The Write Escape

by Charish Reid

  She waited a moment, thinking of what to say, before following his trail. When she found him, he was already in his bedroom undressing. He was down to his boxer briefs. Antonia inhaled sharply and made the effort to engage him in a conversation. His body was always a distraction. Derek’s skin shone like amber in the low light of his bedroom. He was what her mother would call “high-yella,” a term Antonia disliked. It smacked of an older time in her mother’s life. But Derek’s golden skin made him a black Adonis. The constant trips to the gym also kept his tall frame lean and fit. Dark brown hair peppered his bare chest, trailing down to his waistband.

  Her throat went dry.

  Words that were ready to tumble forth, were now stuck in her mouth. Antonia shook her head. “I just wanted...”

  “Hold that thought, babe,” Derek said sliding his black briefs down. He kicked them off his feet and stood legs astride, pleased with himself. Antonia’s mouth snapped shut. She noted how his stride to the bathroom was a confident one. Even while he was entirely nude, he walked taller than most. She was a wilted plant compared to his lion-like display. “Let me get some hot water on me,” he said from the bathroom. The shower’s spray blasted the silence of the apartment, effectively drowning her out.

  Antonia resigned to flopping herself against his plush California king bed. As her head hit the goose-down pillows, she closed her eyes and used the moment to rest her weary body. The last thing that she wanted to do was leave the haven of Derek’s bed. The high thread-count alone was enough to “Netflix and chill” the night away. But his parents were still on her mind. Antonia probably looked as tired as she felt. Had she planned accordingly, she could have brought a change of clothes and her makeup bag to the office. Derek couldn’t account for these things like she did. When they first started dating, she’d managed his calendar like it was hers. Antonia had reminded him to attend company sponsored events and parties, arranged thoughtful gifts for the hosts, and always came prepared with something clever to say about finance or sports. The third had been especially difficult because she cared nothing for either subject. But wherever they went, Antonia made certain that they appeared perfect and orderly. Everything in its right place.

  Buzz.

  Antonia’s eyes popped open. She shifted her head to the side and searched for the vibration that startled her. The blue flash of Derek’s phone lit his crumpled jacket that he usually took care to drape over a chair. The phone continued to vibrate against the bed, reminding Antonia of her frustration with him. This damned device took his focus away from her. Antonia stared at the blue light that taunted her. Should I?

  No. That’s an invasion of his privacy.

  There wasn’t anything for her to check on anyway. He already told her he was concerned about work. He usually grew more tense when he was assigned a new project. Derek kept saying he was closer to making partner at the firm and a large part of that had to do with their wedding. Apparently his bosses needed to see some stability from him before making that final step. He was ecstatic when Antonia said yes. She thought they were sharing the same feelings of happiness, and Derek assured her that he was excited about marriage, but he had to add the comment about his career. She’d chosen to ignore her initial deflated feelings, instead focusing on their future.

  But today, of all days, he was even more distant than usual. Regardless of the stress from his job, he seemed more muted. When the phone’s buzzing stopped, Antonia forcefully turned her head away to face the ceiling. Of all days. Derek was still showering. Antonia figured that she had plenty of time to sneak her hand in his jacket, slide the home-screen, and take a peek. Sneak, slide, and peek. Nothing to it. Antonia sat up on her elbows and stared at his jacket. She didn’t know what she expected to find. She certainly didn’t know what she would do if she found something suspicious. What would Augusta do?

  “Fuck it,” she muttered, reaching for his phone. Before she knew it, his sleek iPhone was in her hand. The weight of it, and her actions, sat solidly in her palm as she quickly took her next step. Derek had no password, which made her strangely relieved. It wasn’t a good idea for his general security, but perhaps it meant that he wasn’t hiding something.

  The alert on his home-screen read: Missed Call.

  She slid the screen, revealing the notification. Naomi.

  Antonia’s lips went numb. She licked them to make sure they were still attached to her face as her thumb paused above the screen. Who... She needed to dig deeper. Her mind was a flurry of beautiful models with hourglass figures and hair down to there. The name, Naomi, played on repeat in Antonia’s brain while she searched the call-log. An involuntary groan escaped her parched throat. The number of calls between the two were astounding. Most of them were missed, but they were plentiful. Before she could stop and think, Antonia pressed the text icon.

  Naomi: I miss you

  Derek: I miss being between your thighs

  Naomi: When will you be alone?

  Derek: N a min

  Naomi: Is she still there?

  There were more text messages, but Antonia’s vision blurred with unshed tears. She was terrified to blink because it would break the dam. Her hands trembled as she scrolled onward. And there was so much to scroll through. The most damning messages had been sent while Antonia wandered through the tour behind the wedding planner. She remembered passing through the underwater exhibit where friendly gray seals smiled through the glass. Antonia had turned to point them out to Derek, who had been focused on his phone. The blue shimmer of the tank had competed with the blue light of his screen, and failed. He’d glanced over at the gliding giants and nodded. This was what he was typing? This is who he was talking to?

  Antonia’s face grew warm and she became dizzy. She choked back a sob and buried the phone facedown into Derek’s duvet. She couldn’t bear to see anymore. What now? Her mind raced. She was frozen, stuck in a moment of indecision. Dealing with this horrific discovery was infinitely harder than sneak, slide and peek. She did the deed and found out the worst. Antonia searched her memory for moments that could have revealed truth and turned up nothing. She’d been had. Derek successfully pulled the wool over her eyes while she planned their wedding. When had this started?

  Antonia turned the phone over and continued scrolling. Too many text messages! Her face contorted as she scrolled past Derek making plans with Naomi; her sending him hearts and xoxo’s. Finally, she stopped at an image. Her own hand clapped over her mouth before she could let out a scream.

  Oh god, no. May 10th, 11:23 p.m.

  Nearly a month ago, a text was sent from Derek.

  A crude photo of his dick was posed in the soft lights of his bedroom. From where she was sitting, Antonia glanced at her reflection in the mirror that hung in front of his bed. She glanced back at the photo. It was indeed his dick. His narrow hips were thrust forward so that Naomi couldn’t miss the subject of his amateur photography. Behind him was the same bedside table and lamp that Antonia currently sat next to. She’d bought the lamp from Pottery Barn to impress him.

  The stream of the shower stopped; the curtain rustled as Derek stepped out. Antonia’s gaze flew to the now foggy bathroom. She had to leave. Her throat was tight with dread. His normally spacious bedroom with its fancy bachelor trappings quickly became a tomb.

  What would Augusta do?

  Antonia’s mind went blank from the fright and fury that bubbled within her.

  “What did you want to talk about, babe?” Derek asked, wrapping a plush white towel around his waist.

  Antonia looked up, phone still in hand, and stared at him. She was too shocked to speak. Derek gazed back at her, his expression was unreadable as he glanced from her to his phone.

  “What...” Her voice was strangled and foreign to her own ears. “...what have you done, Derek?”

  He heaved a tired sigh and hung his head. “Okay, so what do you want to do?”
/>   Antonia frowned as she wiped tears from her face. “What?”

  Derek raised his gaze to hers, his brow arched. “I’m saying, what do you want to do, Toni?” He tightened the towel at his waist and leaned against the doorframe, staring her down with an expression that Antonia didn’t recognize. Complete apathy? “Do you want to talk about how you feel and then have dinner or do you want to have dinner and talk about it when we’re home?”

  Her mouth fell open. “You still expect us to go to dinner?”

  “Mom made the reservations last week.”

  His indifference was bewildering. “You’re cheating on me, Derek. We’re getting married in four days and you’re talking about dinner? What is wrong with you?” Her voice grew shrill. “Who is Naomi? How long has this been going on?”

  Derek straightened up and sauntered to where she stood. In an eerily calm manner, he took her by the shoulders and peered down at her. Antonia was horrified by the ease he took in approaching her. With his thumbs, he lightly kneaded the muscles of her arms, pulling her close to his damp body. “Babe, you don’t have to worry about her. That’s over.”

  Antonia’s blouse was getting wet against his chest. Her hands were clenched in fists at either side of her body, as she shook violently. She was terrified of what she might do in that moment. A quiet rage boiled in her chest, threatening to spill out and destroy something or someone. “Get. Your. Hands. Off of me,” she said through clenched teeth.

  Derek stepped back slightly, holding his hands up. “Okay, so you want to talk now. Naomi was a temp who used to work at the office. She came on to me. The whole thing was just physical, just meaningless sex. I don’t love her at all. In fact,” he added, “I was trying to break it off with her. I told her that I was really serious about you. You’re going to be my wife, after all.”

  As Antonia stood and listened to Derek list every excuse in the book, her mind returned to her phone call with her mother. Don’t take any wooden nickels. Her face finally crumpled into a sob, hot tears spilled down her cheeks as she stared at the man she loved. In the blink of an eye, her world had taken a hard left turn.

  “Toni, if you start crying, your face is going to get all puffy,” he said reaching out to wipe her face.

  She slapped his hand away and threw his phone on the bed. “Don’t,” she snapped. “Don’t do any of that slimy shit you do with your clients. You’re not going to talk your way out of this and I’m not going to have dinner with your horrible parents. The wedding is off, Derek.”

  His brow furrowed slightly. “Okay, we don’t have to have dinner tonight, but we’re not calling off the wedding.” His tone was incredulous as though he was reasoning with a toddler. “Toni, we have a hundred guests coming from all over the country. Do you know how much money my parents have spent on this? Don’t be crazy.”

  Crazy?

  If she didn’t get out of his apartment, Antonia was going to show him what crazy really looked like. “Who are you?”

  He heaved another sigh. “I’m a man who’s going to make mistakes. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” His words were like a tired recitation of something he’d memorized.

  Antonia couldn’t listen to it any longer. “I’m leaving,” she murmured as she backed out of the room. “The fucking wedding is definitely off.”

  He followed her, giving half-hearted attempts to apologize, but the growing buzz in her head drowned out most of his words. As she gathered her bag and jacket, she marched to the vestibule to find her shoes. Derek was still droning on, but Antonia only caught snippets like “needs” and “pressure to be the best” and “I don’t think you understand.” As her hand rested on the doorknob, she turned to look at him once more.

  “Don’t go, Toni,” he said. There was a small measure of shame on his face, but not nearly enough. “Babe, what would I do without you?”

  Antonia opened her mouth to say something, but clamped it shut.

  “Hell,” he continued. “What would you do without me? You don’t want to waste away at that pitiful publishing place, in your thirties, alone with your mountain of books, do you?”

  The final blow of his callous words made her flinch. “I think I’ll manage somehow.”

  In the hallway of the fourteenth floor, she fought the urge to pass out. Every step in her high heels was as wobbly as a newborn giraffe. She quickly stumbled toward the elevator, casting a glance over her shoulder. In her mind she prayed, to whoever was listening, for Derek not to follow her. She couldn’t bear to look him in the face without slapping that beautiful smile. Images of his X-rated text message and his hurtful words mingled with those of their past. A walk in Grant Park, him surprising her at work, him going down on one knee. She kept seeing his dick and that lamp. She pressed the down button at the elevator. The orange light slowly ticked from the lobby.

  “Goddammit,” Antonia yelled, mashing the button. In the time the elevator would reach her, she was sure she would faint or Derek would try to reason with her. Neither were an option. Slapping the button wouldn’t make the elevator pulley go any faster, but she couldn’t think of anything else to do.

  A door opened down the hallway. She turned to see Derek’s face poking from his door. “Toni, just come back and we’ll talk about it as long as you want.”

  “Fuck you!” she shouted. The goddamn numbers rolled onward in an agonizingly slow pace.

  “What else do you want me to do?” He edged closer to the threshold, revealing his damp torso. She hoped his wealthy neighbors were getting an eyeful.

  12... 13...

  “You don’t have to do anything else,” Antonia called out in a shaky voice. She kept her eyes planted on the numbers. 14. When the doors slid back, she squeezed herself past them as fast as she could. “Cheating on me is good enough, thank you!”

  “Toni...” That was the last thing she heard him say before the elevator doors slowly closed. Antonia decided that was a perfect opportunity to fall against the wall and sob. She wept for fourteen floors. Her phone vibrated in her bag, accompanied by a personalized jingle she’d set for Derek’s calls. She ignored it and continued to weep. Antonia couldn’t pick which part to be most devastated about. There were the lies, the wedding she needed to call off, and the intimate messages that she read. I miss being between your thighs.

  As the elevator descended to the third, then second floor, Antonia wiped her face on her jacket. The rest of the day’s makeup was rubbed away to reveal her red and puffy face. She caught herself in the shining reflection of the elevator wall and fought the urge to release another sob. She looked beat up. Her mascara smudged her under eye, her already full lips were swollen. Before hitting the lobby, she tried wiping her eyes again, desperate to move the stubborn black rings. She couldn’t face Derek’s doorman looking like a complete mess.

  The doors slid open and she hesitated to leave the elevator. She could go back upstairs. She could talk to him. There could have been a misunderstanding. Maybe she misunderstood everything. Derek had a way of explaining things, maybe this was another thing he could explain away. Am I overreacting?

  The doors tried to close during her inner debate. She waved her arm through the opening, sliding them back. What would Augusta do? Her ball-busting heroine, Augusta Sinclair, would have slapped, no, punched, Derek in the face. Antonia had certainly missed that opportunity. But one thing Augusta would never do is return to the scene of the crime. She’d never return to let a man talk his way out of a dick pic. Antonia set her jaw and straightened herself up. Hitching her satchel on her slumped shoulder, she pushed her way forward.

  There was no going back.

  Chapter Four

  “People were bound to have mixed feelings regarding the protagonist of Invisible Man,” Aiden said, turning to the next slide. “And sure, when your main character’s been through the wringer and comes out the other side claiming that he still has possibil
ities, a segment of your audience is going to call you a liar.”

  He tried not to look at Robert, who was sitting in the back of his darkened classroom, as he pressed the clicker. Instead, he focused on the students, some of which he’d lost around the fifth slide of his PowerPoint. The connections he tried to make between Ralph Ellison’s novel and Irish history was lost on many of them, but Aiden continued with the hope that he could articulate ideas for his own scholarship. “But that’s the beauty of hope, isn’t it?” he asked those who were still awake. “It’s the very foundation of an oppressed people, trapped in a system that doesn’t acknowledge them. It’s how you keep going when the man has his boot on your neck.”

  Of the students who were still alive, a hand flew up in the darkness. It was his star pupil, Abby, who always sat in the front row taking feverish notes as he spoke. “Professor Byrnes?”

  “Yes?”

  “Could you make a connection with Irish oppression and African American oppression?”

  He nodded, pleased that she followed his line of thinking. “Yes, you could, but you’d have to be careful not to conflate the Irish experience with the systematic oppression of the black diaspora. While the parallels are fascinating, we need to remember these are two different issues.” The old, fun Professor Byrnes would have stopped what he was doing, deviated from the path in an effort to make new discoveries. Hard-nosed Byrnes had to keep it moving because he only had ten minutes left before the class ended. “Good question, Abby.”

  She scribbled in her notebook as he returned to the PowerPoint lecture. “As I was saying, the response to Ellison’s work was mixed, but I’d like to think any critic of their time could spot the parallels and jabs he took at the Transcendentalists. Emerson, Hawthorne, Melville, to name a few. These were the forefather authors of the American experience. What black writer of the 1950s wouldn’t want to take those early ideas and skewer them?”

  Abby’s hand popped up again.

  Aiden rubbed his hand over his mouth. “Yes.”