Strapped Down (27 page)

“Even if I was drugged, I wouldn’t sleep through a girl putting her hands down my pants,” he jests.

After cycling through the 13 channels about three times, he settles on a riveting episode of Maury. “You are NOT the father!” Maury Povich says as a boney young man with roughly 13 teeth starts doing a improvisational dance on stage, his 400 pound former lover hobbling away in tears as the camera jaggedly follows her.

“Quality programming keeps the mind sharp,” Eric says. As darkness settles upon us, I am not as much at ease as I was with Eric during the daytime. Something about the night, the mask of darkness, permits things to happen that would never be even entertained during the light of day. For a moment, the thought flutters through my mind. Do I seduce him? I subtly watch him: the glow of the television casts a bluish hue on his shirtless body. His lips curve into an amused smile as he watches more paternity test results, his glacial blue eyes are nearly transparent. Do I give him another opportunity at my body? The key is in his underwear, but then what? Without a loaded gun, I won’t even make it to the door.

I am Taylor’s.
He would never forgive me if I took matters into my own hands like this.
Trust in Taylor,
I recite in my thoughts.
He makes the rules. He takes care of things.

I wish I could say I did something bold, something daring. That I mounted Eric and rubbed his cock and made him so hard that he forgot all about the keys. That after I fucked him and he released himself inside of me, he fell into a deep slumber and I silently removed the key I hid under my tongue, unlocked the cuffs, and loaded the gun. Or maybe I spotted a weapon earlier in the bathroom (and used pure tenacity to retrieve it despite being taped up) then held it to his neck, promising I would slash his jugular if he didn’t release me from the handcuffs. But no, all I did was sit there, praying that Taylor had a master plan in his endless labyrinth of a mind.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Time passes as it always will, a minute is always a minute, an hour is always an hour. But it so often feels like it spites us, those last moments with a loved one passing too quickly; excruciating pain that lasts for minutes can seem like hours. And so, I lie in bed in this pitch dark room with nothing to stare at, wondering if this night will never end because I so fiercely want to see Taylor again. And if—when—we do see each other, will that moment whizz by leaving me on my knees, breathless, trying piece together the scenes that flashed before me? Or will it be slow, each minutia being stamped into my consciousness for as long as I live?

Sleepyhead can’t sleep. I can’t tell if Eric is asleep, but his breathing doesn’t have that shallow, rhythmic sound of a person whose body and consciousness have disconnected. I am not sure how long I lie there with my knees pointed to the ceiling. But then I know Eric is awake too, because he says something.

“You’re keeping me awake. I can feel your restlessness.”

“Well, I am so sorry about that,” I say sarcastically.

He is silent for maybe ten seconds. Then he sighs, resigned to a sleepless night with me. “Tell me something about yourself Shyla.”

“I am sure you know plenty.”

“Not as much as you might think.”

“I don’t know. What do you want to know?”

“Hmmm…what about your favorite childhood memory?”
He had to go there.
My farce of a childhood is still a sore spot.

“I don’t know…I don’t remember much. I was an only child, just me and my mom. I guess the simple things. Friday pizza night was nice. We’d get a frozen pizza if times were good and watch one of those made for TV movies when they were still on network TV. What about you?”

Eric waits a few beats. “What has Taylor told you? About our childhood?”

Why bother mincing words?
“That you were jealous almost as soon as he arrived. That you hated him, became very disruptive. Drugs, boarding school. Typical rich boy acting out stuff.”

Eric laughs to himself. “I was disruptive?” He laughs again. In this darkness, it’s like his voice just floats in the air, unattached to a physical being. “Shyla, do you understand how disturbed he was when he showed up? It was almost like he was feral, but he wasn’t. He was very careful about what he showed our parents. He was quiet, helpless Taylor, the traumatized boy who never said a word and couldn’t be touched when my parents were around. When it was just us, he was still quiet, but like fucking Damien from The Omen. He would fucking bite when I tried to play with him! Sometimes, if I looked at him for too long, he would attack me. My father said
I
was being aggressive, that I was provoking him. He couldn’t be touched, or spoken to, or even looked at, and yet everything revolved around this boy. I became invisible.”

“Taylor knows he was difficult, but he was a little boy and he was traumatized. He was damaged.”

The bed springs squeak as he shifts. “That was just when he first arrived. As we got older, he got even better at his dual personalities. Taylor, the perfect student, who was fragile as glass.
Don’t touch him, don’t upset him, don’t look at him. Eric, you’re always trying to rile him up,
” he says in a cartoonish mocking voice. “Taylor became hyper-competitive, making sure that he was the favorite son. He would steal class notes to sabotage me for tests, hide my shit so I would run late for school and practice. I couldn’t prove it, but I knew it was him. He fucking planted drugs in my bedroom! That got me sent away to military school.”

“I don’t believe this.”

“Of course not, no one ever believes hysterical Eric.
Emotional Eric.
”

“I think your parents would have caught on.”

“He drove me to the point where I did become rebellious. I sought out a bad crowd because no one in my own home had my back. And then it made me ‘unreliable.’”

“So you never did drugs?”

“I did…but what they found in my room was planted, he knew that they would test me and I would turn up positive. I never brought drugs home. We had a cleaning lady who would find it within a day or two. And then, there was Becky.” He has that sour look on his face again, I can’t see him, but I can hear it. “I liked this girl, she was my first big crush, love really. My parents were out at a gala one night and I came home. The house was completely dark, except for some noise coming out of Taylor’s bedroom. Taylor’s bedroom door was halfway open, and Becky was in there, sucking his dick. He had her hair in his hands, shoving her face back and forth. When he saw me, he smirked at me. Just smirked that
I got her
smirk. It took her what seemed like forever to realize I was standing there in shock. She was mortified. He told her I was at the gala, that it would be just the two of them, but she ran out of the house. He didn’t even follow her; he wanted me to find them, show me that he had won, yet again. He used her to get at me.”

I thought Taylor told me he didn’t do anything until college.

“Tell me Shyla. Does that sound like an innocent victim to you?”

I don’t answer.
I am a prisoner
.
I am a prisoner.
Taylor has warned me Eric is manipulative, that he will try to turn me against him. I am sick of telling Eric he is a liar, and the worst part is I am starting to believe there may be some level of truth to his claims. But I don’t really know Eric, and Taylor I have known since I was born. He protected me, he was fed to the dogs so I could escape. He is my hero.

“He won’t let you ever leave him; you understand that right? He disposes of people, but he is not the kind of person who gets disposed of. He will never let you go, you have become a prized possession.”

I never wanted to leave Taylor, but the seed Eric just planted, the idea that Taylor would never
allow
me to leave him, grows into a pit in my stomach.

“That’s not true. He’s let me walk out. We have arguments just like any other couple.”

I feel him sit up and I react by sitting up as well. “Shyla, of course he won’t tie you down. He lets you walk out because he know’s you’ll come back. That’s not what I am talking about. He will make you think you made the decision. He will manipulate your world so that you feel you need him. People are like chess pieces to him.”
He wants me to want it.

“You don’t understand us.”

“He’ll be allowed to change, but you won’t. That’s how it works. If he tires of you, you’d be gone in an instant, but if you got fed up, he wouldn’t let you go. I promise. Taylor gets what he wants, always.”

I won’t believe Eric. Taylor
loves
me. I am
different
. I am not Becky, or Em, or Lane or any of those weak bitches in his journal.

I am the exception
.

***

Sleepyhead falls asleep. Taylor would laugh at the fact that I can’t even pull an all-nighter during a hostage situation.

“Shyla. Shyla, time to get up,” Eric gently nudges me and only then do I hear his phone alarm going off. I’m a little embarrassed that I fell asleep, it doesn’t make me appear as angry as I should be.

“I’m up. I’m up. I say groggily. What time is it?”

“4:30 am.”

“Ugh.” I pull myself up sharply, only to be whipped back down. I forgot I was still cuffed to Eric.

“Hold on,” he reaches into his boxer briefs and pulls out the key. “There’s mouthwash in the bathroom if you want to freshen up. Door stays open.”

I nod, rubbing my barely open eyes. After washing up, I am more alert, but that only serves to make me think about the day ahead. The unknown. The ominous.

Eric stuffs his possessions into an olive green canvas backpack. He grabs his pistol, reloading the magazine.
Oh no.

“Alright, let’s go. We’re almost done, please don’t give me a hard time.”

I nod.
Please Taylor, have a plan.

There is one other car in the parking lot, a beat up and rusty diarrhea-colored Ford Pickup. It’s empty. I glance up at the windows of the motel, not a shade drawn, not a face peering out of a window. Even if I did run, there would be no where to go. He would catch me before I ever made it to the front desk on the other side of the building. This time he makes me slide into the passenger seat of Ladybug, cuffing my hands behind my back.

“Sorry, but after that shit you pulled last time…”

“I get it,” I say shortly.

We drive for about 40 minutes, twists and turns and backroads. Only one car passes us in the opposite direction during the entire drive. I look over, hoping to make eye contact,
please
remember me
, but the man keeps his focus straight ahead. It seems Eric is purposely taking me to the mystery spot in a roundabout fashion; I try to remember how to get to the location, but get turned around 10 minutes in.

Finally, we drive down a long stretch into the woods until we come to a gate, the kind that marks a boundary, but is not attached to a fence or wall, so that you can walk right around it.

“Alright, we have a bit of a walk ahead of us,” Eric says, emerging from the driver side of banged-up Ladybug, turning her off, but leaving the keys in the ignition. I try to interpret what that means, but that’s too far ahead in the future right now. He comes around to the passenger side and uncuffs me. We march around the gate, which says boldly: NO TRESPASSING.
Oh god, he is going to off me Sopranos-style.

“Are we going to get shot?” I ask as we trespass.

“No, this is acres and acres of unused land. Some rich asshole’s lot. Don’t worry.” I follow him along an unkempt trail, stepping over fallen branches and large stones. He moves
so
briskly that I break a sweat trying to keep up with him. The weather has cleared up from yesterday and the sun is beaming through the foliage. Occasionally, I look up and see the clearest blue sky between the red and orange leaves. We hike for about 15 minutes and then emerge from the tight hug of the forest into a clearing. It is so abrupt, like a smack of flat green land right across the face. Eric glances down at his watch. I know nothing about the time or the coordinates of the meetup; Eric was happy to discuss anything but that during my “stay” with him.

The clearing is huge, the wilderness on the other side of it so far away, it looks like a dark green shag carpet. We walk, and walk until we are at the center, then Eric stops.

“We’re here.”

“Where’s Taylor?”

“We’re a little early, he should be here in ten minutes or so.”

Five minutes pass when I see him, well I assume it’s him: dark hair and a smooth, assured stride. As he gets closer, I can make out what he’s wearing, a heather blue t-shirt and light jeans. His pace is no faster than it would be if he were taking an afternoon stroll and it seems as though he’ll never arrive. Then he’s close enough for me to see his face. His look is firm; focused but relaxed.

I think it’s because he is finally here, because I know something must happen right now, that fear, actually not fear, more like terror: that terror that had been laying dormant inside of me slowly floods my body. Much like a river rising in a storm, it spreads from my core to my toes, my fingertips. It submerges me, expanding to my ears, my eyes, my lungs. Like being underwater, everything is diluted, blurred, my movement labors. All of my senses are filtered through this terror.

Taylor stops about 15 feet away from us. “What do you want Eric?” He asks firmly. He glances at me, giving me a knowing look. I know he can see the dread in my eyes, but it doesn’t break him.

“I want you to know the pain you’ve caused me,” Eric says. I am in front of him, he clenches the hind waist of my pants tightly. His voice quivers, not with fear, but with rage.

“Fair enough. So what do you want to do?”

“I want you to pay for what happened to Em.”

“You were in love with her?”

“She was going to have my fucking child and you fucked her up so badly that she drove off of a fucking bridge!” Eric screams hysterically.
Oh this is bad.

“Eric, I am sorry. I had no idea, but she made her own decisions.”
Taylor is not sorry, not in the way Eric wants him to be.

“Bullshit! You mean when you gave her to other men like a trading toy? When you walked her around like a fucking bitch! When you disposed of her like an old rag?” And I feel the metal barrel of a gun bump into my head.
Don’t collapse, Shyla.
“She was a good person Taylor, and you took her away, just like you did Becky!”

“Eric, Becky was so long ago. That was just sibling rivalry.” Taylor continues to remain calm, in fact, I might be more frightened by Taylor’s demeanor than Eric’s.

“It’s not just Becky, it’s everything! You took everything. Left me with the scraps. I was your brother you son of a bitch! You had me disappeared and I am not just talking about when we were battling over H.I., from the moment you came into my life, you wanted me to vanish.”