Strapped Down Page 8

  “Like I said, you’ll be fine by tomorrow. You never have to do it again, I just thought you would have fun. I’m going to do some work in my office for a while.” He takes his plate with him, which is something I have never seen him do, and walks down the hall, his normally proud posture displaying a slight slump.

  I pull up my laptop and book an earlier-than-planned flight to see my mother. Now that I know I don’t have to show up to work this week, and I can work from anywhere, I book something for Wednesday afternoon instead of Friday.

  Next I text Kristin.

  Shyla:

  Hey, how’s it going?

  Kristin’s response is almost immediate.

  Kristin:

  Not sure.

  Shyla:

  Things got a little wild, huh?

  Kristin:

  Yeah. Henry was a lot of fun. I’m not sure if I should tell Chad.

  Shyla:

  Would you want him to tell you?

  Kristin:

  We haven’t declared exclusivity, per se. So probably not. That would make it awk.

  Shyla:

  There’s ure answer. If you both are seeing other people, you didn’t do anything wrong and confessing would only make him feel shitty.

  Kristin:

  I don’t think he’s seeing other people, but I get ure point. Did you speak to Henry?

  Shyla:

  No, when I woke, you were both gone.

  Kristin:

  We both cut out at around 6. I gave him my number. Yikes. I hope he doesn’t call.

  Shyla:

  Do you feel like you said stupid shit last night? I do, and I feel really shitty today, super depressed and sad.

  Kristin:

  Don’t sweat it. That’s how it is, everyone loves everyone and everyone wants to kiss and touch everyone. We were all in the same boat. I think I am the one who should feel stupid :

  I’m relieved that we didn’t sabotage her relationship with Chad and that maybe I wasn’t as creepy as I felt. Then again, I don’t think she knows that Taylor and I had our own personal porn show on their account. Never in a million years would I have done that if it wasn’t for the E, which made me feel like we had no boundaries with one another.

  After I am done with Kristin, I start to work ferociously to minimize my work needs for the rest of the week and distract myself from clinging all over Taylor. Will I ever get used to Taylor’s seeming lack of connection to humanity? What does it even matter as long as he feels connected to me? Does he even care about his friends, or is that all part of his cover, so that people don’t know how damaged he really is?

  When three hours pass and Taylor does not emerge, I start to worry. Have I pushed him away during a time when I need him the most? Contrasting this is a lingering voice of doubt that will not let up. It is low, overshadowed by the stronger, more reckless voice that has taken over as of late, but it is still persistent. Should I take what Taylor says at face value or should continue to look into Emily’s life, just to clear the record?

  Another hour passes and finally I hear his office door open. He emerges with an empty plate in his hand. The tension between us persists.

  “Please don’t be mad at me,” I beg as he sets his dish in the sink. I can’t take the heaviness in the air between us.

  “I’m fine Shyla. But I have to admit, you bringing up Eric against me, that was a low blow. It’s like everything he’s doing is starting to work. He’s turning you against me.”

  “No! Please don’t think that. Like I said, I was reacting to another piece of shitty news on top of the never-ending list. Please, I’m sorry. I never want to be the person who hurts you. I didn’t know my words could have that effect.”

  “Well, now you do.”

  I walk over to him and wrap my arms around his waist and look up into his gorgeous eyes, the same eyes I saw in the photograph of his mother. “I love you. No — I more than love you. I’m losing my mind over you; I’m sick over you. And I keep trying to beat around the bush about it, as if by keeping it to myself I’ll have some leverage like this is some sort of power play, but it’s not. If I act erratic or emotional, it’s because the intensity with which I feel for you makes everything else more intense. Being in love with you is like a drug, it’s changed my view of the world, my reaction to things. It’s an incredible feeling, but it’s maddening, it’s like a never-ending high.”

  With those words, the spark appears in his eyes again. How many times in his life has he been told that he has been loved like this? I am certain very few. Maybe just me and the woman who saved him from C.O.S. I don’t say it expecting him to say it back. I know it’s hard for him to say those words, but I know what we have, and I don’t need to hear him recite a collection of letters to reaffirm it for me.

  He smiles warmly and pushes my hair out of my face. “Where did you come from? Who are you? You’re like that angel that emerged from the light to save me.”

  Taylor insists that he take me for a joyride since I haven’t left the property since the hospital. We spend the afternoon with the wind in our hair, simply enjoying each other’s company with very few words between us.

  Later that night, Taylor reads a book in bed, when I emerge from the shower in a little silk nightie. Still not 100% myself from the previous night’s festivities, it is almost scary how hard it has been to regain my normal temperament. It’s as if I used up all my joy the night before. I am beat and eager to sleep, hoping that when I wake up tomorrow, I’ll be myself again. As soon as I slide into bed, I feel Taylor roll over, pressing his firmness on my backside. We haven’t had intercourse since before we were last in the darkroom and I know rejecting him is more than just saying no to sex. This is how he relates, how he loves, but I can’t. I’m not ready and after finding out about Emily, it’s stirring up my emotions about Eric and what he did to me.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t.” I say as kindly as possible.

  “What’s going on, Shy?”

  “I just, you know…I’m not myself.”

  “When will you be yourself again?”

  “I don’t know…I’m trying to deal.”

  “You don’t want to get help, so you’re just going to let it get between us?”

  “Taylor it’s hardly been a few days, and we’ve done other things. Other amazing things I might add.” He nods in acceptance, but I can tell he’s bothered. He gets up to leave. “Where are you going? I’m sorry, but this is not easy for me.”

  “I know it’s not, Shy. I just get so fucking pissed about him, about what he did and I just can’t fucking lay here anymore. I’m not used to being told no, and I respect it, but it’s hard, because I want you all the time. Honestly, I want to tell you to shut the fuck up and take my cock, but you’re not like my other relationships, and then sometimes you are and it’s fucking confusing as hell.”

  “I’m sor-“

  “Don’t be fucking sorry. Don’t.” And with that he leaves the bedroom.

  The rest of the week is full of me cramming work as I try to prepare for my trip. Taylor insists that he stay at home, but locks himself in the office telling me my presence is a major distraction from getting work done. I can sense his sexual frustration and the wall it is putting up between us, but something is blocking me, and I don’t know what it is exactly. I guess I am scared to revisit the conflicting feelings I have about what Eric did to me.

  While I am still in town, I go to Rubix every evening at around 6 o’clock when most people have started to head out to have a quick recap meeting with Chad. He still has that glow of someone in a new relationship and I am so glad it won’t be ruined by the knowledge of Kristin sleeping with Henry.

  By the time Wednesday rolls around, I am ready to enjoy a few days in fresh surroundings. I know as soon as I get to the airport, I’ll want to turn around and run back to Taylor, but it’s the only way I can think of to get some clarity and balance back. Taylor insisted I take the corporate jet, but I had already bought a
first class ticket, since the thought of asking him for a jet to visit my mom seemed just mildly ridiculous. Before heading to the airport I called my mom to tell her I was on my way, and she was very excited. Taylor escorts me all the way to security. We pause for a moment, and I look up at him and admire the dark lashes against his bright eyes. I never tire of admiring his face. I want to apologize for my distance, for my inability to fully surrender myself to him since Eric and finding out about Emily, but I don’t. I just stare into his eyes for a few extra seconds than normal, and then I kiss him tenderly.

  “Take care of yourself, kiddo,” he says, with the slightest hint of sadness in his eyes. “I hope you get some much needed peace.”

  “I think you need a break from me,” I say.

  “Never.”

  Then, sadly, I watch him walk away.

  ***

  Shortly after the plane takes off, I begin to feel under the weather. I can’t quite put my finger on it, other than it being that out-of-it feeling I usually get before a bout with a bad cold or fever. By the time we approach the descent, I shiver, despite being wrapped in several blankets provided by the flight attendant. When the plane lands I am too weak to grab by bag from the overhead compartment.

  “Ma’am are you okay? You don’t look so well,” one of the flight attendants asks.

  “I don’t think so…” I say between chattering teeth. She is kind enough to have someone drive me out in one of those golf carts. I know I look terrible when I see my mother’s facial expression.

  “Shyla! Oh my goodness, what’s wrong?” By this point, every bone in my body aches. Two times on the way to her apartment, my mother pulls over her car for me to puke on the side of the road. “We should take you to the hospital,” she insists.

  “No mom, I want to go home,” I say, weakly. “It’s probably just food poisoning.”

  Once we arrive, she helps me undress and tucks me into bed. Three comforters do nothing to stop the shivers despite my body being drenched in sweat. I don’t ever recall having been this sick before, it’s as if my body is finally crumbling underneath the weight of the stress it has endured. I sleep for hours and whenever I wake, I am still so tired that I immediately fall back asleep.

  On Thursday evening, my mother peeks her head into the bedroom. “Shyla, doll, you’re phone has been going off a lot. Should I answer it?”

  I rouse my achy body up from underneath the mountain of comforters. “No, gimme, I’ll look,” I say, barely able to keep my eyes open.

  “If this fever doesn’t break by tomorrow, I’m taking you to the doctor, I don’t care what you say.” I am too weak to even try and resist. She hands me the phone and brushes my sweaty hair out of my face. “My god, you’re boiling up. I’m bringing you some soup. You need to get some fluids in you.”

  “I’m too nauseous, mom.”

  “Just try a few spoons, okay?”

  She steps out and I take a deep breath to conquer the normally simple task of trying to check my messages.

  There is a voicemail from Chad, so I quickly call him to let him know how terribly sick I am.

  From there, I see several missed calls from Taylor and then several unread texts.

  Mr. Sexypants:

  You’re not answering my calls. What’s going on?

  ——

  You’ve got me worried here. Please message me.

  ——

  Okay I’m going to get your mother’s number from Kristin and call her.

  The last message was sent just minutes ago. I laboriously press the touchscreen to call Taylor.

  “Shyla, what the hell? You said you would call me once you landed. It’s been an entire day.”

  “I’m sick,” I utter. It must sound pretty awful, because he seems to understand how much so right away.

  “What’s wrong? You sound terrible.”

  “Everything, I can’t get out of bed, everything hurts, I have a fever, I can’t hold any food down.”

  “Are you going to the doctor?”

  “I don’t want to move.”

  “I wish you would have stayed home. I would have taken care of you. Should I have a doctor go to your mother’s house?”

  “I’m so tired…I’m going to sleep.”

  “Shyla, you sound out of it. Do you know how high your fever is?”

  “Taylor don’t worry. My mom is watching me, okay?” Mom comes back into the room with the chicken soup. “I have to go eat soup,” I say like a child who has no other choice but to obey her mother’s commands.

  “Call me as soon as you feel better, okay?”

  “Yes.” I hang up the phone pretty rudely, no strength remains for manners or pleasantries.

  Mom hands me the bowl and I take four slurps of soup before I am so tired that I can barely keep my eyes open. “Honey, I hope you don’t have mono,” is the last thing I hear her say before I doze off.

  The following morning, a ray of sunlight peeks through the shades right onto my eyes, awaking me. Finally, I feel human again as I sit up. My cell phone is dead, rendering me unable to find my bearings by checking the time. I walk out of the bedroom and notice that I am in a pair of my old Christmas footies littered with dozens of jolly Santas.

  “Mom?” I call out.

  “In the kitchen!” She calls out. “Oh you look so much better,” she says as I turn the corner.

  “Wow, I don’t know what that was.”

  “You pretty much slept for 36 straight hours.”

  “What time is it?”

  “It’s 11:13 on Friday.”

  “Wow! Whatever it was hit me like a freight train. I was fine and then all of a sudden-bam.”

  “I thought maybe food poisoning, and then I started to worry something like mono, but it looks like you’ve turned a corner.”

  “Well, sweet trip this has been, showing up so I could puke and sleep.”

  “It seems like you needed your mama.” She couldn’t be more right.

  “Is there anything to eat? I might consume my own foot if I don’t get something in me.” There is never a shortage of food when I visit mom’s. She pulls out some leftover meatballs she had prepared the night before and makes a sandwich. “This is heaven!” I proclaim between giant bites. Afterward, I take a much needed shower as I have been marinating in my own sick sweat for days now. After my cell phone recharges, I call Taylor. He answers immediately.

  “It’s good to hear your voice,” he says.

  “Same here. I don’t know what that was. It was a huge blur. I ached to my bones.”

  “It’s probably the stress. Takes its toll on the immune system.”

  “Maybe. I never get sick. The good news is now I feel like a million bucks. Who wouldn’t after sleeping for a few days?”

  “Come home.”

  “I will! I’m leaving tomorrow morning. My poor mom has been stuck taking care of me. I at least have to give her a day of conscious Shyla.”

  “Well I guess you were able to be a kid again in a way. Your mom nursing you and all.”

  “I guess you’re right, but not in the way most people idealize.”

  I surprise my mother with a shopping spree (shopping is our favorite bonding activity). At first she relents, but eventually, I get her guard down and we shop for several hours. When we return to her home, we order take out and rent a movie, our second favorite bonding activity. While we are waiting on the food we chat for a bit.

  “I promise, I wasn’t being nosey, but you kept getting calls from a Mr. Sexypants. That couldn’t have been his real name.”

  “Yes mom, it’s his family name, the Sexypants clan,” I say sarcastically to hide my embarrassment.

  “Is this a new boyfriend?”

  “Yes.” Don’t give me that look mom; that I’m-so-concerned-you-are-moving-too-fast, but I’m trying to hide it look.

  “Is it serious?”

  “Yeah, it is. I wasn’t expecting something serious so quickly after Rick, but he’s amazing mom. He’s eve
rything -- gorgeous, funny, smart, caring, attentive…” What am I doing? I am supposed to play it cool, but I want her to love him as much as I do and even more than she loved Rick.

  “So were you going to tell me about him or were you going to wait for me to ask as usual?”

  “I would have had I not been comatose these past couple of days. His name is Taylor.”

  “Taylor? Where’d you meet?”

  “A coffee shop. I spilled coffee on him, just like a cheesy rom-com.”

  “What does Taylor do?”

  “Have you heard of Holden Industries?”

  “Holden Industries? Yes, I have.”

  “He’s the CEO.”

  “The CEO?” My mother sits back a little bit. Her facial expression goes blank for a moment. I wasn’t expecting her to tap dance, but still, her mood change catches me off guard.

  “Yeah mom.”

  “Is his last name Holden?”

  “Yup.”

  “Oh. Well, that’s nice.”

  “Something wrong, mom?”

  “Honey, I wasn’t going to say anything, because I know you don’t like to talk about it, but I just can’t ignore it. When I was changing your clothes…” Shit, she saw the cuts. Fuckfuckfuck. “Your arms, and the bruises. What’s going on?”

  I try to think of any story that could possibly cover all of it, but there is nothing. If I tell her Eric attacked me, she will lose it, I mean lose her fucking mind. “Mom…I’m fine. The bruises were from a minor car accident. A fender bender. Some idiot behind me was texting.” I am such a piece of shit liar. “I meant to tell you about it, but well, then I got sick.”

  “Wow, you had lots to tell me. And the cuts?”

  “That’s why I wanted to visit, to catch up in person. The cuts? They…they are what they are, but I am fine. I swear mom. It was the first time in so many years.”

  “But why?”

  I remain silent.

  “Is it your new boyfriend? Is he hurting you?”