He needs me to understand, but I don’t. Not really at any rate. How can what I’ve done not affect the way he thinks of me? It isn’t possible. He might understand more than anyone else, but he must see me as tainted in some way. Up to this evening, he was the only man to have me, and that had to have meant something—it did to me at least, but now … tainted. I wanted it to only be him. Stupidly, ridiculously… There was never a hope of it, and yet the idea of it kept me afloat these long weeks.
Many quiet minutes later, he’s still watching me, wanting me to understand his words and to let go of my pain, but the memories of this evening are crippling, the images they incite like a fist to the gut. He watches my face carefully, and he gives me time. However detached he may be from the world, he understands my emotions so well. He gives up waiting for any sign of my understanding and chooses instead to comfort me. He pulls me back to his body as I turn my face away from him. He’s not upset, and he stays still behind me. His hand runs gently to my breast and cups me tenderly. While my soul may still be fighting to process the events of the night, my body has given up.
I start to drift off as the gears in my brain continue to turn, and as they do, I speak out loud the thought that is running through my mind. “I don’t know if I can do this.”
My eyes are fluttering closed, but I’m still conscious enough to register that his body has just frozen in place; his breath has stopped. I have no way to know what my words mean to him, but they’ve stopped him cold. I wait for a response of some kind, still sinking with each passing second into a warm, comfortable sleep, and I feel him let a deep breath go.
He leans toward my ear, his lips touching the lobe. “I understand.” He goes silent again. My eyes finally close for the last time, and as they do, he adds to his thought. “If you decide you can’t do this, I’ll take you home.”
The thought in my mind, not intended to be spoken, comes out on a trailing whisper. “I don’t have a home. I don’t have anywhere to go.” I hear the “What?” spoken behind me, but I’m gone down the rabbit hole to my dreams.
The next morning, Derek is gone when I wake. I rise and dress in old sweatpants and a T-shirt. I don’t care how the rest of the house sees me, and all I want is coffee. I call Liz, and she comes to my room instantly. She’s worried about me, but when I refuse to go into any detail about the man who bought my time, she gives up quickly, not wanting to upset me. When the conversation turns to Derek and what happened after, I don’t filter the story in any way. While I may not wish to revisit my memories of the portly, romantic stranger I spent my evening with, I have no problem talking to her about Derek. She is the only one in this place that understands just what a disaster I—or is it we?—have created with ourselves, and I need to share with her. She is no longer shocked when I explain the touches, the kisses, the attention. Once my story is told, we leave for the common room.
She stays near me while I fill my cup, and we retreat to the sofa rather than the table with the other women. We talk only to one another as she continues to watch me with deep concern in her eyes. Our conversation makes it back to the night before, and while we don’t discuss the gory details or what happened, I talk honestly and openly about the emotional torture of the night. Liz and I may be as different as night and day, but she has no problem empathizing with me, and I, quite frankly, with her. I know she would love nothing more than to hear the blow-by-blow, no pun intended, but she doesn’t ask. Though the memories of the night before are fresh and disturbing, my relief at having gotten through it has me calm and relaxed, almost happy. I will have Derek to myself tonight, and I don’t have to think of pretending to be a slut for a good thirty-six more hours; and I intend to think nothing of it at all during this reprieve.
Derek enters as we are finishing our coffee. He looks upset and worried, and as he runs a frustrated hand through his dark, disheveled hair, he asks Liz to join him in the kitchen. She leaves my side, returning moments later. She refuses to say anything and motions for me to be patient. Derek leaves moments later with a cup of coffee. He ignores us on his way out of the room, and it is only many long and painful minutes later that Liz casually speaks to me, as if nothing at all has transpired. “Let’s go.”
When we exit the common room, she grabs my arm and practically pulls me to my room, and once inside she talks hastily. “Mr. Pennington wants you to pack an overnight bag. You don’t have much time. Mr. Grayson is on his way here, and he’s looking for you both. Mr. Pennington wants you out of here before Mr. Grayson arrives. You have to hurry, Ash.”
And I do. There is nothing in this world that I want less than to see Mr. Grayson, and in mere minutes, I’ve set out a change of clothing, my toothbrush, and deodorant. Derek enters moments later, as I’m looking for a bag to pack my clothes in. I have no idea where he’ll send me or how I’ll get there, but I won’t argue with this one. I’ve been craving his touch since I woke, and the last thing I want is to separate myself from him now, but I understand his concern. Our last “dinner” with Mr. Grayson was a nightmare for us both, and it’s not an experience I ever want to relive. But as I continue to search for something that will suffice as a bag, he quickly grabs my things from the bed and stashes them in a leather satchel bag that is slung over his shoulder. He’s coming with me. I’m suddenly at ease and ready to face whatever threat lies in front of us. He’ll be with me, and I can handle it.
He turns to Liz quickly. “Don’t forget. You think we had some appointments, but you’re not sure where we went. We’ll be back tomorrow before Trimbles opens, but I’m not going to leave any time for him to catch up to us before we have to be downstairs. Call me if you need to.”
As I follow Derek to the hall, Liz plants a quick kiss on my cheek. On the ride down, Derek is fidgeting and watching the floors tick off the indicator panel with a tight jaw. I reach for his hand, and he looks to my eyes and nods slightly at my reassuring touch.
When the doors open, he walks me briskly through a back hallway, avoiding the front reception desk. His eyes shift and move quickly around every corner we pass. He’s not letting his guard down for a moment. We exit out a back entrance and walk quickly to a parking garage across the street. He walks us up a couple of flights of stairs and to a sleek, black luxury SUV that no doubt came with a ridiculous price tag that would make me gag. It is worth more than a small home, and as Derek pulls the keys from his pocket, I realize it is his car. He drives. I had no idea he drives, and as he catches the perplexed expression on my face, he chuckles with an amused shake of his head before telling me to get in. He’s obviously relaxed considerably, having gotten us out of Trimbles before Mr. Grayson arrived, and I’m suddenly a very happy lady.
The car smells of incredibly expensive leather, and of him. It is immaculate and beautiful, and as we weave in and out of traffic, I’m enjoying myself far more than what is appropriate for the situation. We make our way out of town and leave the skyline behind us. It is still early, and as we wind our way north into Vermont, the trees become denser, and Derek becomes more and more relaxed. I watch him as his hand mindlessly hovers and touches the gear shaft. He’s deep in thought, and I take this quiet time to watch him. His jaw is relaxed, and as I watch him, he runs his thumb gently over his bottom lip. He is still far away in his mind, and I wish I could invade his thoughts.
“What are you thinking about?” His words startle me as I pull my eyes from his mouth. I guess I was lost in my own dream world as well. I smile shyly back at him, just slightly shaking my head. “Oh come on. I’m in the mood for entertainment, so tell me. What were you thinking about? You can say anything. I swear I won’t be offended. The floor is all yours.”