Escaping Reality

to
    explain.
    I draw a breath and answer the call. “Hello.”
    “Amy,” Liam says, and somehow my name is both a command and a
    caress.
    “Liam,” I reply and I like how my name sounds on his lips. I also like
    how his name feels on my tongue. Even more so. I like how his tongue feels
    against mine, how he feels when I am with him.
    “You didn’t text me like I told you to.”
    Normally I would bristle at the command, but it takes effort to
    muster objection. “I’m not good at taking orders, Liam.”
    “Is that why you didn’t text me?” His voice is softer now, his tone too
    intimate and yet still not intimate enough to satisfy the craving his voice
    creates in me. I will myself to say more, to say goodbye, but I can’t get the
    words out. I settle on, “I’m going to drop the phone by your hotel. I can’t
    accept it.”
    “It’s a gift.”
    “I pay my own way.”
    “The money is nothing to me and everything to you.”
    This time I do bristle. Money is nothing to me beyond basic survival.
    “Your money is nothing to me, Liam.”
    “And while that makes me immensely happy in some way, Amy, it
    does not now, when we are talking about the phone. Money is just money.
    You are right. But your safety is another story. You need the phone.”
    I think of the phone my handler gave me, and it bothers me he can
    track me. He can perhaps see my phone records. But won’t Liam be able to
    do the same? “I’ll get my own phone.”
    “Use this one until you do.”
    I open my mouth to object and he seems to read my thoughts.
    “Compromise, Amy.”
    Compromise. And while I feel that is all I have done my entire life, it
    is strangely appealing with Liam, maybe because it implies there is a
    relationship between us that there isn’t.
    Is there? “I can’t keep the phone.”
    “At least keep it and use it until we can talk about it tonight.”
    Tonight? “No. No there isn’t a tonight. I can’t see you anymore.”
    Silence. One beat. Two. “There is that word again,” he observes, and
    then repeats, “We’ll talk tonight, Amy.”
    “No, Liam. No.”
    “You think you’re alone but you aren’t.”
    “Because I have you now?”
    “Yes. I know you don’t believe that, but you will. Soon, baby, you
    will.”
    The idea of having him is bittersweet in so many ways I can’t tick
    them off in a year.
    “You don’t know what I think or what is important to me.”
    “I know enough. The rest I want to find out.”
    “No.” But it sounds like yes. “I won’t be here tonight. I have plans.”
    Like locking myself in that cage of an apartment and going nowhere.
    “I’m not going away, Amy. You do know that, don’t you?”
    His voice is possessive, a rasp of sandpaper over my nerve endings
    followed by pure silk, and it does funny things to my stomach. “I don’t need
    a protector, Liam.”
    “I see things differently.”
    My spine locks into a steel bar. “I am not your—”
    “Not yet. But I want you to be.”
    I blink. What? He wants me to be what?
    “I’ll call you when I finally get out of this meeting. It will probably be
    about six. One of the investors isn’t flying in until later today.”
    I fight the urge to ask about the meeting and the investor. “Why are
    you doing this?” I whisper.
    “You won’t like my answer.”
    “How do you know what I like or don’t like?”
    “I’ll see you tonight.” The line goes dead and I do not know why, but I
    need my answer. I call back. He answers immediately. “At least I have you
    using the phone.”
    “Why are you doing this?”
    “Because you are you, Amy. And I have to go, but text me if you need
    me.” He hangs up again.
    I clutch the phone. He was right. I do not like his answer. My very
    existence is a lie and that means anything he sees in me, anything between
    us, is also a lie.

Chapter Nine

    After buying the clothes I had on in the dressing room and wearing
    them out of the store, I have to stop by the realtor’s office before I go to
    the grocery store. The six-block walk takes me past rows of cute stores and
    eateries, and I find Evernight Legal Services nestled in between a coffee
    shop and a furniture store. I frown. I thought this was a real estate office,
    but it’s logical enough that a law office might handle all business affairs for
    someone.
    I head inside the office, and I am pretty much pushed through the
    door by a gust of wind that jangles the bells attached to the entrance. In
    New York, I was