The Escape: Soren's Saga

by Nicky James

  “No, why?”

  I stopped dressing after adorning my new underwear and narrowed my eyes.

  “It’s just, you’ve been acting strange. You make these faces every time we talk about work and you’ve been snippy lately. I thought maybe something happened… like with Donny again or something.”

  I hadn’t realized I’d become so obvious. “Nothing happened. I’m just…” How the hell did I express what I felt? “Not feeling it anymore. Don’t worry about it.”

  His brow scrunched as he processed my words. I continued to dress and then disappeared into the bathroom to style my hair.

  “Not feeling what? What aren’t you feeling?”

  I consciously tried not to roll my eyes as I sprayed water over my blond hair. “I’ve just decided I hate my job. Don’t get your head in a knot over it. I’ll deal with it.”

  “Hate your job?” Ash appeared at the door as I squirted a small bit of mousse into my palm. “What part? Like the dancing and bartending or the other stuff?”

  I worked the mousse through my hair and gritted my teeth. “Ashton, you are making me crazy. I said don’t worry about it. I’ll figure it out.”

  He didn’t move from the doorway and continued to watch me as I plugged in the blow dryer and styled my hair so it fell straight in a perfect swoop over my eye. Once satisfied, I unplugged the dryer and returned it to the drawer under the sink. Because I was feeling down on myself that day and needed a self-esteem boost, I dug out the eyeliner Ash and I shared from another drawer. When Ash saw what I planned, he removed it from my hand.

  “Let me help.” I rolled my eyes and turned to him. He immediately pointed the liner in my face and issued me a no-nonsense glare. “Don’t. Stop doing that.”

  I blew out a breath and let him apply the eyeliner, even though I was perfectly capable on my own.

  As he worked, of course, he pushed the subject. “Now answer me, because you know I won’t let it go until you do.”

  Didn’t I know it.

  I kept no secrets from Ash. Mostly, because he wouldn’t rest until he knew all there was to know. Unfortunately, I was an open book to him. Even if I tried to hide things, my facial reactions gave me away.

  I sighed. “Not the dancing. I love dancing. It’s the other stuff. Don’t you ever get sick of it?”

  “Look up.” I complied as he continued. “You mean the sex?”

  “Yeah, I guess. I used to think we had the best job. I loved sex and the idea of getting paid to fuck was just cool as hell. I didn’t even care when Abel started calling me a whore because, whatever, I was making more money than him.”

  Ash finished and took my chin to examine what he’d done. “But you don’t love it anymore?”

  “I don’t know. All these different men. Every weekend. Lately it just makes my skin crawl when they touch me. It’s a chore now and not a good chore. Like cleaning the toilet gross, you know?”

  Ash’s eyebrow quirked. “You are comparing sex to cleaning toilets? Come on, you’re pulling my leg. Sex is awesome. Except when they never fucking let you finish. Then it sucks. But, you just mean it’s shitty with the club ticks, right?”

  Club ticks was Ashton’s word for the lonely men who ended up at Donny’s establishment. The ones who discovered hot young dancers and latched on. They became regulars, and once Donny felt they were safe, he invited them to experience the club extras with the young man they’d sunk their teeth into.

  “Not just the ticks, but anyone. Everyone. I don’t know.” I blew out an exasperated breath.

  “What about me. Does the idea of having sex with me make you shudder?”

  “Ashton—”

  “Does it?”

  I shimmied around him and went to find something to eat in the kitchen. I knew trying to explain myself would be an utter fail.

  “Soren?”

  “I’m not talking about it anymore. Get dressed and we can go grab groceries. We’ll go to Suki’s Diner on the way downtown and I’ll pay for breakfast.”

  Ash pursed his lips and glared for another solid minute before huffing out a defeated breath. “Fine.”

  The subject was far from over and I knew it. But, I’d bought myself a reprieve. With luck, it might hold for at least one more day.

  Chapter Four

  REMY

  I organize my time meticulously so things like this don’t happen!

  But, it never failed. When I relied on other people’s efficiency with time management, it was always my schedule that required rearranging. Without fail, it was me who ended up staying late at the office, ensuring deadlines were met.

  I’d been back at work a week, and the end of the month loomed over my head. All articles needed to be submitted by the end of the week and at the rate I was going, I’d be lucky to get caught up.

  I hit save on my recent progress and leaned back in my reclining leather chair. Peering from my interior office window, all other cubicles were dark. I was the last person to leave yet again for the third night in a row.

  My office space wasn’t huge, but I was grateful for what it was. It was better than what most people had. I wouldn’t have liked being stuck in a cramped cubicle every day. My solid oak desk and black leather love seat took up the majority of the space. It left only enough room for a floor lamp and a small polished side table without making it too crowded. It was uncluttered and meticulously clean. On the table were three orderly stacks of back editions of our company magazine. Undefined Holiday. A world travel destination magazine, giving insight into the worlds best and untraditional holidays.

  We had seven writers and one editor, me, who worked tirelessly to organize our quarterly distribution. The company was still fresh and new, but I’d been around since the launch four years earlier and we’d grown astronomically in that time.

  I slid my phone over to check the time. It was after eight. Deciding to save the next article for the following day, I shut down my computer and organized my desk. Pens and pencils, point down in their holder. Stapler between it and the desk calendar, but not touching. Tissue box, squared in the corner. The box of paperclips I’d retrieved earlier, back into the second drawer inside a small purple basket.

  After a quick scan, I brushed a few stray bits of paper into my palm and put them into the garbage. It was only a quarter full, so I wasn’t drawn to empty it.

  Another scan, and I decided it was good enough for me to depart.

  I clicked off the desk lamp and grabbed my shoulder bag from its spot beside my desk. At the door, I couldn’t help but turn back for one last glance around to ensure I hadn’t missed anything. Again. All was in order.

  I flicked the lights off and locked my office door before heading home.

  As I waited for the elevator in my office building to bring me to the parking garage, I considered my options for dinner. It was getting late to cook and at the rate I was going, it would never be done before ten. And I couldn’t eat past ten.

  Maybe a sandwich would suffice. I thought about what items I had on hand in the fridge to construct a sandwich and ordered them on top of the bread in my mind to ensure I wasn’t missing anything. Satisfied, I concluded that was exactly what I’d eat. Time efficient, and relatively healthy.

  If I was home by nine, I could eat and shower before ten and still have a few hours to relax before bed.

  Once the following few hours of my life were organized, my mind relaxed. I hated not having a plan. Spontaneity and I didn’t mix.

  My apartment was three blocks from work on the top floor of an old sky rise. A spacious three bedroom which was more than I required.

  I untied the laces of my black loafers and sat them on the mat by the door beside my more casual sneakers. Above the shoe mat, three wooden hangers were spaced out on the wall. Two for coats and one for my shoulder bag. I hung my bag and wandered into my open concept living room and dining area.

  The large balcony window’s blinds were pulled closed, the room was in shadows.


  I switched on a table lamp, kitty-corner to the two leather couches that formed an L in the living room. In front sat a large square wooden coffee table with a centerpiece of scented candles on a decorative glass plate among colored stones. The walls were a few shades lighter grey than the dark carpet throughout the room. On a far wall hung a large flat screen TV and floating shelves on either side which housed the entertainment devices.

  My dining room table was big enough to sit six comfortably, despite there never being anyone but me eating at it. At least since Cole had left.

  I shoved away thoughts of Cole and wandered to the kitchen to make the sandwich I’d been envisioning since I left work.

  I constructed it with exact precision and once finished, I placed it on a small sandwich plate. Using a cloth, I wiped the stray crumbs from the counter and tore a single square of paper towel off the roll to use as a napkin before taking my dinner to the table. I set it down in my spot—I only ever ate at the seat by the wall that overlooked the rest of the apartment—and returned to the kitchen to pour a glass of filtered water from the jug in the fridge.

  With my dinner in front of me and silence all around, I ate. I hated how quiet and lonely my days had become with Cole gone. Even when all we’d done was fight and disagree for the past year, at least it had been something.

  To keep the silence at bay, I occupied my mind with organizing the rest of my work schedule for the week in my head. Considering it was probably the twelfth time I’d gone over it, it only worked to distract me for about five minutes.

  After I finished my sandwich and cleaned up the dishes, I had a hot shower. My washing routine was just as rigid and took me sixteen minutes from start to finish. Wet down, shampoo, body wash, rinse, conditioner, shave, rinse again, done. Always that order.

  With a towel slung around my waist, I contemplated finding lounge pants, but decided it was too early for bedtime attire. The night was young—or young for me, since I never ventured to bed before midnight—and I didn’t feel comfortable wearing pajamas unless I was going to sleep. So, I put on a nice pair of jeans and a navy and red rugby shirt.

  It was just before ten and the last thing I felt like doing was pacing my apartment. It was a recipe for disaster. When loneliness sunk deep into my bones, I risked calling Cole, and even though I’d been good since getting back from Italy, the more days that passed, the more tempting it was to throw myself back into that nightmare. It didn’t help knowing that he would come over at the drop of a dime.

  To avoid a potential landslide, I found my phone and hit Alessio’s number. He answered on the first ring.

  “Hey, fratello. What’s up?”

  I plopped on the couch and rested my feet on the coffee table. “Do you sit by your phone and just wait for me to call?”

  “Of course I do. My life revolves around you. I hang by my phone and until your number shows up, my life isn’t complete.”

  “Sta’ zitto, asshole.”

  Alessio laughed. “I’m kidding. I just got off a call from my boss, so my phone was literally in my hand still.”

  I laughed with him. “You work too hard, Lessie.”

  “I work too hard. Let me guess, you just got home, ate, and are considering pulling out the laptop since, God forbid you go to bed before midnight. Am I right?”

  “Close. Been home about an hour. Ate, showered, and I don’t want to work anymore tonight.”

  “So, now you’re bored?”

  I put my phone on speaker and rested it beside me on the couch. “It’s just too quiet. Remind me again why I shouldn’t call Cole, because I’m tempted.”

  “Fuck that shit. You better not. He’s habit, Giuseppe, and not a good habit. He didn’t give a shit about you or even try and understand you. Plus, he fucked around. Why would you want him back?”

  I sighed and leaned forward to pull a magazine from a stack on the shelf under the coffee table. I flipped through the pages not seeing them as Alessio razzed me.

  “I know,” I said, “I just hate the quiet. Even his bullshit is better than this.”

  “Turn the TV on. Normal people watch TV or listen to music. Or go out. Go have a drink somewhere and get your mind off him. Don’t sit at home and just think. I know you, you’ll cave and then it will be square one all over again. It took you a year to finally get away from him. Don’t go back.”

  “Do you want to go out and get a drink with me? I can’t do the TV thing. Every time I try, all I do is think of the hundred and one other things I could and should be doing instead.”

  “I’d love to, but Natalie has her claws in me tonight. Unlike you, we do watch shows and she’s had it ready and waiting for almost an hour. If I don’t go sit with her soon, she’ll probably take my phone away.”

  I closed the magazine and returned it to its spot. “All right, fine.”

  “Go on your own. Have a drink. Relax some. Get your mind off him. Trust me. Don’t stay home and stew over it.”

  “I’ll think about it.” Going out wasn’t as easy as he made it sound. “Go be with Natalie. We’ll catch up another day.”

  After a short exchange of goodbyes, we hung up.

  I tossed my phone on the coffee table and leaned back on the couch, closing my eyes. Alessio was right. If I stayed at home, I’d get myself into a funk and end up calling Cole. Nights like that were exactly the kind of nights that were my downfall. The quiet ones where I didn’t know what to do with myself, and the loneliness in my chest expanded.

  Before I did something I would regret, I pulled myself off the couch and pocketed my phone. I turned off the lights and performed my routine check of the kitchen before pulling on my sneakers and heading out. A couple drinks at the bar and then I’d head home to bed. It would give me something to do.

  Habit wanted me to drive directly to the local pub where Cole and I used to hang out and have drinks on occasion. The one I was most comfortable with because their health code met my own. However, being surrounded by those memories and people who’d known us as a couple and who might ask questions made me drive in the opposite direction. Another recipe for disaster avoided.

  The sun had finally sunk below the horizon. Cobalt skies turned darker and stars began to wink on as I drove. My neighborhood was busy and there were people walking the streets still and light traffic on the road. All the local bars were places I’d frequented with Cole, so I left my neighborhood and drove another ten minutes into territory we’d never ventured.

  My head raced with unease as I tried to convince myself to go some place new. Stepping outside that comfort zone was never easy and took an exorbitant amount of effort. Alessio would be proud to see me trying.

  The housing lining the streets changed from new brick and large bay windows with perfect lawns and expensive cars, to ones made of faded siding with cracked windows and shingles that barely kept the rain out. The cars in the driveways—if there were any—showed their years in rust and old dings.

  It was a rougher end of town, but one that was free from memories of Cole. After another few minutes of driving, I spotted a small pub on a corner and parked a half a block down. Then I sat and stared at the front doors, willing myself to get out and go in.

  Just do it. Break the habit. What’s going to happen?

  My heartbeat picked up and my palms sweat the longer I sat, until I almost convinced myself that I should just go home. Some days, I hated myself for not being normal. Other people didn’t worry about half the shit I worried over.

  Breathing through it, I shut off the engine and pocketed my keys. Now go inside and have a beer.

  The neighborhood was sketchy and didn’t exactly promise high levels of cleanliness, but I forced myself to keep going.

  When I pulled the door to the bar open, deep bass music reverberated through my body. It wasn’t dance-club-loud, but enough it would make conversation strained. The lights were dim and hid much of the filth.

  I noticed.

  Of course, I would notice. It was the fir
st thing I looked for.

  The wooden tables—mostly occupied—were scratched up and worn down from years of drinks and plates being scraped across their surfaces. The black painted floor was scuffed and sticky under my shoes, and the patrons wore their hard days on their faces.

  It was busy enough for a Wednesday. Every person present looked like they needed their drink desperately and had no intention of moving for the next few hours. With the only empty tables looking less than appealing, I wandered to the bar and reluctantly shimmied onto a bar stool. The torn leather cover that had once been pulled taut over the stool’s surface, scraped against my jeans uncomfortably.

  Biting back the urge to ask the bartender to wipe the bar in front of me, I instead rested my elbows precariously on its surface, while avoiding touching anything directly. All in all, I wasn’t arrogant or pretentious or prudish or an egocentric prick, but I loathed uncleanliness with every fiber of my being. It made my skin crawl and my pulse quicken.

  As I came to the decision that maybe I’d ventured a little too far over my boundary lines going there, the bartender, who’d been flying around tables when I’d come in, shot over to where I sat.

  “What can I get ya?”

  He was multitasking, mixing drinks all while punching orders into his point of sales, and he hadn’t looked at me yet. The moment he spoke, my gaze fixed on his familiar face and blond hair. My obsessive analysis over the conditions of the bar were temporarily forgotten.

  There was a slight hiccup of time where I didn’t respond as fast as he’d expected which made him look up from his task. When our gazes connected, he noticeably flinched. In place of repeating himself, like I assumed he was about to do, he just gawked before his thoughts aligned.

  I smiled at his muddled confusion. “Well, hello again.”

  In the ten seconds of time that passed between him noticing me and my initiating conversation, his entire body stiffened as it had done when we’d first met. His jaw set and a weariness passed over his brilliant blue eyes.

  “Hi.” The word clipped off his tongue and didn’t invite further cordial exchange. “A drink?”