Escape In You

by Rachel Schurig

  “You were going through some serious shit,” I say, and he gives me a smile that’s part grimace. “Yeah, I guess. They couldn't figure out why I couldn't snap out of it, why I didn't want to play baseball anymore. We would have gone to State that year. They looked at my quitting as letting them down. And I kept getting in trouble at school—suspensions, coming to class trashed. My friends weren’t really the type to waste time on burnouts.”

  He breathes deeply and rubs his hands across his face. “To be honest, it was my fault. Some of them were genuinely concerned about me, you know? But I pushed them away. I didn't want to be okay. I didn't want to get over it. I sure as hell didn't want to pretend like things were the same as they used to be. It was easier to just push them away. Move on.”

  This was all sounding way too familiar for comfort. “I know how that feels.” My voice is soft, and I’m suddenly a lot more sober.

  He watches my face for a moment. “Yeah?” he finally asks, pushing off from the counter and coming to stand in front of me.

  I nod. “Yeah.”

  He’s close enough to touch now, so I do, reaching out to rest my hands against his hips. He pushes a lock of hair behind my ear. “Anyhow. Fred is the only one who refused to be pushed away. He just kept coming back, even when I was acting like a total dick.”

  “Sounds like a good friend.”

  “He’s the best. It helps that he was pretty close with Jim, too.” He pauses before he says his brother’s name, like he needs to prepare himself for the sound of it. “So I know he gets it, I guess.”

  Suddenly he looks so sad that it makes my stomach hurt. I move my hands up over his chest, his neck, until my fingers brush against his face. “Want to know a secret?” I ask. “A real one?”

  He nods, his eyes steady on mine.

  “Sometimes I resent my mom. For being sick.”

  Saying the words feels good. Like, really good. I’m not sure why. I only know that he’s been honest with me, and I think that’s hard for him. I want to give him something back, so he knows he can trust me. “I’ve never told anyone that before.”

  Without breaking eye contact he leans forward until our foreheads are touching. “I’ve never really grieved for my brother.”

  His voice is so quiet I can barely hear him. It’s such a terrible thing, and I feel awful for him. But I’m also freer somehow, knowing he trusts me. Knowing I can trust him. I avoid talking about this shit so much that I practically make a career out of it. Who would have guessed it’d be so freeing to tell someone?

  “Thank you,” he whispers. “For telling me that.”

  “Thank you for telling me about Jim.”

  He breathes out when I say his name, and I wonder if I’ve done something wrong. But then he brushes his lips across mine almost like he’s thanking me.

  Something sizzles behind him on the stove, and he jumps back.

  “Water’s overflowing,” I say.

  “Shit.” He runs over to stir the noodles and turn down the heat. “These are probably ready.”

  I help him finish up the food, handing him milk and butter and getting out a stack of bowls. Once we have everything ready we go back down to our friends.

  This time, I’m the one who reaches for his hand. And I don’t let go.

  Chapter Nine

  Taylor

  After that night at Fred’s house, Zoe and I pretty much start spending all of our free time together. Neither of us has brought up what, exactly, this means. She made it pretty clear that first night in the park that she wasn’t interested in anything serious. Not that I am either; I’m clearly way too fucked up to be someone’s boyfriend. And Zoe deserves the most awesome, kick-ass boyfriend ever.

  But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to be with her, like, all of the time. Our friends get along really well, which makes things easier. We meet up at parties, at the bar, in the park. Wherever people are hanging out I know I’m likely to find Zoe and her friends, having a beer and just chilling. I don’t take any chances though—I always make sure to ask ahead of time where she’ll be. It would really fuck up my confidence if she didn't reciprocate, but, for the most part, it seems like she’s just as eager to be with me. She has class every day during the week, and I have my shifts at the garage, but even so I’ve started spending a few of my lunch breaks on campus with her.

  And I am fully aware that all of this makes me a giant pussy. I have never been the kind of guy that chases after a girl the way I chase after Zoe. To his credit, Fred doesn’t give me a hard time about it, though I’m sure he’s laughing at me on the inside.

  I just can’t help it. I’ve spent so long feeling shitty and lonely and closed off from everyone and everything. I want it that way, for the most part. It’s just easier to block people out, push them away. But Zoe is different. I don’t want to push her away, I want to figure out a way to bring her closer. She makes me feel better, calmer, clearer. In a life full of bullshit and anger she stands out. She’s a place where I can be quiet and…real.

  Nothing else in my life is so completely and entirely beautiful and good.

  A few weeks after we start seeing each other, Zoe texts to let me know that her mom isn’t feeling well and she won’t be joining her friends in Kennedy Park that night after all.

  I feel a stab of disappointment, followed by concern. She never tells me much about her mom. All I know is that she’s not well and it has something to do with her mental health. I want to ask Zoe about it, want her to confide in me more, but she never brings it up. I know from experience that you just don’t push when it comes to personal stuff like that.

  Can I help? I text back.

  No, thanks. Call you later?

  Sure.

  I put my phone down, lean back in my chair, and take a sip of my beer. Faced with a night on my own, I’m not sure what I want to do. A house party is going on a few blocks over, one of the local kids home from school. The only good thing about the summer, as far as I’m concerned, is the increase in parties with free booze. It seems like every asshole who comes home from college is determined to christen his parents’ house with a massive kegger.

  But I don’t really feel like going to a party. Sitting alone in someone else’s house getting wasted doesn’t sound that good to me for once. I’m thinking maybe I’ll stay in instead, work on my comic for a while, when my phone rings.

  My first thought is that it’s Zoe, and I shake my head at the hopeful feeling in my chest. I really am turning into a pussy. When I see that it’s Preston, I groan. I don’t want him to know how much time I’ve been spending with Zoe or how I’m starting to feel about her. He’s been bugging me to hang out now that Fred is home, and if I keep putting him off he’ll get curious. A curious Preston no good for anyone. I answer my phone.

  “Hey, man,” he says. “Where’ve you been?”

  “Around. Working. You know.”

  “Right, right. So, you going to that party at Jeff’s?”

  “Nah, man, I’m not in the mood.”

  “Dude, don’t be a dick. I’ve been home three weeks, and I’ve only seen you once. It’s like you’ve disappeared this summer.”

  I bite back a curse. I know that Preston is mostly just looking for someone who parties as hard as he does. Preston is your typical frat boy, has been since long before he actually joined a frat. Few of his friends can keep up the way I can. It’s pretty much only this fact that’s kept us friends for all these years. Along with Fred, he’s one of the few ball players who didn't ditch me when I quit the team. But while Fred stuck around because he actually cared, Preston did because he liked that I was now spending so much time drinking and that I’d suddenly found a source for weed.

  “Fine, I’ll go,” I say. “Meet you in twenty minutes?”

  “Cool, man. Sounds good. Fred coming too?”

  “Probably.”

  I hang up and text Fred, letting him know we have plans with Preston for the evening. He texts back a string of expletives,
not being much of a fan of Preston, but agrees to come get me.

  Before I jump in the shower, I send Zoe a quick text to let her know where I’ll be if she ends up being free. As I do, I have the sinking realization that I’m participating in textbook boyfriend behavior but try to push that thought out of my mind.

  Half an hour later, Fred and I walk through the front door of Jeff’s parents’ house. We see Jeff as soon as we set foot in the foyer.

  “Fred, bro, what’s up?” he calls out. He doesn’t acknowledge me, and I smirk. Jeff is one of the assholes who never forgave me for quitting the team when we had a chance at the state title. Jeff is also totally afraid of me, has been ever since senior year when he saw me beat the hell out of Todd Huntington, another little shit who was giving me a hard time about quitting the team. I could give a fuck what he thinks about me. It’s not going to stop me from availing myself of the fine booze in his dad’s liquor cabinet.

  We run into Preston in the kitchen, and he and Fred do that half-hug handshake thing guys do. “Good to see you man. School good?” Preston asks Fred, glancing at me like he’s scared he’ll hurt my feelings or something. I grit my teeth. He’s always pulling shit like that, acting like I’m too fragile to hear about their college experiences. Like I give a shit.

  “I’m getting a drink,” I say, looking around for the keg.

  “Nah, man,” Preston says, grinning. “I have tequila downstairs and the pool table reserved. Come on.”

  I’m not really in the mood for tequila, or the way it will make me feel in the morning, but it seems like as good an option as any so I follow the guys down to the billiards room. Jeff’s house is pretty much a carbon copy of Preston’s, as are most of the McMansions on this side of the neighborhood. Whenever I complain about this conformity Fred laughs and calls me a poor little rich boy. Like my parents’ money has ever done me any good.

  Preston has a pair of girls sitting on the pool table fending off those who would want to play. I try to keep my irritation at bay as he thanks them, kissing them both just below the ear and sending them off with his smarmy little smile. “Not bad,” he mutters, watching as they walk away.

  “A little young, don't you think?” Fred asks. “What are they, high school seniors?”

  Preston shrugs. “Who cares? They’re hot.”

  I pick up a cue. “One day you’re going to get mixed up with a girl that’s a little too young.”

  He grins widely. “Ain’t no such thing.”

  “I’ll remember that when I’m called as a character witness for your harassment trial.”

  “Are you going to break, or what?” Fred asks, and we start playing, me against Preston with Fred taking the winner. They both pound the tequila, but I lay off a bit. I’m hoping Zoe ends up getting out of the house tonight, and I want to be conscious if that happens.

  I beat Preston easily. He jumps up on the counter of the wet bar to watch as Fred sets up the balls to break. “So, where’ve you been, man?” he asks me. “You got a chick or something?”

  I bristle at that and give Fred a look, hoping he gets the hint. I don't want to talk about Zoe with Preston.

  But it’s too late; Preston points at me. “I saw that look,” he says. “There is a chick, isn't there? Who is it?”

  I take my shot, sinking the six ball before standing up to lean on my cue. “Her name is Zoe. I don't think you know her.”

  “That chick from my party?” he asks, and I grimace. I forgot that we’d talked about her the following day.

  “Yeah.”

  “Wow, dude. Well done. She’s hot. Hey, you think you can hook me up with that Ellie chick? I’ve been dying to hit that for weeks.”

  Out of the corner of my eye I see Fred tense over his cue and miss his shot completely. I’ve been getting a vibe from him that he might like Ellie, but I figured he was too scared of her to do anything about it. Not that I blame him—she could kick either of our asses. “I don't think so, man,” I say. “She thinks you’re a rich asshole.”

  That relaxes Fred, and Preston scowls. “Her friend doesn't mind that you’re a rich asshole,” Preston says.

  I shrug. “I guess I have more charm.”

  Fred laughs behind me, and I turn back to the table, hoping that’s the end of the conversation.

  “So are you like, into her? Is it serious?”

  I glare at Preston. “Seriously, dude? Are we gonna play truth or dare next?”

  He crosses his arms. “I’m just surprised, is all. You never hang out with the same girl for more than a few nights. If you’re getting serious about someone, I would have thought you’d pick someone you could take home to your parents.”

  I straighten to my full height. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Oh, come on, Jet. Like your parents won't have a heart attack if you bring that girl home. I can just see your mother asking her about the best places to find diamonds for her nose ring.”

  Fred catches my eye and shakes his head a little. His meaning is clear: not worth it. He has a point. Defending Zoe would just prove to Preston that we were serious, and I really do not need him spreading that around. Preston is a bona fide shit stirrer, and I don't want him anywhere near my relationship with Zoe.

  “We’re just having fun, man,” I say. “No big deal.”

  He grins again. “You hit that?”

  I make a noise in the back of my throat and turn my back on him, done with the conversation.

  He only laughs. “When did you turn into such a gentleman?”

  “Whatever, man.”

  Much to my relief, he drops it after that. Fred switches to water, leaving the bottle to Preston, and we play a few more games of pool, Preston easier to beat the more tequila he drinks. Eventually one of the girls from earlier comes over under the guise of wanting to watch him play. She giggles at everything he says, and it really gets on my nerves.

  “I’m out, man,” I finally say. “Last game for me.”

  “What about you?” Preston says to the girl, wiggling his eyebrows at her in a way she apparently finds charming. “You play pool?”

  “I don’t know how,” she says, twirling her hair around her finger.

  I resist the urge to gag.

  “I’ll teach you,” Preston says.

  “See you around.” Fred and I both wave and walk away. “You wanna get out of here?” I ask him.

  “Hell yeah,” he says. “These parties have really lost their appeal.”

  “Yeah,” I say, thinking about the last few times we’d hung out with Zoe and her friends. We’d spent a few hours in Everett’s living room the previous Thursday, playing poker and drinking beer. It had been a fun, chill night, even though Ellie had beaten us all handily.

  It’s only eleven when we make our way outside, but Fred tells me he’s calling it a night. “I have to work tomorrow. I went in hungover Friday. It’d be nice to go to bed sober tonight.”

  “You don’t want to get some food or something?” As much as I’m ready to leave the party, I don’t relish the idea of going back home. My mom will surely still be awake, and she’ll be pissed if I don’t stop in to say goodnight. Of course, she’ll be pissed if I do stop in to say goodnight. I’m not sure if I can handle seeing her tonight.

  “I guess we could hit up the Burrito Barn,” he says, a hopeful note in his voice, and I wonder if he thinks he might catch Ellie there. Before I can agree, my phone buzzes. It’s a text from Zoe and her face scowls up at me—she’d refused to smile when I demanded she let me take her picture for the contact.

  Hey, you still out? Wanna meet up?

  “Or we could call it a night,” I tell Fred, looking at him hopefully.

  He laughs. “Tell Zoe I say ‘hi.’”

  I grin and return to my phone. I’m heading home. I can come pick you up.

  We’re practically at my house by the time she replies. I’m already on my way. See you in a few.

  I frown, not liking the idea of her walking in the
dark. It’s a good twenty minutes on foot. Fred pulls up in front of my house. “Later, man.”

  I get out and go straight to my car, hoping my mom won’t be looking out the window. I find Zoe a few blocks away, her head down, her hands stuffed into her pockets. I slow beside her, and she looks up at me.

  It’s clear that she’s been crying. I have the strongest urge to hug her and hit someone all at the same time. Whoever made her cry deserves a punch in the face. Without being aware of deciding to do so, I jump out of the car and pull her into my arms. “What happened?” I demand. “Are you okay?”

  She’s shaking slightly, but I feel her nod against my chest. “I’m fine.” Her voice is muffled. I lean back to look down at her and gasp—her face is red and swollen along her cheek bone. Like someone hit her.

  “Who did that?” I ask, my voice low. My hands are shaking, and I swear I actually see red. I haven’t been this angry in a long time, and I don’t care. I just want to know whose ass I’ll be kicking.

  “It’s fine,” she says, looking down as she pulls away. “Can we just go?”

  “Zoe—”

  She wiggles out of my arms and walks around the car to the passenger door. I curse loudly and follow her, jumping into my seat so I can look at her full in the face. “Zoe, who did that?”

  “It doesn't matter.” She stares straight out the window.

  “Your mom?”

  She shakes her head slightly and my stomach clenches. “Your step-dad?”

  She doesn’t respond, and I feel the air leave my lungs. “I’m going to kill him.”

  “No,” she says, her voice suddenly strong. “You’re not going to do that because that would mean we’d have to go back there. And I don’t want to go back there tonight.” She finally turns to face me, and I’m surprised to see fire in her eyes. She no longer looks scared or embarrassed—she looks fierce.

  “I called you because tonight really, really sucked. And all I could think about was getting out of there. And when I thought about where I should go, where I would go if I could go anywhere, I thought of you. Please, Taylor.”