Escape With You

by Rachel Schurig

  “I’m sorry,” she whispers, and I have her in my arms before she even finishes the sentence. She clutches me back so hard it almost scares me—what in the hell could be bothering her so much?

  “It’s okay,” I soothe, rubbing her back.

  “It’s not. You’re totally right. I was trying to hurt you. And that’s so shitty—you didn’t deserve me to treat you like that.”

  “It’s okay,” I insist. “I just want you to tell me what’s wrong.”

  She sinks into me a little. “Can we lay down? I’m so fucking tired.”

  “Sure.” I let her go so she can take off her shoes and jeans before collapsing into her bed in her tank top and underwear. I pull my own jeans and my T-shirt off before climbing in after her. She shivers a little and I pull the blankets up around us before settling her in my arms again. “Better?”

  “Much.”

  She’s quiet for a long time, but I don’t want to push her. In fact, I would be fine if she went to sleep. She’s clearly exhausted and the way she sank into me a moment ago makes me feel exceedingly thankful that she didn’t try to leave the house after all.

  “I went to my mom’s earlier,” she whispers just when I thought she might have drifted off.

  “Did something happen there?”

  “My…my dad was there.”

  I don’t know what to make of that. In spite of the story she told me about him ditching her on her birthday to pick up a bar skank, she usually talks very positively about her dad. It surprises me actually, because he seems like an abandoning bastard to me. But I don’t tell her that.

  “Do they see a lot of each other?”

  Ellie shakes her head. “Not really. He’s not around much, you know. But every once in a while he shows up and she…she always…”

  “What is it?”

  “She always lets him,” she spits out, sounding suddenly furious. “Even though he cheated on her and abandoned her, she lets him come around and flirt with her. Gives him a place to stay. I think she even sleeps with him. She’s such a…she’s so pathetic.” It sounds like every word is being ripped from her body without her consent. I’ve never heard her sound so angry—or so heartbroken.

  “I’m sorry, Ellie. That must suck to see.”

  I think I hear her whimper and I freeze, never having heard her cry before. But then she’s talking again and there’s no hint of tears in her voice. “I hate how weak she is, Fred. I hate it. I hate being around her when she’s like that. She lets men walk all over her, because she’s so damn scared of being alone. It’s not just my dad—she always has to have a guy in her life. Always. Because she can’t even deal for a day by herself.”

  Something in my brain shifts, something in the way I see her. Suddenly, Ellie Canter makes a lot more sense to me.

  “Do you remember that night after the art show? When we hooked up?”

  I chuckle a little, squeezing her. “Of course I do.”

  She nuzzles into me a bit and it makes my heart clench because it’s such a comfortable, loving little gesture. “Do you remember her calling me?” she goes on.

  “Yeah,” I tell her. “You got upset and that’s when we started drinking Jack and Coke.”

  She makes a scathing noise at the back of her throat. “Noticing a pattern?”

  “Ells—”

  “She was calling me that night begging me to come home and help her change a fuse. I’m not even kidding. She’s a forty-year-old woman and she can’t even fucking change the fuses in her house.” She sounds so bitter, not at all like Ellie. “But don’t worry, I’m sure shortly after we got off the phone one of her many male admirers showed up to the house to help her out.”

  “That must have been hard for you,” I say slowly, not really knowing how to comfort her. “Growing up like that. With her not being very independent.”

  “Independent?” she snorts. “Dear God, nothing could be farther from the truth. She can’t do anything. She has to have a man around, no matter what he’s like, no matter what he does, just to get by. Or else she completely falls apart.”

  A little sliver of ice has lodged itself in my stomach. Something about the way she said those words—no matter what he does—was twisting around in my brain. “Ellie…” I’m afraid to voice the thought; it’s so terrible. “The guy—Doug.” She tenses up at his name, her entire body going rigid against mine, as if she’s getting ready to fight. “Did you tell your mom what he did?”

  I feel a heavy weight in the air while I wait for her to answer, as if everything in my life hinges on what happens next.

  And, suddenly, Ellie is crying. Big deep gasps that shake her entire body. And she’s clinging to me and shaking and all I can do is hold her back as tightly as I can.

  “She’s supposed to take care of me,” she wails, the sound of her voice so painful it hurts my chest. “She’s my mom. Not the other way around. I told her what he did, what I had to do to get away and she…she wouldn’t even…she was supposed to take care of me!”

  God. So she told her mom and what? The woman did nothing? How was that even possible? How could someone do that to their own child?

  “Did you stay there?” I ask, my voice filled with revulsion.

  “Of course not,” Ellie cries, and I feel a rush of pride in spite of my horror. “When my mom told me that she needed him, that she couldn’t just kick him out, that I needed to try to see things from her perspective—” Jesus, I think, feeling physically ill—”I left. I went to my grandma’s and I didn’t come back until the asshole finally had enough of her.”

  “Good for you,” I say, my voice fierce with respect for her. She had been fifteen. She had needed her mother, desperately needed her, and when the pathetic excuse for a parent let her down she was brave enough to take care of herself. I don’t think I have ever loved her as much as I do right now.

  “I just don’t understand,” Ellie said, her voice stronger now as the tears began to dissipate. “I don’t understand how anyone could let themselves become so dependent on someone else. It’s so…it’s so weak.” She practically hisses the word, like it’s the worst adjective she can think of.

  “And so you,” I say quietly, “have made it a point in your life to be as independent as humanly possible.”

  She’s quiet for a long time. “I think that’s what pisses me off the most,” she finally says. “That she has such an affect over me. Because of course she’s the reason I’m the way I am. God, it’s all such a fucking cliché.”

  “It doesn’t always have to be like that, you know. You can change. God, Ellie. You’re so much stronger than your mom. You don’t have to worry about turning out like her. There’s no way you’ll make her mistakes, you know that, right? You have to.”

  She breathes out a loud breath. “I do—most of the time.”

  “Well, I guess I’ll just have to make sure to remind you.” I kiss the top of her head, relieved that the mood seems to have shifted slightly. She doesn’t sound so tortured anymore, at least. I think I could live the rest of my life and not hear anything so heartbreaking as the sound of Ellie’s voice when she cried.

  “I want you to,” she says, nuzzling into me again. “I want you to remind me.”

  It might not be as good as her telling me that she cares about me, but it’s a start. I relax into the pillow behind me, rubbing her arm lightly as her breathing relaxes again.

  “Fred,” she whispers in the darkness. “I really am sorry, about before. I was…I was doing whatever I could to avoid thinking about it, you know? The drinking and the…coming onto you. I just wanted to forget. And when you tried to make me talk about it instead…I lashed out. It was bitchy. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay, Ellie. I understand. I just…I wish you would just talk to me from the beginning, you know? It would save us both a lot of hurt.”

  “It’s funny,” she says, and her voice is starting to fade as if she’s fighting off sleep. “I thought getting drunk or having sex tonight w
ould make me feel better. But talking about it really helped.”

  “That’s a good lesson to remember,” I tell her.

  “Yeah,” she mumbles. “You’re such a good listener. I always feel better when you talk to me about the serious stuff.” She yawns loudly. “You’re a good friend. Thanks, Fred.”

  “Anytime, Ellie.” I kiss her head again, listening to the sounds of her falling asleep, wondering when in the hell she’s going to realize that we’re much, much more than friends.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Ellie

  I’m almost finished with my shift when Chad appears in my vision, leaning against my station. “Whatcha doing down there?” he asks, eyebrows raised as he looks down at my kneeling position on the floor.

  “I dropped some clips,” I tell him, feeling flustered. I don’t like the look on his face, or the fact that he caught me on my knees with my ass in the air.

  “Need any help?” The way he says it makes me wonder if he’s really talking about the clip. I make a last desperate swipe along the floor under my chair, relieved when my fingers hit the thin metal. “Got it,” I say, holding up the clip and scurrying back to my feet. “Thanks, though.”

  “No problem.” He remains in the same spot, his eyes scanning my face. I busy myself straightening up my workstation, wishing he would go away. The salon is practically deserted. Carrie is in the back with a client, setting her up under the dryers while Eyelashes is finishing up a cut. Friday is the night we stay open late and there’s always a lag between the end of the day shift and when the girls working late come in. I glance at the clock on the wall, relieved to see that I can take off in five minutes. I should just go now—its not like I have a client or could get one in such a short amount of time. I had planned to give my station a thorough cleaning but that’s next to impossible with Chad leaning against it like he owns the place—which, technically, I guess he does.

  “Any nice plans this weekend?” he asks, his eyes never leaving my face.

  “Nothing special.” I try to distract myself, rearranging the bottles of dye on the counter. Maybe if he sees how busy I am he’ll go.

  “That’s a shame.” He shifts so he’s a bit closer to me. “A girl like you with nothing special to do. Doesn’t seem right.”

  I give him a half smile. “Some friends and I will probably hang out, which is actually all the excitement I can use after a long week.”

  “Oh, come on.” His voice has taken on a decidedly teasing note and his eyes drop down to the hemline of my shirt. “I bet a girl like you knows all about excitement.”

  I’m tempted to tell him I’ll be seeing my boyfriend, but I can’t force myself to say the word. Fred isn’t my boyfriend and I’m not going to lie just to get out of some unwanted attention. I’d dealt with guys like this before, the overly aggressive flirty type, convinced because I seem like a party girl that I must be dying to go to bed with them. Usually I’m able to put a stop to it with a few choice words but that’s harder to manage when the guy in question is my boss.

  I cross my arms over my chest. “I’m a lot more low-key than I seem, I guess.” I try to instill a warning note in my words. If he hears it, he doesn’t let on.

  “Low-key can be nice, too,” he says, his voice dropping a notch. Across the salon I see Eyelashes watching us, a smug little smirk on her face.

  “So listen,” Chad says, lowering his voice even more. “I’m going to be hanging out at Jack’s tonight with a few friends. You heard of it?”

  “I’ve been there. They have a good beer selection.”

  He grins. He really is a cute guy. Six months ago, I might have even been interested. My stomach drops at the thought as I realize its implication—before Fred. I might have been interested before Fred. It’s only because he’s such a nice guy, I tell myself firmly. It makes smug married philanderers less appealing than they once were.

  “Well, if your low-key plans fall through, you should stop by. Check out some of that selection.” He reaches across the few inches between us and runs a finger along my bare shoulder. I shiver and his grin grows. “Sorry, you had a piece of hair there.”

  Yeah right. I glance quickly towards Eyelashes, relieved to see her attention is once again on her client. She hadn’t seen that—but I was still going to have to figure something out to make sure it didn’t happen again.

  “Thanks,” I say, my voice light. “But I’m pretty sure I’m going to hang out with my friends.”

  “Shame,” Chad says. “Alice is out of town for the next week. It would have been nice to have some company.”

  He holds my gaze for a minute before pushing off from the counter. “Well, have a good weekend, Ellie. Thanks for all your hard work. We couldn’t be happier with how it’s going.”

  I take a deep breath, watching his retreating back. I feel a little dirty, which is ridiculous because I haven’t done anything. I hate the subconscious thought that I deserve that kind of behavior and attention from guys. You’re allowed to dress how you want and act how you want, I remind myself, feeling tired all of a sudden. That doesn’t mean any guy has a right to you.

  I pack up my things, feeling pissed at myself for even thinking like that. I usually didn’t have to remind myself of such obvious facts—I’d made peace with who I was a long time ago. It’s just the end of the week, I think. Go home and relax and put it out of your mind.

  I grab my purse, shouting a mechanical goodbye to Eyelashes as I leave. She pretends she can’t hear me over the sound of her blow dryer, which is fine by me. In my car I grab my phone from my purse, turning on the sound and checking for any messages. There’s a text from Zoe telling me about a potential party tonight. Did Fred and I want to go?

  I put my car into gear, wondering if he’ll be up for it. We hadn’t made plans yet and I was kind of hoping for a night in. I find his name in my contacts and call him before turning out into traffic. His voicemail picks up after one ring and I wonder if he forgot to turn his phone on after class. I don’t leave a message, figuring he’s on the road.

  I should get us some dinner, I think. Surprise him when he gets home. Maybe getting some food in me will make the party sound like something I can deal with. There’s a new deli just opened up in town and I’ve been meaning to try their Rubens. I’m sure they’re not as good as the sandwiches that we had in Ann Arbor, but I figure it might make Fred happy if I can find him a suitable replacement before he graduates and leaves Zingerman’s behind.

  Smiling, I turn in the opposite direction of home at the next light, heading into town instead. It’s rush hour and traffic is pretty heavy so I have to park down the street a ways from the new deli. As I turn off the car, I happen to glance over at the public lot to my left. A tall, brown-haired figure grabs my attention. It’s Fred.

  I don’t even feel embarrassed by the leap in my chest at the sight of him, which should tell me how far gone I am. But all I can do is smile, thinking about the look that I’ll see on his face when I slip from my car and surprise him. I imagine him grinning, that big goofy Fred grin—kind of like the grin I see on his face right now.

  Huh. I squint through my window, trying to get a better view of the scene. Fred is standing next to his truck, smiling at something—or someone—out of sight. Then the car next to his truck backs out and I freeze.

  He’s smiling at a woman.

  I have no idea who she is. I’m sure I’ve never seen her before. But she’s absolutely beautiful. Blonde, tall and shapely. And she’s looking at him like he’s the best thing she’s ever seen. Kind of like how he’s looking at her.

  In an instant, I’m sure I’m going to be sick. I actually have to lower my head to the steering wheel and take deep breaths to make the nausea dissipate enough to look at him again.

  Fred is on a date.

  I feel like such an idiot. Of course I should have expected him to be dating. We’d talked about the parameters of our relationship dozens of times. I’d made sure that he knew I had every in
tention of dating other people. I’d insisted on it, in fact. It was the number one condition I had listed in order for us to see each other, or whatever the hell it was we’d been doing over the last few months.

  And I’d never gotten the courage up to tell him that I hadn’t seen another guy since that first night we spent together.

  God, I’m such an asshole. I’ve been sitting here all autumn thinking that he’s crazy about me, that I’m safe. Thinking that I have all the power, that I have him wrapped around my little finger. I’ve been so sure that he would stick around, no matter what. What a horrible, spoiled, egotistical bitch.

  I watch as he opens the door for her, that smile still on his face, the smile that I thought was saved for me. I feel a stab of pain as he leans down and kisses her cheek. She laughs at something that he says, placing a hand lightly on his shoulder, and I realize in that instant that I’m capable of hurting her, this unknown stranger who dares to touch my guy.

  He’s not yours, I remind myself. You made damn sure of that.

  I should be relieved. Should take this as evidence that our relationship is exactly what I want it to be, with no pressure and no expectations. So why do I feel like bursting into tears?

  It’s that feeling that finally snaps me out of it. I will not burst into tears. I am not the girl who cries over a boy. It’s taken me years to build up the strength that I have, years to find a way to protect myself so I wouldn’t be hurt like this again. Yet here I am, about to get weepy because some guy I’m casually sleeping with is with another woman. It’s pathetic.

  I straighten my shoulders, turning away. I won’t watch him get into the truck, won’t watch him drive away. I’m done sitting here feeling sorry for myself. Done letting myself be weak. This isn’t who I am.

  So I start the car and put it into gear, turning away from Fred and the woman. I head back the way I came, back toward my apartment where a shower and fresh clothes and makeup wait. Ready to do the thing I should have done weeks ago, the thing I had insisted to Fred that I had a right to do all along.