Free Escape In You by Rachel Schurig Page B

face changes. Her eyes meet mine, steady and calm, and then she walks right to me as if she isn’t embarrassed or disgusted by what she heard. She asks if she can stay, and I can hardly believe my ears.
    I grab her like a lifeline, like she can save me from the nightmare in this house, in my heart. She’s beautiful and strong and solid, and she lets me hold her, even holds me back.
    Then, like it’s no big deal, she asks me for a sandwich and says she will stay.
    We don’t talk as I take her out to the garage and up to my place. I feel like I should apologize, or, at the very least, try to explain what happened, but every time I open my mouth the words just won't come.
    “You live up here?” she asks, looking around the apartment. “Taylor, this is really cool.”
    “Thanks.” I scratch the back of my neck, self-conscious. I never bring people up here, certainly not chicks. On top of what she just witnessed, I’m feeling really exposed.
    “You look like you’re wondering if I’m going to rob you,” she says and grins over her shoulder as she approaches my desk. “I won’t, by the way.”
    “I know. I just…I don’t bring people up here much.”
    “It looks like you don’t stay here much yourself,” she says. “Either that or you’re going for a very minimalist look.”
    “I hear minimalism is all the rage.”
    She snorts and moves into the kitchen. “So, are we making food or what?”
    I join her at the breakfast bar, and hand her plates and the knife. She lays out cheese and turkey, and slathers each slice of bread with mustard. I grab us both a beer from the fridge and rip open a bag of barbecue chips.
    “Yum,” she says, as she perches on one of my bar stools with her plate. “This is great, thanks.”
    “No problem. But I was thinking we could eat somewhere else. In fact, that’s what I wanted to show you.”
    She gives me a questioning look but jumps up from her chair and follows me all the same, her plate in hand. I leave the beers on the counter to come back for after we’re settled, knowing we’ll each need at least one free hand.
    “The bedroom, Taylor? Really?”
    I laugh. “I told you to get your mind out of the gutter. This is just the way to get out there.”
    I reach the window and turn to take her plate so she can climb through, but she’s no longer right behind me. She’d paused at my easel and is staring unabashedly at the piece I’ve been working on.
    “Holy shit,” she mutters. “Taylor, did you paint this?”
    God, now I feel really stupid. I didn’t intend to show her that, certainly not tonight. There’s only so much exposure I can handle for one evening. Before I can tell her that, she’s setting her plate down on my dresser so she can lean in closer. “Wow,” she whispers. “This is good. Like, really good.”
    I shrug, even though she isn’t looking at me. It’s a decent piece, or, at least, I hope it will be when it’s finished. I painted the woods where we kissed the other night, but it isn’t a typical landscape. Instead, I’ve been trying to paint it the way I had felt it. The heat and the color, the excitement and the joy. And something else too, something very much like hope. I wonder if she can see all those things in the work.
    She turns back to me. “I didn’t know you were a painter.”
    I shrug again. “I’m not, really. I mean, I paint sometimes. Mostly I draw, though. I’m into graphic art. Uh, comics and stuff. Some 3-D landscapes.”
    “Can I see?”
    Her expression is hopeful, and it’s hard to refuse her.
    “How ‘bout we eat first, okay? I still want to show you something.”
    “But later, you’ll let me see?”
    “Sure.” I pick up her plate from the dresser, balancing it on top of mine, and gesture for her to climb through the window.
    She crosses her arms. “Seriously?”
    “I promise it’s totally safe.”
    I half expect her to refuse, to demand I go first, but she surprises me by shrugging and climbing right