Part III - Escape
I don't know how much time has passed, but I'm awake once again. The moon has shifted, allowing some pale light into the room. Danny is cute when he's sleeping. Actually, he looks very serious, as if he is focusing on something. I wonder if he ever has nightmares, like the ones I have that leave you gasping for breath and cold as ice. I feel a surge of protectiveness as I watch him, and know that I would do anything to defend him from such feelings. I wonder if that's how he feels about me? His arms are still holding me tight. In my career, I have donned bulletproof vests, worked in buildings with the strictest security, and ridden in armored police vehicles. And never have I felt as safe as I do here in Danny's embrace.
I watch him awhile longer, until I begin growing bored. "Danny," I hiss. He grunts sleepily before opening his eyes, then shifts to look at me.
"What's the matter?" he sounds worried.
I shrug. "Nothing. Just talk to me. About something."
"About what?"
"Anything." I want to talk about stupidly insignificant, mundane things to occupy my mind.
"Okayyyyy." His voice is low and gravelly from sleep. Then we talk. We talk about Christmas mornings growing up, the first time we tasted alcohol, and the outrageous price of New York apartments. We talk about everything except my current situation, about why the hell we are snuggled up, fully clothed, on a tiny uncomfortable bed in a run down motel off the interstate. Every word that comes from his mouth is like a mini-escape, a distraction.
A drowsy fog lowers over my brain, threatening to steal me back to a state of slumber. Before I drift off, I murmur one question for Danny. "Why?" I ask, waiting for him to reply "Why, what?". But he doesn't – he sees through to the heart of my question.
"You know why," he whispers. "You know."
▪▫▪▫▪▫
Dawn is harsh: I prefer sunset, when the world is retiring from the day, and all secrets and fears scurry off. Now, as I open my eyes, I see a peachy haze is regrettably smearing the charcoal sky.
"Morning," I hear. Danny must have been awake for awhile now, watching over me. Like he promised he would.
"Morning," I reply, shifting to look at him, It occurs to me that I should thank him; offer up my appreciation. But where to begin? How can two little words be worthy of such devotion?
He strokes the side of my face, a touch so light but it creates a burning in me nonetheless. "We should get up, get going," he says quietly, almost sadly.
"Please don't make me go back," I whimper. The stifling sense of fear returns, threatening to choke me.
He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, laughing softly. "I can't make you do anything, Montana."
I smile shyly, still drowsy from a lack of sleep, and gaze into his eyes. As I study the intense blue, their slight sparkle, our faces begin moving closer together. I know what is happening, and I am powerless to stop it. It is the perfect moment. Then our lips make contact, and I feel as though I am stuck in a surrealist painting. My breath is gone, my heart has stopped. The earth has ceased its rotation and everything around me has dissolved into oblivion. His hand slips under my shirt, brushing my stomach with the tips of his fingers. The motor of an eighteen wheeler outside reminds me that this is not the right place.
"I want this," I murmur, moving away slightly. "But not here."
Muttering an awkward apology, Danny abruptly slides out of bed and disappears into the bathroom. I groan and cover my face with my hands. That's not what I meant.
When Danny reemerges from the bathroom, he comes back over and sits in the edge of the bed, then clears his throat. "I should get back to the city," he offers softly, staring intently at his hands which are folded in his lap.
I grab his arm. "No, please," I beg. "One more day, I swear." I am not finished being alone with him.
He bites his lip and sighs, retrieving the cell phone from his pocket. The minutes tick by as he debates with himself. "Alright, let me make a phone call."
Mac, I'm sure he means. I don't want to think of it – of the job and consequences I have left behind. While Danny steps out on the porch, I lie on the bed and stare at the ceiling. I hear his voice, muffled, and he returns in a few minutes.
"Well," he says, grabbing his keys from the table, "where to?"
▪▫▪▫▪▫
We just drive. I have no idea if we're going north or south, east or west. Danny and I are trusting the road to lead us where we need to be. A tortured heart has no sense of direction.
Danny's fingers drum the steering wheel, and I listen to the news on the radio; news which seems so foreign and inconsequential because I have not yet chosen to accept that Danny and I are not, in fact, the only people on earth.
When I spot the rustic, cozy inn from the road, I know it's the perfect place. It's far enough off the highway to seem secluded, surrounded by pine trees.
"Here," I say, pointing to the driveway. "Stop here."
"You sure?" He flicks on the turn signal, and slows as we approach the driveway. No turning back.
"So sure."
▪▫▪▫▪▫
The woman behind the desk here is a nice contrast from the creepy hotel clerk. I feel a bit sheepish, given the picture we must present: two young, single people, with no baggage, for just one night. If only she knew that deep down, we are not as transparent as we appear. Once again I hand over my Visa card, unable to think about the bill I will have. Today, it doesn't matter. What matters is the man standing next to me.
I'm pleased when I unlock the door to our room - it is also quite the trade up from the motel. Everything is decorated in alternating shades of deep ruby and shimmery gold, from the bedspread to the curtains. I slip out of my shoes, my toes digging into the squishy buttermilk carpet beneath my feet. Holding Danny's hand, I walk with him past the bed to the balcony, which looks out over the eastern sky.
"It will make for a pretty sunrise," Danny remarks. I start to tell him how I hate dawn, but then stop. Maybe this next one will be different.
The adjoining bathroom is gorgeous – roomy, shiny ivory tile with maroon accents, and a tub large enough to bathe a horse.
"I could use a nice soak," I murmur dreamily, mindful of my aching muscles and weary mind.
"A hot shower would be great, but I don't have any clean clothes to change into," grumbles Danny.
Biting my tongue, I rifle through the linen closet until I find what I am looking for.
"Bathrobes!" I announce triumphantly, tossing him one of the terrycloth wraps. "Let's put these on!" The entire situation strikes me as hilarious. It feels strange to laugh: in the darkest moments the smallest things can bring light. Sometimes we just need a little help finding them.
I change in the bathroom, Danny changes in the bedroom. When I come out, we both stand there awkwardly, nothing but robes on. Danny coughs. "You uh, you go first," he says. "I'll just… wait out here." He gestures nervously towards the bathroom… a cute nervousness.
I smile to myself as I slip back into the bathroom, where I turn on the tap and empty almost half a bottle of bath foam into the tub. As the mountains of white bubbles grow and multiply, a sweet scent of vanilla hangs in the air. I turn off the lights and light two taper candles I find under the sink. Perfect.
Tiptoeing back out in the parlor, I sneak up behind the Danny and whisper in his ear: "Come in the bath with me."
He jumps, startled, and looks at me cautiously. I see hesitation, yet also a fire growing in his eyes. I pull him into the bathroom, tugging him inch by inch across the carpet. Once inside, I shut the door and untie the sash from his robe, letting it fall to the floor. Even with just candlelight, his body is beautiful.
"Your turn," I say. He unties the knot around my waist, then brings his hands to my shoulders where he lifts the robe, allowing it to slip off.
"You," he murmurs, "are breathtaking." His fingers trace my upper body, from the hard edges of my collar bones to the soft curves below. When he touches me, I can't breathe.
As we lower ourselves into the tub, the hot water instantly blankets me with a sense of relaxation. I recline against him, listening to the lapping of the water around our bodies. I feel his muscular thighs beneath me, supporting my weight. Turning my body to face him, I take a cloth and begin rubbing it over his body. We take turns washing each other, cleansing away the pain and angst and heartbreak we have experienced in our lives. We wipe it all away until there is nothing left but ourselves, fresh and raw. We lie back again, not talking or thinking, just being together, until the water goes cold. When it does, I turn to him and press my lips to his for a second, and only a second.
"Now," I say quietly, needing him to understand. I am wounded, he is the poultice.
"Okay." His response is husky.
Standing up, I reach for a towel and quickly swipe our bodies with it. We are still dripping as we step out of the tub and Danny lifts me up in his arms. Easily, I lock my hands behind his neck, and he carries me to bed. We tumble down onto the covers, knowing that where we are about to go is a place from which we can't return. Ever. And I want to go there.
Danny's skin is damp and sweet from the bath. As I explore him with my lips and my hands, it's as if the closer I am to him, the farther away my problems are.
"Lindsay," Danny says, his breath against my ear igniting my craving for him even more. "Are we really ready for this?"
It occurs to me that while nothing has truly changed in the past day, my outlook has. When something breaks, perhaps it isn't always a bad thing. It's a step towards becoming fixed. I am broken, but I will heal. I have struggled, but I will win. I am fighting a war, but I am not without support. I look at Danny and realize that the difference between one person and two is insurmountable.
"Shh." I grab the blankets, and pull them up and over our heads, surrounding us in darkness. "Close your eyes," I whisper, then use my hands to paint a portrait only he can see. "We're alone in this world..."
fin.