unStrapped

by Nina G. Jones

  The image of her running to Taylor after getting away with some sort of petty crime and then riding him in the front seat of his car as she laughs from the thrill flashes into my mind. It contrasts so starkly with the innocent pictures of the cheerleader on the mantle of her mother’s house. I push the images back, afraid I will lose my cool.

  “She wasn’t some angel. If she hated it so much, why did she send me hundreds of crazy emails begging to come back?”

  “So that was true?”

  “Eric told you that?”

  “When he found them, they got into a fight and she ran out. That’s when she had the accident.”

  Taylor sighs. “I am truly sorry that she died. It’s very unfortunate. I thought she had moved on when the emails stopped. Frankly I was relieved to be done with her and I never looked back. I never thought she had died. I didn’t know she had a drinking problem. I have never claimed to have lived some sort of pure existence. I have tendencies that you are aware of. I have warned you of that from the very beginning. You can’t suddenly pretend like all of this is out of the blue.”

  “I know,” I say leaning against the bathroom vanity. “It’s just that when someone else says it…”

  “You mean, when Eric said it.”

  “He made it seem so vile, like you did those things to make her crazy, on purpose.”

  “And you believe that?”

  “No…I don’t know…No.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  “Come on Taylor.”

  “What else?”

  “The journal. Is it really gone?”

  “Okay, so now you are really asking if I am a liar. I already told you about that.”

  “Your reaction when you thought I was looking for it concerned me.”

  “My reaction was shitty, I’ll admit. I just don’t like snooping, and I thought you were snooping. The journal was destroyed right after you went back home the first night we got together, the night you discovered it. I realized it was some sort of crutch. It compromised me. Now everything is up here,” he pads on his temple with his index finger, “and in security deposit boxes. I am the only person with a key. And no, I will never destroy those items, it’s the only way I can feel secure.”

  “Why the notes? Things like ‘screamer?’ If it was just an insurance policy, why such detail?”

  “For one, it jogged my memory. Not be crass, but there were a lot of women. And yes, Shyla, I got a kick out of it, okay? We’ve talked about this before. But it’s gone, I burned it in the fireplace. I have you, and I don’t even want to think of those women anymore.”

  His answers, to my surprise and relief, satisfy me. He has admitted to some unsavory actions, but just as Taylor said, he has never tried to hide the fact that his tastes are of the darker persuasion. Yes, Emily would have been just like that woman I watched in the club, being taken by two men, and so what? She had a choice, and if she hated every moment of it and only tolerated it in hopes of hitting the jackpot, well, she made a terrible calculation.

  But I know what I have truly been dreading, it’s the question that has gnawed at me. In fact, I haven’t even really asked it in my thoughts. I think that’s why I slept so much: I feared that I would have to confront that question and truly reflect on the possibilities. But now, I know I have to hear it in his words. I have to hear Taylor promise me that he was not the man in the leather suit.

  But before I can get the question out, Taylor speaks. “I have a question for you.”

  “Okay,” I say, somewhat relieved that my own very offensive question will be delayed.

  “The nightmare. I know you remember it. What are you seeing in your nightmares?” he asks.

  The question completely catches me off guard, but if there will be no secrets, I must tell him, even if it offends him.

  “It’s just a dream.”

  “Just a dream,” he snickers. If anyone knows what a lie that is, it’s Taylor. “Go ahead.”

  “It’s short. I’m in the field again with the gun to my head, except it’s dark. And then the sun rises and across from me are Eric and Rick. It confuses me, because I expect to see you there. They’re screaming, but I can’t hear them. Like they are trying to warn me or something. And then I turn around and…”

  “And?”

  “It’s you who has a gun to my head.” Taylor stares at me, his facial muscles tense, his lips form a grim line. “And then you pull the trigger and I wake up.”

  Taylor turns to face the mirror and runs his fingers through his hair, but I can tell his thoughts are far from how good he looks. He keeps his eyes on the mirror. “So that’s what you really want to ask me? Isn’t it? These other questions, they don’t matter. They all aren’t very mind-blowing…You want to ask if I set you up? Set Eric up?”

  “Taylor…Eric said—“

  “Fuck Eric!” says Taylor sharply, turning to face me, so suddenly that I jump. Taylor takes a calming breath. “What do you think Shyla? Do you think I raped you? Well I guess it wouldn’t be rape since you thought it was me to begin with. So you think I faked a trip, fucked you in a leather suit, and then sent myself the tape? Why? Why Shy? So that I could frame my brother? Come on! I know you think I am brilliant, but that’s fucking clairvoyant! I run a international conglomerate, I wouldn’t even have the fucking time. You think that I would put you in danger like that? That I would traumatize you like that? You must really fucking think I am a monster.”

  “No!” I cry. When he lays it all out, it sounds so preposterous. My Taylor wouldn’t do that to me. He would find a way to get everything he wanted without using me as the bait.

  “Well you must, because I could tell all this time when you cried and you screamed in your sleep, that you were terrified of me.” His tone conveys the sting of betrayal.

  Then he resets with a deep breath.

  “Shyla, I am manipulative, you don’t get where I am without being able to mold people to do what you want, but not like that. I don’t manipulate just for the joy of it. And now you know if I wanted Eric gone, I would just fucking do the job myself, not play some elaborate mind game. I appreciate expediency and efficiency.”

  The hurt in his eyes brings the melancholy back. I kept it at bay longer than I had in weeks, but so much has gone wrong that cannot be fixed. The time we had in the vast pasture, isolated in the dark, made me forget for a little while. It made the issues seem small, but here in this bathroom, bright lights glaring at us, the mirror reflecting our images, they all seem so huge, so insurmountable.

  “I don’t know, Taylor,” I say, as tears pour down my cheeks. “I just don’t want to be made a fool…and I am just so sad. I don’t even know why all of the time, but it hits me so hard and I just want to disappear. I don’t think it was you…but I’m not convinced it was Eric. And what if we killed him and he didn’t do it?” I can barely get out that last question.

  Taylor steps over to me. We stand inches apart, completely naked and exposed, and he pulls up my chin. “We didn’t kill him. I did. And I have no regrets. There is no reason for you to feel guilty. You did nothing. You did not a fucking thing wrong.”

  “But…but…I can’t just pretend he didn’t exist. No one will mourn him. No one knows he is dead but us. Nan…your dad…I can’t just pretend like he didn’t exist. He wasn’t all bad. Very few people are all bad.”

  Taylor sighs, his eyes soften, and he glides his fingers over my hair. “One moment you can be so firm and the next so fragile, Shy. It’s so hard to find both of those qualities in one person. And it’s part of what I love about you, but it’s also the thing that drives me crazy. I don't understand why? Why do you on take other people’s pain? When someone else does something, why do you take the blame? Your mom was a drunk and you thought your dad was a junkie so you cut yourself. I did what I did and now you sit here like you took the life. And I know you thought that I would hate you or love you less when we learned of your father because you assume that I would
look at you differently. You can't take on the world's suffering. You can't function in this world doing that, it's far too cold of a place.”

  Taylor’s words make sense, but where do I draw the line? How do I care enough without caring too much? How do I take responsibility for the decisions I have made while letting go of the things I never had any control over? Is it possible to move on and forget about Eric’s death without losing my soul?

  “I feel responsible for the things that happen because of me. I have always had this sense that something was wrong, something was missing. And I was right. Something is wrong. It’s me. People around me suffer, and that includes you. People try to protect me, even Eric thought at some point he was saving me from you. And what happens to those people? Terrible things.”

  “You aren’t responsible for any of it.”

  “I just…when I spoke with your father, he made a comment that stuck with me.”

  Taylor rolls his eyes.

  “About how we need to be careful, because what we have, you and I, it’s not normal. It came from something tragic and our families have tried to protect us and we found each other anyway.”

  “That sounds like an amazing love story.”

  “Or a Shakespearean tragedy.”

  Taylor’s jaw tightens.

  “He said we have to be careful. You know me, I didn’t take it well. I believe in us, but then I think to the people around us. Rick, Emily, my mother, your mother, and Eric. People associated with us suffer. They even die. Taylor, what if it wasn’t him?”

  “If it wasn’t him, than who was it? No one else knew Shyla. I know Eric can seem like a good guy, but he was dangerous and he had to be eliminated. The texts stopped as soon as he was gone, didn’t they?”

  “Yes.”

  “Everything has stopped because it was him. I know you saw a side of him that was nice and caring, but Shy, he’s manipulative too. No, worse, he’s a fucking emotional wreck. That’s the way he has always been, unable to control his emotions. Shyla, he had a gun to your head because his fiancée drove herself off of a bridge. Maybe he originally thought he was going to exact revenge on me, but I think he realized he was looking for a way out and I gave it to him.”

  “I just don’t get why he would negotiate exchanging me for you and then point the gun at me,” I wonder aloud.

  “Well I didn’t have time to ask him,” Taylor says sarcastically. “There are some things we may never know. Maybe he never intended for either one of us to leave and was just getting our guards down. Maybe he changed his mind when he realized how crazy his plan was.”

  “I just keep running the scenario in my mind. Is there something we could have done differently? Did we have to do what we did?” I ask.

  “Not we, I. I am self serving and I don't really have a conscience, not the way most people do. I used to think I was born that way, but maybe I became that way. The only person who ever made me doubt those things about myself is you. You make me feel like I am not all bad. And I guess that ability you have, to see the good in everyone, you saw it in Eric too. And I’m not going to lie and tell you it doesn’t hurt, because it has felt like he took a piece of you away from me these past few weeks. As though in order for you to see any good in him, you had to only see the bad in me.”

  Taylor hesitates. Normally he would stop himself from showing me his pain, because that would make him weak. But he realizes that right now, we can’t leave anything left unsaid.

  “It’s like you’ve somehow belonged to him these past few weeks. But you have to understand that I won't become someone else, because my need to keep you safe, my need to keep you in my life, only makes me more dangerous to everyone else. Anyone who threatens you, anyone who might threaten us: I have no issues finding a way to eliminate them from our lives, Shy. It’s that simple. But I would never,” Taylor grabs my arms as he looks into my eyes, his gaze intense, “ever use you as some fucking pawn, you are far too valuable to me. You are my queen.”

  The commitment in his words put me at ease. “You have already done far too much for me. I am sorry Taylor. I wish I could be strong like you, but I’ve been a mess.”

  “You are strong. Don’t mistake my detachment for strength. It’s far easier to be indifferent than to care.”

  Suddenly, I am exhausted. We’ve been up since two in the morning and all the events leading up to this point would have exhausted anyone running on a full night’s sleep.

  “Then why do I feel so broken?”

  “Shyla, I didn’t understand this would do this to you. That it would make you so sad. You are so empathetic, and that’s foreign to me. But I still wouldn’t change what I did. I know in time, you will feel better and realize that this was what had to happen. I will never let you go again. I will always protect you, and anyone who hurts you will pay dearly. This is a promise. One that I don’t care if you accept.”

  His words are finite and I am done talking about the topic. Eric is dead, Emily is dead. It is unfortunate and tragic, but they both played roles in their own deaths. I can choose to believe the man who kidnapped me and put a gun to my head, or the man who protected me when he was just a child and was willing to trade his life for mine. “I’m so exhausted. Can we sleep in that cozy bedroom? Is there enough time left on the flight?” I ask, snuggling up to a plush white robe.

  “Yes,” he winks. “And you’re not getting any other clues from me.”

  I nod, so happy to see his playful side again. “Taylor, I love you so much. Everything has happened so fast with learning about my dad, and how I had a part in your past, and then all the stuff with Eric. I am sorry I abandoned you. I had to, I thought I was going to snap if I took on anything else.”

  “I know. I’m just glad we’re talking again.”

  “Me too. But it’s going to take me a while. I can’t promise the nightmares will stop or that I won’t be depressed sometimes. But I will fight. I promise.”

  “You are leagues better than you were yesterday. I have no doubt I’ll have you all back soon, and then we can wean you off the meds.”

  “I just want everything to be okay.”

  Taylor pushes my wet hair back and smiles faintly. “Everything is not alright, and it may never be, but it’s going to be okay.”

  Chapter 7

  The rustling of the cool, crisp, white bedsheets and subtle hum of the airplane rouses me out of my slumber. Taylor is sitting up beside me on the bed, sweeping his finger across his iPad. He is wearing his glasses, so I assume he must have napped with me for at least some of the time, since he only removes his contacts to sleep. He appears to be reading something, and so I silently watch him for a minute or so. It’s the first time I have woken up in weeks without the urge to cry or go back to sleep to make the ever present ache vanish.

  I admire the sharp angles of Taylor’s jawline, the stubble that he only allows to form when he knows he won’t have to be in the office or on a video conference, the way his lips part and move ever so slightly as he reads. When it’s something humorous, a suggestion of his crooked smile reveals itself; when it’s intellectual, his brow becomes heavy. Right now, he’s nodding his head almost imperceptibly and squinting, so whatever he is reading must be riveting. The moment fills me with a surge of gratitude and deep regret. Gratitude for the man beside me, tender and ruthless, fragile and unyielding; my guardian and my hunter. He is everything. But because he is everything he is dangerous. He has both the best qualities and the most abhorrent ones in equal amounts. He exists in extremes. He loves as hard as he loathes. He is not a subtle man; he is an explosion of a man.

  I don’t fear him. I fear for him, for us. No one person can be everything. One side will win, and the other will cave. My regret is that perhaps my entry into his life may have been the catalyst for this inner war. Our families separated us, but like some sort of inevitable cosmic force, we found each other anyway. We never had a choice. This moment, right here, it’s our destiny. For better or for worse, it could only
be us. It’s only ever been us. I finally understand that I need to stop fighting it because we don’t have a choice. Taylor is a riptide and I can either resist and succumb to his pull, exhausted and afraid, or I can just let go and allow him to sweep me away in in calm acceptance.

  Taylor finally realizes I am watching him.

  “How long have you been watching me, you little creep?” he asks with a smirk.

  I shrug as I stretch the sleep out of my body.

  “How are you feeling?” he asks, genuinely concerned.

  “Good! That was actually the most refreshing rest I’ve had in a long time.”

  Taylor rifles his fingers through my hair. “You look like you’ve slept pretty well. I love your messy hair.”

  “Is that like some sort of sleep quality barometer?” I ask.

  “I think so, the more your hair looks like you just wrestled with a wild boar, the more well rested you are.”

  I playfully shove the arm holding his iPad. “What are you reading? You looked really enthralled.”

  “It’s an article about using measles to cure a certain form of cancer. Basically, these researchers at the Mayo Clinic took a modified form of the virus, used a million times the amount that one would use to inoculate one person, and injected it into a couple of patients. It seems to have put one in complete remission.”

  “Did they get sick?”

  “Yes, but just briefly. It says they had fevers and headaches, but they subsided. Just like one might when getting a normal vaccine, I suppose.”

  “Wow, that’s amazing. Who would think that something that would cause such an infection might be a cure?”

  “Yes, it’s pretty ironic.” Just then, our flight attendant walks in with a tray of food, places it on a table at Taylor’s side of the bed, and leaves. “I figured you’d be hungry. Rather, I am hoping you would be.”

  A faint smile sneaks up on my face as I sit up. “Pass the goods,” I say. I am not really hungry, but I want to try. This is me fighting to come back.