bright and warm compared to the empty street outside. I’m relieved to see it’s very clean and not at all dingy looking. There are a few people in the back, including a tall bald guy laying face down on a table while a tattoo gun buzzes over his skin.

  “Hey,” Ellie says, approaching the reception desk. A girl about our age greets us—like Ellie, she has black hair but it’s stick straight and hanging down her bare shoulders displaying full sleeves of ink all the way down to her fingers.

  “What’s up?” the girl asks, smiling.

  “We were wondering if you were taking walk-ins right now.” Ellie leans into the counter.

  “Sure. Who’s getting inked?”

  “Both of us.” Ellie leans in a little closer as if telling the receptionist a secret. “It’s my friend’s first. He’s a little scared.”

  “Thanks for that,” I mutter as the girl glances me over and grins.

  “Nothing to be scared of,” she says, winking. “Except for, you know, the pain.”

  “And the fact that it’s permanent and you can never change it,” Ellie adds.

  I roll my eyes at both of them as the girl looks over her shoulder at the back of the room. “Hey, Vick. We got two walk-ins. You free?”

  A tall skinny guy detaches himself from the group in the back and approaches us.

  “How’s it going?” he asks. I see his gaze rest on Ellie and feel an automatic rush of jealousy. Even though he’s about to be working close to her skin, I don’t like the way his eyes flicker up and down her body.

  “Good,” she says, either ignoring or oblivious to his attention. “We’re both looking to get a small tattoo tonight.”

  “Sounds good,” Vick says. “Why don’t we head back and we can talk about your ideas.”

  “Do you have one?” Ellie asks me as we fall into step behind Vick. “An idea?”

  “Honestly? I still have no freaking clue.”

  She throws her head back and laughs. “Oh, you are so going to chicken out.”

  “I am not!” I shoot back. “What about you? What’s your fabulous tattoo idea?”

  She shakes her head as Vick stops at a station in the back of the room. “I don’t have one,” she tells me. “But, unlike you, I’m cool with being spontaneous.”

  “Why don’t you have a seat,” Vick tells us, grabbing another chair from an empty station and placing it next to the one across from his small desk. “What are you thinking of getting?”

  Ellie raises her eyebrows at me. “Honestly, neither of us really knows,” she tells Vick. “This is kind of an experiment in spontaneity.”

  He frowns a little. “Gotta be honest, I don’t like putting ink on someone who isn’t sure.”

  “Oh, I’m sure,” Ellie says, shooting me another look. “I don’t know if he is.”

  “I’m sure,” I say firmly. “Definitely sure.”

  “Well, why don’t you take a look through my book.” He pulls a leather bound portfolio from under the desk. “I’ll go and grab some medical forms and the waivers for you to sign. But listen.” He gives us both a serious look. “This is permanent. It’s really not something to be taken lightly.”

  “We won’t,” Ellie assures him, taking the portfolio.

  After Vick walks away Ellie opens the book. “You know,” she says, her voice deceptively casual. “If you really wanted to be spontaneous, you’d leave it up to chance.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I say you close your eyes, open up to a page in this book, and get whatever your finger lands on.” She looks me up and down. “But I guess that’s too adventurous for you, isn’t it?”

  “Screw that,” I say, reaching for the book. “I’m every bit as adventurous as you are.”

  She doesn’t release it. “Okay, keep telling yourself that.”

  “How about you?” I challenge. “Are you willing to leave your tattoo up to fate?”

  She studies my face as if trying to figure out if I’m serious. “I am if you are,” she finally says. “But I’m pretty sure you’re going to chicken out.”

  “Like hell I am.” I finally grab the book and set it on the desk in front of her. “You first.”

  She narrows her eyes at me then turns to the desk. With a deep breath she closes her eyes, opens the book to a random page, and jabs her finger down on a picture. I start laughing before her eyes are even open.

  “That’s so you, Ells.”

  “Shit,” she mutters, staring down at the purple and pink butterfly surrounded by girly swirls and a dusting of glitter. “Shit.”

  “Hmm, who’s chickening out now?” I ask, still laughing.

  “Who said I’m chickening out?” she snaps, handing me the book.

  “You’re actually going to put that on your body?”

  I watch her grit her teeth. “I’ve always wanted a…butterfly tattoo.”

  “A pink butterfly tattoo.”

  She grimaces. “A pink butterfly tattoo.” She looks pointedly at the book. “Unless you want to back out.”

  “Not a chance.” I close my eyes and repeat her motions. When my finger jabs down onto a picture, Ellie doesn’t laugh. I open my eyes to see what I’m pointing at.

  “A rose,” she says, her voice sounding funny. “You picked a rose.”

  “Well…” I’m not quite sure what to think. The rose is pretty cool, to be honest. The stem is twisty and covered in thorns and the flower itself is a dark red. Definitely better than a butterfly. But a rose…

  “Well,” she says, her voice overly bright. “At least you’ll always remember me.”

  “That’s true.” I study her face, wondering what she really thinks of this. What do I think of it? To have a permanent reminder of Ellie on my body. Forever. What will I feel once she’s gone, out of my life and moved on? Once she’s had enough of our little “fun only” arrangement and left. Will it make me sad, later? Will it make me miss her every time I look at it? Or will it simply remind me
of this night, of the feeling of letting go and being spontaneous? The feeling of being on an adventure and leaving the decisions up to fate?

  “It will remind me of this,” I correct her softly. “Of this night and this adventure.” I meet her eyes, hoping she understands. Hoping it doesn’t creep her out that I’m going through with it. “It’ll remind me of this.”

  She nods, her face softening, and I know she gets it. I hold her gaze for a long moment. I feel so connected to her, so in tune with what she’s thinking. More than anything I want to kiss her, to pull her to me, to thank her for the last few weeks. To thank her for tonight. And I know that someday when she’s gone from my life, I’ll remember this moment, too.

  “So,” Vick says appearing at the desk, his interruption making me jump and look away from her, self-conscious. I feel like all of my emotions are broadcast on my face for the world to see. “Did you decide on anything?”

  I clear my throat, trying to get it together. “Yeah,” I tell him, holding out the book. “I want a rose—kinda like this one here. I like the color and the twisty stem.”

  He peers down at the picture and nods. “Sounds simple enough. How big you thinking? Where do you want it?”

  I look to Ellie, uncertain. Am I imagining that she looks a little shaken, too? Could that moment have thrown her as much as it did me?

  “I like calf tattoos on a guy,” she tells me, winking. “Very sexy.”

  “Calf it is then,” I tell Vick.

  “Cool. I’m going to have to shave the area first, then we’ll sketch it out and go from there.”

  He has me sit on the table and rest my leg on a chair while he works. Ellie jumps up to sit next to me and we browse through the portfolio. “You can change your mind, you know,” I tell her.

  She shakes her head stubbornly. “A deal’s a deal.”

  “Deal or not, I don’t want you getting a tattoo you hate.”