She pushed the door closed behind her, finally allowing the tears to escape. Her legs shook beneath her, finally giving way to the tremors as she slid down the cool wood of the door. Phyllis closed her eyes tight as she wrapped her arms around herself. The ride home was a blur, as if she'd been watching from a distance as someone else went through the motions of her life.
Even now, even as she sat here, a part of her felt numb. Another part felt everything in excruciating detail. The smell of scotch and him seemed overwhelming, making the air around her thick and suffocating. Her chest ached as she tried to force herself to breathe. Her shaky hands clawed at her jacket, peeling it off and tossing it over to the side. One look at her ripped dress and the waves of nausea came back. It wasn't just the thought of what happened tonight, but what could have….
She held onto the couch arm for support as she stood up, smiling at him across the room. It felt good to relax, to let loose, to not worry about work or anything—to just have fun. It had been too damn long.
"Another?" Scott flashed a charming smile at her as he filled her glass with scotch again without waiting for a reply.
"You know…if I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to get me drunk." Her words were already slightly slurred as she spoke and she stumbled a bit as she took a step towards him.
His arms wrapped around her small waist quickly and he pulled her closer to him—though his body wasn't much steadier than her own. "You okay there?" he whispered, smiling at her.
"Yeah," she sighed, enjoying the feel of his hands on her. She let her hands run across his chest, allowing her eyes to flutter closed, "I'm good."
"How about some music? He reached across the desk, grabbing a small remote and pressing the power button. Smooth jazz rang out from the speakers and they both looked up in surprise. "Wouldn't have been my top pick," he sighed, "but not terrible."
Phyllis giggled, beginning to feel the scotch's full effects. "Not at all," she slurred, feeling all the more unsteady on her feet. "Maybe we should sit," she mumbled, making her way over the sofa and easing herself down onto the couch cushions. She raised her hand to her head, the spinning in the room now becoming much worse. "I think I should something…I think some eat…" She swallowed hard.
His hand lightly stroked her face as he leaned in closer to her, "You're good," he whispered, his lips now brushing hers.
She turned her head, finding it hard to focus. "Scott." Her brain seemed stunted, slowly processing what was happening. In what seemed like an instant, he was on her, his hands pulling at the zipper on her dress and eventually ripping it across the front. "Scott, stop it, I can't..I don't.."
Her arms felt heavy and limp as if each movement was an athletic endeavor and the idea of physically overtaking him seemed impossible. She could feel his hot breath on her, his hands everywhere, and she felt helpless to do anything except tell him, beg him to stop.
"Scott, please…No…I.." He was harsh and rushed, his hands and fingers rough as he gripped her face, arms and shoulders tight. She hissed in pain and winced at his touch.
"Oh my God!"
"Kevin!" Scott sat up straight, his eyes darting back towards her before he stood and looked over towards his brother-in-law. "I…I didn't expect you…"
Kevin turned away. "Obviously," he muttered. "I'm sorry…I can go."
"No!" Her voice rang out. "No, please don't. I should go. I need to be going. There's somewhere I need to be." Phyllis stood quickly, her body trembling as she felt Scott's warm hands on her zipping up her dress. He handed her jacket, helping her put it on and pulling it over the noticeable rip before she turned to face Kevin.
"I can call you a car," Scott offered.
"I can call my own car," she said quietly.
"Are you sure?" He followed her to the door and reached for her as she quickly moved towards the elevator. "Phyllis? Is everything okay?"
She stared back at him, her eyes stunned. "What?"
"You just…you act like something's wrong and I just want to make sure everything's okay."
Home. She wanted to go home. "I have to go," she said silently before stepping into the elevator and allowing the door to close.
All the way home she'd gone over and over the events in her head. She'd said no. She'd said stop. He heard her. He had to. This wasn't what she wanted. Was it?
Her body still shook as she climbed out of the shower. She wrapped the towel around her as she stared into the mirror. Small red marks marked her collarbone and neck and she couldn't help but wonder if there'd be bruises there the following morning. How would she explain it? Would anyone even ask or would they just assume…because after all…that's what they would expect from someone like her.
She was Phyllis Summers and her reputation preceded her. He was Scott Grainger, reporter with a cause. Who would they believe? Hell, who would she believe?
"Look man, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have just dropped by like that." Kevin talked furiously, desperate to avoid the awkwardness of the situation. "I had no idea you'd have anyone here and I…" He stopped. "Wait. I mean—I didn't mean it like that…not like I couldn't imagine you'd ever have anyone here, because you're a good looking guy and it's perfectly reasonable to assume." He stopped again, shaking his head as he felt his cheeks grow hot. "And by good looking, I just mean in a way that would be attractive to women…that's all…"
"Kevin..Kevin.." Scott laughed as he handed him a glass of scotch. "Relax. It's fine. It's no big deal."
"I kind of feel like it is," he said quietly, as he took a seat on the sofa and waited for Scott to join him. "I mean she kind of left…"
Scott sighed before running his fingers through his hair. "Yeah, she did."
"And…if I hadn't walked in when I did…I kind of think you might have been…"
"Oh yeah…we were definitely going the distance tonight." Scott smiled as he brought the glass to his lips and emptied it with one quick gulp. He looked over at Kevin and grinned, "But don't worry—all hope is not lost. There will be other nights. Mark my words."