Chapter Thirteen
When I wake up alone in the bed the next morning, a warm wave of post-coital bliss blankets me, then a sense of mild panic hits. For one, the reality of my night with Taylor sinks in: I have cheated on Rick. My chest tightens with dread. I know I have to tell him; I am not the type of person who can just pretend this didn’t happen. Then there’s Taylor. What I felt with him was scary. Never have I experienced anything so deeply to my core; never have I been so entranced by another human being. It was as if he was the sun and I was the earth, revolving around his aura. There was a time when Rick and I were smitten, but this is different, this is all-consuming. My entire world is being devoured by this man, and I want nothing more than for him to swallow me whole.
I wish Taylor had awoken me; I hate being the last to wake at other people’s homes. My stomach knots up. I have no idea how Taylor will react. What are the next steps? Was this a one time deal? I hope not. It was the most amazing, crazy, painful, delightful, excruciating, and exhilarating night of my life. Random pangs of guilt hit me. How can I feel this way when Rick and I are still together? Shit! I wonder if he tried reaching me last night. So much has happened physically and emotionally in the past 24 hours and it is nearly impossible to truly process it all. I slowly open the door, wearing the white button down shirt Taylor pulled off of his body so tantalizingly last night. It cloaks me in his scent. I walk lightly, wanting to catch Taylor off guard. I find him at the breakfast bar, the paper in one hand while he eats fruit with the other. It looks as though he has just finished working out.
“Good morning.” I say sheepishly.
“Good morning,” he says slyly, a knowing grin on his face. “Come join me. Have some breakfast.”
I sit, but I cannot eat. My mind is racing in every direction. While I feel enormous guilt, the inevitability of last night’s events make me feel absolved of it on some level. Rick, my dear Rick, what have I done? Tears begin to stream down my cheeks.
“Shy, what’s wrong?”
“I don’t know.” I know.
“Did I do someth...”
“No, no. It’s not you. I just. I don’t know what’s going on with my life. I did something terrible. Rick and I are over and...” I am making last night seem like a mistake, so I stop.
“Oh.” He looks disappointed. I think he is a little jealous of Rick.
“Taylor, it’s been over. Not officially, but he and I have not been right for a while. Still, this is not how I planned on ending it. I am not this kind of person.” I don’t even know what’s next for Taylor and me. He hasn’t even told me the contents of the notebook. “Taylor, I don’t know what to do and I don’t want to put you on the spot, but what happened between us...I am not sure what to make of it.”
Taylor sighs. “You have a lot you need to take care of before we even need to discuss us.” Until this point he has remained in his seat, and has not touched me. I can tell he doesn’t know how to comfort a woman and I think it is because he has never had to in the past.
“But I loved working at H.I. and now I can’t.”
“I fired you in the heat of the moment. You still have a job.”
“I understand, but I deserved it, and after what happened, I don’t think working for you is a good idea.”
“Shy, don’t worry about that stuff. I would love for you to come back, but if you feel uncomfortable, my recommendation will get you a job anywhere in this city. I meant on a personal level, I think you need to take a week and figure out everything.”
“Will I see you again?”
“That’s up to you. I would like to.”
“And what about the journal? Are you ever going to tell me?”
He sighs, exasperated by my question. “Shy, we are both not ready for that.”
I sit in in silence, immobilized by my emotions. After a few minutes, Taylor speaks again. “Shy, you need to go home and sort out your life.” My latent insecurity surfaces. He is too good looking for you. He can have whoever he wants. He is just trying to buy himself some time so he can dodge you until you give up pursuing him. My heightened emotional state causes me to react.
“Fine, I’ll go, but I am not coming back until you decide to man up and tell me the truth.” I stomp off to the bedroom, trying to collect what is left of my clothes. Taylor does not follow. Minutes later, I come back to the kitchen, my shirt tied in a knot since so few buttons remain. A childlike sadness hits me when I remember that Ladybug is a company car. “I’m going to go home. Here are the keys to Ladybug.” He looks at the keys on the counter and smiles.
“Yes, that’s her name.” I say, stone-faced.
“She’s all yours. Part of your severance.” I want to fight him, but I am too worn and I really love that car.
“Thank you.” My level of enthusiasm does not match the gift. He is acting so coolly. Last night affirmed what I feel for Taylor, but seems to have done the opposite for him.
“Let me walk you to your car.” He stands, his sculpted torso exposed, his faded black sweatpants hanging perfectly from his hips. We get into the elevator, and lean against the wall on opposite sides. While my eyes are still burning from the tears, I can’t help but grin thinking about last night. I look down at the floor to hide my face and see my little cream buttons scattered about, which makes me grin wider. My eyes go back to Taylor, he has one leg bent, his foot on the wall behind him, biting his lip. I think he is hiding a grin too. Just as he looks up to meet my eyes, we hear the ping of the elevator. I walk silently to Ladybug and finally I feel Taylor touch me, his hand on the small of my back. When we arrive at the car, I turn to face him. He is much closer than I expected to be. His face is no longer emotionless.
“Shy. I’ve tried to warn you. I’m a loner. I don’t want you to get wrapped up into things with me.”
“What are you saying?”
“I don’t know. I want nothing more than for you to come back as soon as you sort things out with Rick, but maybe that’s not a good idea...I don’t know...I want you so bad, but I don’t want to do anymore damage than I already have. Look at you, you’re really confused. I’m just trying to give you space right now.” I don’t understand how he can just let me go if he really wants me. My world is simple: If you want something and it’s offered, you accept it. Maybe it’s because I am selfish. I almost find it easier to think that he is politely trying to get rid of me than to think he really does care, but has a secret so vile that he cannot entertain the thought of being with me.
“You’re right. You don’t trust me enough to tell me what’s going on with you and if you can’t trust me, I can’t trust you.” I don’t know where I am going with my little speech so I stop. He is right, I need to sort out my affairs. Trying to schedule a time to see him again seems so trivial in the midst of all this. If he wants me as badly as he says he does, he’ll find me, or maybe he won’t. In an instant, I feel strong, I know have to walk away for a while, try to unravel myself from his web and get some perspective. I am so entangled in him, I cannot think straight. I am willing to have sex with a man that keeps a mysterious book about women in his room, a man I truly know nothing about because he makes it a point to isolate me from his personal life. I have to leave because that is what anyone watching on the outside would tell me to do.
“Shy, it’s not about trust. I don’t know what else to say except that it’s very personal and I am not ready to tell you.” I can see the true frustration on his face.
“I gotta go,” I say. I so badly want to kiss him.
“Can I kiss you? Just in case?” I assume he means just in case this is it. I want to so badly, but I shouldn’t.
“You have no idea how much I want to.” I turn and slide into the car. He runs his hand through his hair and his lips curve into a frown. I see that I hurt him and I want to jump out and kiss away the rejection, but I need to be strong. He only wants me on his terms. Everything is always on his terms. I am doing the right thing, protecting myself from whatever it is that he is hiding. Unfortunately, the right thing feels like I am punishing myself.
During the drive home, I switch between fits of tears and pensive smiles. Images of Taylor laughing, his touch, and soft kisses flash in my mind. Then the tragedy of it all interrupts my memories: Taylor and his journal, Rick and I being over, and me being alone. The various emotions hit me like cascading waves. They crash, sudden and intense and then dissolve, only to hit me again shortly thereafter. There are no messages in my phone from Rick. He is giving up on us too. When I get home, I brace myself for the worst, but Rick isn’t even there. He seems to have plans I don’t know about for the day, and I am annoyed, which only serves to remind me of what a hypocrite I am.
Then I spot a gift bag on the coffee table, and inside it is a teddy bear holding a card. I search for my phone to find the date hoping it does not confirm my hunch. July 15. I begin to hyperventilate because the weight of the guilt is so heavy. Yesterday was our anniversary and I had forgotten all about it. Rick didn’t remind me, maybe to surprise me, or maybe it was a test. My shaky hand pulls out the card from its envelope.
Lala,
I know I don’t do the best job of being romantic, and maybe I don’t say it enough, but I love you as much as the first time we kissed. Happy Anniversary.
Love,
Rick
I crumple the envelope and throw it across the room. I feel physically ill not only about my actions hurting Rick, but also about the fact that I still want Taylor. This teddy bear, this card, it doesn’t change how I feel. I want to change it all so badly, but I can’t.
I take a long shower and then lay silently in bed. The only sound in the house is the ticking of the bedroom clock. There is an ever present ache that is so pervasive that I cannot pinpoint if it is physical or emotional. I imagine this is what an addict feels when going through withdrawal. My thoughts are only of Taylor. Last night may end up being both the beginning and the end of us. All I can do is lay in bed and writhe restlessly. Sometimes the hurt is so intense that I moan. I have been in love, but this is more than that, this consumes my entire being. This is more than love. I am infatuated. I am possessed. I am bitten. I am sick. He has infected me.
I am infected.
Sleep is my only weapon against the agony, but even then, he follows me into my dreams. My waking moments are spent between persuading myself not to call him and not to run away from facing Rick. I rationalize, telling myself all the reasons I should stay away from Taylor, but rationality is a flimsy weapon against the bewitched.
Finally, late into the night, I hear the door to our apartment open. Rick is home. My body feels heavy, almost paralyzed with anxiety. I hear him walking through the living room, his keys hitting the entry table, his shoes being kicked off. He walks into the bedroom and looks at me, not saying a word, and shakes his head. I have never seen him like this, so exasperated by me. I think my failing to come home last night was the last straw, and it makes me disgusted with myself. Rick doesn’t deserve this. I stare back at him, speechless. He walks back into the living room in silence and instinctually, I follow him. I have to have the guts to do something, I cannot let us continue to float out into abyss.
Rick is sitting on the couch in silence, his elbows on his knees, his forehead in his hands.
“Rick...” A wave of nausea hits me. I am not sure what I am going to say. He looks up at me, his face is red, tears gloss his eyes.
“I’m not stupid. I could sense you slipping away since the day you met him. You love him don’t you?” I nearly drop to the floor. My knees begin to give out. I thought this was my secret, my burden to bear alone. How do I explain to Rick that I am scared of what I will do for this man, who I am willing to become, just so I can bask in his presence? I don’t say anything, I just begin to cry. Taylor said staying with him would change me irreparably, but he already has. It is too late. I am so sorry Rick. He takes a deep breath and stands up.
“Rick, I am so sorry, about yesterday. I’m so sorry.” I have no other words for him. Nothing I can say will make this better.
“Do you even love me anymore?”
“Of course I do Rick. I love you, I always will.”
“You’re just not happy anymore.”
“I don’t know what it is.”
“Why couldn’t you just tell me? It’s me Shyla. Why did you have to leave me in the dark?”
I can’t tell him the truth, because it is sick. The truth is I was only thinking about myself. Taylor was just a fantasy, but Rick was real. I didn’t want to show my hand too early and lose.
“I didn’t want to hurt you and I promise you I never planned anything. I never lied to you about where I was or what I was doing.”
“Can you just tell me why? Is it the money? The power?”
“You know I’m not like that.”
“I’m not sure I know you anymore.”
“Rick, don’t you just wonder sometimes if there’s more out there for you? Honestly?”
“No. You were it for me. You were enough.” He sits on the couch, and faintly laughs. “God, I was such a sucker last night. You should have seen me. Sitting here with the teddy bear. I know sometimes dates escape you, so I thought I would surprise you with dinner plans. But ya know what? I knew...I knew something was off.”
“I am so sorry.” I bury my face in my hands.
“I can honestly say months ago I didn’t see us going down this path, but I guess I’m just clueless.”
“I understand if you hate me, but I really do love you. I want us to stay a part of each other’s lives.”
Rick stands up. “I am going to be staying with Pete. I don’t want to know the details. I’m not mad Shy. Really. People change. I’m just sad. And to say I don’t feel betrayed would be a lie. Of course, I want to stay a part of your life, but I need some time.” I nod and walk up to him, put my arms around his torso and we hug. I will always love you Rick, but we are not the end for each other, someone else is out there for you. I am so grateful he doesn’t ask about me and Taylor, and he doesn’t lash out, but there is a part of me that wishes he would. I deserve it.
Rick packs a bag and leaves to stay at his best friend’s apartment. I am alone, in the stillness of our home, left to mourn our relationship.
***
The next week, each day melds into the next. I don’t eat, I sleep as much as my body can allow, and I completely isolate myself from the world. Lizzy is the first to call and leave a voicemail.
“Shyla, it’s Lizzy, I stopped by your office and Marsha said you were gone for good? Taylor didn’t say a word to me about it. Was it him? Did something happen between you two? Are you okay? Call me, okay?”
To avoid people dropping by to make sure I am not dead, I send her the same text I sent everyone who tries to reach me:
Shyla:
I am okay, really. I just need some time alone this week. I’ll give you a call soon.
My mom calls. She lives across the country, so it is much easier for me to keep up a facade about my chaotic life.
“Hi mom.”
“Hey sweetie. How are you? I haven’t heard from you in a while.”
“Sorry, I’ve been really busy.”
“Are you okay? You don’t sound so good…”
“I think I have the flu. Mom, I’m really tired. Can I call you back next week when I feel better? I feel awful and I won’t be much fun to talk to.”
“Of course! Make sure you go to the doctor, okay? Tell Rick to take care of you.”
If I wasn’t feeling sick, that last reference of hers made sure of it.
“Yes mom,” I say like a child accepting orders. While I shorten the conversation to avoid bursting into tears, it is so good to hear her voice.
Kristin gets a call, since I know she is the most likely to try to come and rescue me. I beg her not to, I can’t share what happened between Taylor and me, and quite frankly I don’t want to. I just want to absorb the pain, like jumping on a grenade. I don’t want to burden anyone or rehash my feelings, even if I could, because it would only bring the pain back to the surface. Of all the people to reach out to me (I even get an email from Henry), I hear nothing from the man who can pull me out of this. I put the ball in his court because all I have left is my pride. I want to tell myself that he is respecting my distance, or truly trying to protect me, but the nagging voice taunts me. It chants over and over and over:
You’re not beautiful enough. He used you. You’re a page in his journal. It was just a game to him.
Eleven days pass and I need to venture out for something to eat. My clothes hang off of me, I maybe eat two bites of food a day due to the “sickness.” I consume my first full meal of the week: chicken fingers and a salad. Without the influence of Taylor and H.I., I am back to my juvenile eating habits, no fine wine and room service spreads. I camp out on the couch, every light off in the apartment, the only glow coming from my laptop which is playing a playlist I created, devoted to my pathetic life. “The First Taste” by Fiona Apple starts to play and it feels like the lyrics were written specifically for me.
Music has been my only tool to filter through the tidal waves of emotions I deal with daily. I battle so hard, but distance is my only weapon. If I see him, I don’t think I’ll have any fight left in me.
As I sing along with Fiona, I smile, remembering the night Taylor took me in the elevator. Then I cry, thinking I will never feel that way with anyone again. Then I think about Rick, the innocent bystander to this collision, and cry harder. On the eleventh night I hear a knock at my door. I shoot up and run to my laptop to silence it. I very quickly try to tidy the apartment. I assume it is Kristin defying my texts and I don’t want her to know how pathetic I am being. I smooth out my hair and look for the time. It’s just after nine. Another knock. I look through the peephole and my heart can barely take the shock. It’s him.