Escape With You

by Rachel Schurig

No sooner does the text go through do I hear a knock at the door. I set aside my duffle bag with a sigh and go to let her in. If she thinks I’m going to fall at her feet in relief after days of blowing me off, she’s sadly mistaken.

  I pull the door open. “Hey, what’s—”

  The words die in my throat. Ellie is standing in the doorway, her hair a tangled mess, tear tracks running down her cheeks. That on its own would be enough to send me into shock. The red and swollen marks around her eye and mouth stop me dead.

  “What happened?”

  “Can I come in?” she asks, wiping her face. Her voice breaks my heart more than anything else. She sounds scared and small. Broken. Not like Ellie.

  I push the door the rest of the way open and grab her arms, pulling her into the apartment. “What the hell, Ellie?”

  She sinks into my arms, clinging to me in a way she rarely has before. Her entire body is shaking.

  “You’re scaring the hell out of me,” I say, holding her tight—probably too tight. “Did someone hurt you?”

  She pulls back, her breath coming in deep gasps. “I’m sorry. I know you have to get back to school. I just didn’t know where else to go.”

  “Of course you should have come here. God, you’re shaking. Come and sit down.”

  She allows me to take her arm and gently steer her towards the couch. She collapses onto the cushions, immediately drawing her knees to her chest. She looks so much smaller that way. Like a little kid. A little kid who is clearly terrified. Is that blood by her lip?

  I sit down next to her, doing my best to stay calm. “Ellie, you need to tell me what happened.”

  “Chad. My…my boss.”

  Jet told me one time that when he got pissed—like really pissed—he would literally see red around the edges off his vision. For the first time, I really get that. I fully understand what could drive him to beat a man to within an inch of his life. If Chad were in front of me right now, I might not leave him alive.

  “Fred,” she says softly, pulling on my hand. I realize that I’m somehow standing, my entire body coiled as if for a fight. I allow her to pull me back to the couch.

  “He put his hands on you?”

  She covers her face and I see her entire body shudder violently. “It was my fault.”

  “What? Ellie, are you crazy? If he hit you—that’s not your fault.”

  She shakes her head. “I should never have been there.”

  “What happened?” If she doesn’t tell me soon I’m sure I’m going to lose it entirely. My brain has already run through a dozen scenarios of how she might have gotten those marks on her face. A slight movement below her chin catches my eye and I look down—her shirt is ripped, a long tear from the strap of her tank top down over her chest, exposing the camisole she wears underneath. I have to clench my fist under my knees to keep from punching the table.

  “Ellie—”

  “We went on a few dates this week.”

  It’s crazy how the jealousy can cut through even the rage and horror I feel at the sight of her in this state. I guess that explains why she’s been blowing me off.

  “It was stupid of me, and I knew it was stupid. He’s married, Fred. I work for his wife.”

  She buries her face in her hands again. I sit next to her, helpless, waiting for her to go on. “I knew he intended to…go further tonight. He told me Alice was staying with her mom out of town. And I still went there. God, what’s wrong with me?”

  “Ellie…” I hate the self-recrimination in her voice, hate the guilt I can see on every line of her face. I don’t care about this part—about why she was there. I just want to know what he did to her so I can go kill him.

  “I chickened out at the last minute.” She laughs bitterly, the sound becoming more like a sob. “I guess I can at least say that for myself. I didn’t go through with it.”

  “What did he do?” I’ve never heard my voice sound quite so much like a growl.

  “He wasn’t really interested in my change of heart.”

  I suddenly realize that the cuts and swollen flesh might be only the outward appearance of her injuries. My entire body seems to go cold.

  “Did he—God, Ellie, did he force himself—?”

  “No,” she says quickly, shaking her head. “I mean, I guess he might have tried. But I punched him in the face when he wouldn’t stop kissing me.”

  The relief almost hurts it’s so overwhelming. “Of course you did,” I whisper, reaching out to gently touch her knuckles. They look red. I picture her decking him and I almost smile. It’s too easy, though, to picture the things he did to her in response.

  “After I hit him he lost it,” she says softly. “And I…for a minute I didn’t think I’d be able to get away.”

  She’s shaking again, and this time I can’t help myself. I reach over and pull her right into my lap. She wraps her arms around my neck and lets me hold her, and I’m so grateful that she’s not trying to be tough now.

  “It’s okay, Ellie. You did get away. You’re safe now.”

  “I was so scared,” she gasps into my neck, another shudder rushing through her. “I haven’t been that scared since—since Doug—

  “I know, baby,” I whisper, rubbing her back. “But you did exactly the right thing, just like you did with Doug. You’re so strong, Ellie. So brave. I’m proud of you.”

  “You’re proud of me?” She pulls back, glaring at me. “God, Fred. Did you not hear a word I said? I went over there to sleep with a married man. And I did it to make you jealous. I’m a terrible person and I deserve everything that happened to me.”

  “Stop it,” I demand. “Stop, right now. You did not deserve that. You have to know how crazy that is. No matter what, he didn’t have a right to force you into anything. Or to hit you.”

  She shakes her head and I realize she’s crying. I’ve only ever seen her cry that one time and it breaks my heart all over again.

  “Please don’t beat yourself up over this, Ells. He’s the asshole. He’s the one who hurt you.” I touch her face gently. There’s dried blood by her lip and in the cut over her eye.

  She closes her eyes at my touch and sinks into me a little, enough that I feel confident she’ll let me pull her into my arms again. She goes willingly, as if all the fight has been extinguished.

  I rub her back for a few minutes, relieved when her breathing starts to even out. “We should call the police, Ells,” I finally say.

  She goes tense again. “Absolutely not.”

  “Ellie…”

  “I took care of it, Fred. He’s in just as bad shape as me, I promise.”

  I can’t help a little grin at that. I hope she ripped his balls off—and I wouldn’t put it past her. “That may be true, but the police should still be called.”

  “It will just be my word against his,” she says softly. “I know how this goes, Fred. I’ve been here before, remember?”

  I curse. I don’t want to push her, not when she’s so clearly on edge, but I also can’t stand the thought that this guy is going to get away with this. “Ellie—”

  “Don’t, Fred, please.”

  I release a long breath. “Fine. We’ll talk about it again tomorrow.”

  She looks up at my face. “I thought you had to get back to school?”

  I laugh, exasperated. “Do you honestly think I’m going to leave you right now?”

  “I’m okay, Fred—”

  “No, you’re not. Just stop. You’re staying here with me.”

  She can’t hide the small smile, though she ducks her head back to my shoulder. “Okay.”

  “Let’s get you out of those clothes,” I tell her, so relieved that she’s not arguing with me about staying here. “Do you want to take a shower?”

  She nods. “A shower sounds great.”

  I lead her to the bathroom and pull out a few towels from under the sink. “I’ll go get you some clothes to change into,” I tell her, kissing her on the top of her head. She nods and I le
ave her in search of a pair of sweats. I’m much taller than her, and she’ll probably be swimming in anything of mine, but there’s not much to do about it now. I bring the clothes back to the bathroom so she can change after her shower. I hear the water running so I slip into the room without knocking. I’m surprised to see her sitting on the edge of the tub, still fully clothed. “You need anything else?”

  She shrugs so I back out of the room, thinking she’ll want privacy after what she went through. Her voice, soft and faltering and nothing like her normal voice, stops me. “Fred?”

  I turn back to her. I’m again struck by how small she seems. It’s like her normal confidence and boldness adds a few inches to her stature or something. Now that it’s stripped away she looks every bit her five feet and five inches.

  “Yeah, Ells?”

  She meets my gaze, her eyes wide and uncertain. “Will you stay with me?”

  It’s strange, how her words make my heart both lift and fall at the same time. Lift because she trusts me enough to want me here with her. Fall because she looks so damn scared and unsure.

  “Of course I will,” I tell her struggling to keep my voice even.

  I go straight to her and lift the hem of her torn, dirty tank top. She raises her arms and allows me to pull it over her head. I help her with her camisole, ordering myself not to look down at her bare skin. She needs me to be strong for her right now, not to get all worked up over how gorgeous she is.

  Her hands move to her zipper, but her fingers fumble, useless. I move them aside, surprised when she lets me. Her guard is down, I realize. Probably for the first time since I met her, her guard is entirely down. What I’ve only caught glimpses of before—mostly right after sex or when she’s about to fall asleep—is now here in front of me. She’s allowing me to be there for her, to help her. To take care of her. I wonder if she’s ever allowed anyone to really take her of her before.

  Once she shimmies out of her jeans, I pull my own shirt off. I strip away my jeans and stand before her in my boxers. Her eyes are on my chest but she seems dazed. I wonder how much she actually sees right now. The adrenaline is probably leaving her body, leaving her shaky and worn out. I take her elbows to steady her and nudge her toward the bath. She woodenly lifts her leg, and then the other, and I follow her under the stream of the shower.

  As soon as I close the curtain behind us she leans forward so her forehead is resting against my chest. “You okay?”

  She nods. “I’m so tired all of a sudden.”

  I think to ask her if I can help her wash up but decide to screw that. She doesn’t need to think about every single little decision right now. Doesn’t need to worry about what it means to let someone help her for once. I grab the shampoo and squirt some into my hands before gently placing them on top of her scalp. She makes a little purring noise in the back of her throat and I’m so relieved she doesn’t tell me to stop that I have to fight not to sigh out loud. Instead I rub the shampoo into her hair and then tilt her head back to rinse the soap away under the stream of water. Taking her silence for acceptance, I grab a bottle of shower gel left behind by Zoe and rub some into my hands. It smells faintly of roses. I run my soapy hands up and down her arms, feeling her relax into me. Her breathing is steady and deep, almost like she’s falling asleep. I’m suddenly overwhelmed by the trust she’s putting in me, by the way she’s letting me do these things for her. She hasn’t made a joke or told me off once since she showed up at my door.

  When I’m confident she’s clean, I reach behind her to turn off the shower, my arm brushing the side of her breast as I do so. I wish, more than anything, that I could take her in my arms and kiss the hell out of her. Kiss her until she forgets all about the fear and the pain. Kiss her until all the guilt is gone from her eyes. Until she forgets that that asshole ever had his hands on her.

  Taking advantage of her right now would be the shittiest thing you can do, I told myself. Just get her dry and warm.

  So I wrap her in a towel, gently rubbing her arms and legs, her hair and her face. She stands motionless the entire time, passive. I wonder if I should feel scared, if I should be worried that she’s shutting down, going into shock. But I don’t get that sense, not at all. I feel sure, in some deep, unexplained part of me, that she feels safe and secure. That her lack of control is conscious and willing. That she knows I’ll take care of her, and she’s letting me.

  I get her dressed and she’s swimming in my sweats. It’s pretty cute, to be honest, the image only marred by the swelling of her face. She’s going to have a black eye by morning. The thought makes me want to punch something again, so I busy myself getting dried off and into my own pajama bottoms. “Do you want to eat something?” I ask her. “Or have something to drink?”

  “I just want to sleep,” she says, again resting her forehead against my chest. I wrap my arms around her and nod. “Sleep sounds great.”

  As soon as we lay down I realize why I’ve been sleeping so crappy this week. It’s because she hasn’t been here. My bed just feels better with her in it. In spite of the horrible revelations of the evening, I feel comfortable here for the first time all week.

  She snuggles into me, the way she always does after sex, her head against my bare chest, her hands resting on my shoulders. I squeeze her gently. “Sleep well, Ells.”

  She doesn’t respond for a moment. Her breathing is so normal that I almost wonder if she’s asleep already. But then she clears her throat a little. “Thank you, Fred.”

  “You don’t have to thank me.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Good night, Ellie.”

  “Good night.”

  I stay awake long enough to make sure she’s sleeping. Once she’s out, I have to force myself not to think about what happened to her. If I picture that guy, so much bigger than her, so much stronger, putting his hands on her—I realize that I’m squeezing her too tight in my anger and force myself to calm down. Think about it tomorrow. Tonight, just think about her.

  I concentrate on how great she feels in my arms. How soft her skin is. How she’s almost snoring a little and it’s the cutest sound ever. How she’s holding me tight, even in her sleep, trusting me. I try to match my breathing to hers, feeling myself relax.

  It’s not until I’m about to pass out that I remember what she said earlier, when she was describing the night. I did it to make you jealous. I hadn’t paid much attention to it at the time, too focused on shutting down her guilt spiral. But now, in the moments before sleep claims me, I wonder what in the hell she was talking about.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Ellie

  I wake up happy. I was dreaming about swimming with Fred. Zoe was there, too, splashing Jet down the beach. The sun was warm on my skin and I felt so happy. So warm and safe.

  When my eyelids flutter open, and I realize that it was just a dream, that feeling doesn’t fade. I’m not quite sure where I am, but I still feel warm. Still feel safe and happy.

  Fred snores softly below me and I tense up, the events of the night crashing through my happy, half-asleep daze. Going to Chad’s house. How sick I felt kissing him. Him grabbing my arm, squeezing until it hurt. Fighting so hard, sure the entire time that I would fail. The feeling of his fist making contact with my face.

  “Ellie?” Fred asks, his voice concerned and sleepy. “You okay, babe?”

  I breathe out, remembering the next part. Coming to Fred’s. The way he held me and calmed me down. How he took care of me all night. How safe I felt, finally.

  “I’m okay,” I breathe out. “Freaked out for a minute.”

  His hands come up to my back, rubbing in the familiar way of his. “Everything’s fine, now.”

  I take deep breaths, trying not to feel overwhelmed. My face really freaking hurts, and I wonder how terrible I look. My hair feels crusty and straw like, and I remember that I went to bed with it wet. After Fred washed it in the shower.

  There’s a little thread of panic trying to worm it
s way into my chest, and it has nothing to do with the altercation last night.

  Fred’s stomach growls and I seize on the noise, grateful for the distraction. “You’re hungry. Let’s get some food.”

  “Okay.”

  I sit up to drop my legs over the side of the bed and Fred swears. “What?”

  He reaches for me, brushing my mess of hair back. “Your face is so swollen. We should have put ice on it last night.” I raise a hand to my face, gently touching the most swollen part. It feels huge. No wonder it hurts so bad.

  Fred is out of bed and on his way to the kitchen in an instant. I follow him, watching as he grabs a dishtowel and pulls ice from the freezer. I try not to think about how good he looks in his PJ bottoms without a shirt, barefoot in his kitchen. He always looks good but today, somehow, it only makes me feel more scared.

  “Here,” he says, pressing the towel softly to my lip. “This will help.”

  I grab it from him, taking a small step back. He notices, a frown coming over his face.

  “Thanks,” I say, to cover the awkwardness. He watches me for a moment before turning back to the fridge. “I think there’s frozen waffles in the freezer,” he says.

  “That sounds great.”

  I sit on one of the bar stools while he makes our waffles and starts the coffee. I hold the ice to my face, trying hard not to think about the way it felt when he touched me.

  I let him wash my hair.

  I feel heat coming to my face as I remember all the ways he took care of me last night. I must have looked like such an asshole. A scared little kid. What the hell had gotten into me? It wasn’t like I never had to fight off some handsy guy before. Granted, it had never escalated to the point it had last night, but that was no reason for me to completely lose my shit.

  “Here you go,” Fred says, handing me a plate. Am I imagining the guarded note in his voice? He brings his own plate to the counter and joins me.

  We eat mostly in silence, my discomfort getting worse by the minute. I hadn’t even thought about where I should go last night. I knew that Zoe was at home, but I hadn’t gone there. I showed up here without a second thought.