Part II – Caught
I unlatch the chain lock and swing open the door, where Danny stands looking wet, exhausted, and angry. I'm so numb that his presence fails to alarm or even surprise me. I stand aside and beckon for him to enter.
"What do you think you're doing here?" he asks, his voice still a little harsh, but his eyes have gone soft.
"I don't know," I reply honestly, beginning to pace.
"Why are you running away?"
I shrug, once again not sure of the answer. Instead, I question him: "How did you find me?"
He rubs the back of his neck. "I've been trailing you. I followed you out of the lab and saw you get on the bus. So I got in my car and followed you for almost two hours. To this… place." He waves his hand around the decrepit room in disgust. The vehicle I had seen pulling into the motel lot – it was Danny's. He wriggles out of his saturated jacket, which I take and hang on the doorknob to drain. He walks over and plops down on the bed.
"I'm not even going to ask if you're okay," Danny states, "because I know you're not. Look, whatever's going on, you don't have to do this by yourself."
I don't want to discuss this; instead, I try to distract him. "You're soaked," I say with a chuckle as I sit down next to him. Even his glasses are smeared from the deluge outside. I pull them off, and with the towel I had tossed on the bed, begin to softly rub away the moisture from his face. He closes his eyes as I dab gently around them, then work across his cheekbone and down to his chin. I repeat this action on the other side of his face, then the back of his head. The thick, soft cotton wicks away the droplets of rain. His eyes are still closed, and I touch his chin lightly in order to tilt his head in the appropriate angle. I feel myself flush slightly as I move down his neck, moving the shirt aside slightly and noticing the hairs springing up from his chest. Through the towel I can feel the warmth of his skin, the reaction to my touch. I wish things could be different.
"There," I say, handing him his glasses back.
"Thanks," he murmurs, clearing his throat. "So, you wanna talk?"
Obviously I'm not fooling him with my casual facade. I shake my head stubbornly, resolving to remain stoic, but my eyes betray me – the stinging tells me that the tears are close. Something about Danny being here, wanting so much to help me, is causing me to lose my composure. His presence makes me feel happy and sad at the same time, but mostly dizzy. The room is spinning.
"I don't know why I'm feeling this way," I croak, my own voice sounding alien to me. "I feel like I'm falling down a hill, just rolling and rolling and trying to grab on to something but I can't." It's the first time I've voiced these fears out loud. "I think I'm going crazy."
"Lindsay," he says soothingly. "I know what it's like to be at the very bottom of a dark pit, with nothing but blackness surrounding you. I found my way out, that's why I want to help you."
"But how?" I ask him skeptically. "What made it better for you?"
Danny's gaze is so serious, now I can't pry my eyes away. He opens his mouth, stops a moment, then takes a deep breath before finally responding. "Finding you."
Well, there goes my composure. Danny, seeing me falter, scoots closer. I hold up my hand in warning. "If you come any closer, I'll lose it," I plead. He keeps coming anyway, sliding over and wrapping those strong arms around me. I try in vain to push him away, to wriggle out of the embrace I don't truly wish to leave, but it is futile - he isn't letting go. I press the back of my hand to my mouth, hard, as if to prevent the sobs from forming. Like a wave, the tears come suddenly, swallowing me up until I am drowning in grief. I cry against his shoulder, utterly helpless, victim of a pain I can't pinpoint.
"It's okay to lose it," Danny whispers against my hair, "but it kills me to see you hurting. Kills me." His arms only grow tighter. It's a most welcome suffocation.
"I don't know what's going on with me," I stutter.
"There's people out there who can help," he suggests, rubbing my back in long, slow strokes.
"I don't need a therapist," I grumble into his shoulder.
This causes Danny to chuckle. "That's my stubborn Montana," he muses, a hint of pride in his voice. Except for my sniffling, we remain quiet for awhile.
When my tears have ceased for the most part, Danny gathers up the towel lying nearby – the very one I had used to dry the rain from him – and cups my chin in his hand. Murmuring soft words of comfort, he begins patting the towel softly against my cheeks, soaking up the tears. Still damp, the cloth smells of rain, and of him.
It's my turn for thanks, but I don't know how to say it. Getting up off the bed, I wander over to the window and peer outside at the ugly conditions. A steady row of orange headlights are crawling through the fog. "You should go," I tell Danny, turning to look at him. "It's late and it's raining and you have a long drive back to the city."
He crosses his arms, then gets up to join me at the window. He is standing so close. I yearn to lean against him, but resist. "I'm not leaving you," he says firmly. "Not here. Not like this."
"Well, I'm not coming back with you," I retort, slightly exasperated.
"Then I'll stay here." He suggests it casually, as if it's no big deal.
I roll my eyes and plop back down on the edge of the bed. "But Danny," I argue, "there aren't any more rooms available – the clerk said I got the last one."
He nods. "Then I guess I'm sleeping here."
"It's a twin bed, and there's no couch." I point out, shivering as he approaches and sits next to me. He puts his hand on my arm. Is he suggesting what I think he is suggesting? Share a bed?
"Lindsay, we have something here, between us. And no matter how you try to push me away, I'm going to be here for you. Just let me comfort you – that's all." He swallows. "Let me hold you tonight."
I look at the tiny bed beneath me, and think of how ridiculous it seems. But I am also too tired to fight, aching to give in to the security I crave.
"Alright," I whisper hoarsely.
Danny appears relieved when I consent, then he suggests we get some rest. I retreat to the bathroom, where I brush my teeth and splash my face with water. I look awful: my eyes are puffy and red-rimmed. I'm wearing a camisole top that was under my blouse, and the same slacks I've had on all day. Well, this isn't about seduction anyway. I emerge from the bathroom to see Danny with his back turned to me. He undoes the last button on his shirt, then slips it off, revealing the tank top underneath. I chastise myself for the momentary rush of desire I feel.
I stand there dumbly as he slips into the bed, scooting over as far as possible – which isn't far. Lifting up the covers, he looks at me expectantly. "C'm'ere," he says softly. I pad over to the bed, then pause to turn off the bedside lamp before sliding in with him. Mentally and physically, I collapse.
The sheets are stiff and thin, the blanket is itchy wool. Regardless, the only sensation I'm aware of is his skin against mine. I feel him, totally and completely, even though it's too dark to see. We're both on our sides, facing each other. Danny pulls me against him so that my face meets his neck. He takes my hand and begins rubbing his thumb over mine. His other arm goes underneath my torso, supporting and cradling me. As our bodies blend, I wonder if it's possible to truly melt into someone. This should be awkward, after all; climbing into bed with a man I have deep feelings for. Yet Danny's warmth and scent feels so familiar to me, like a well-fingered security blanket I had lost and just found. We lie there, still except for the caressing of Danny's thumb against mine. Funny how such a solitary, innocent movement can ease my pain so much. I feel his scratchy chin hairs against my forehead as I nestle closer into his neck. Beyond the noises outside – an occasional car horn, loud voice, or motor – I focus on his breathing. It's steady and reassuring and calming, three traits which are severely lacking in my life right now. I cling to him because I have nothing else to hang on to. Even my own mind has betrayed me.
"I'm so afraid," I admit with a gulp. The tremor of my voice seems a rude contrast to the peaceful moment.
"Everything will be all right," Danny says quietly, without hesitation. It's strange how comforting those words can be when a person tells you that. They can't truly promise it, but I guess it's the knowing that someone else believes which soothes us.
"Close your eyes, Lindsay," Danny whispers, pulling the covers up and over our heads. I obey. "We're alone in this world. It's just you and me, together, no one else." This portrait he paints of a universe where only the two of us exist is breathtakingly bittersweet – a beautiful vision that leaves me saddened by its implausibility. Still, I try to visualize it: mountains, stars that never grow dim, porch lights that are always on, a log cabin with a big stone fireplace, soft flannel blankets, and a rolling stream.
The shelter, the solace, the slight pleasure of lying here in his arms is something I'd like to revel in for more than just a night. As I surrender to sleep, I pray that dawn never comes.