Escaping Reality

“answer” button before I miss the call again, and I swear my heart is
    about to explode through my throat as I croak, “Hello.”
    “Ms. Bensen?”
    “Yes.”
    “Oh, good,” a slightly familiar male voice proclaims. “This is Scott
    from the cell phone store. You left your driver’s license here. We close in an
    hour if you want to swing by.”
    Relief washes through me and nervous laughter, once again, bubbles
    from my lips.
    “Thank you. I’ll come by tomorrow and get it.”
    “I’ll hold it at the register and keep it safe. Goodnight.”
    “Thank you again. Goodnight.” I end the call and Liam takes my
    phone and shoves it back into my purse before setting it on the ground and
    the look in his eyes says I’m in for another game of dodgeball I do not want
    to play.
    “I left my ID in the store.” I lean forward and wrap my arms around
    Liam’s neck and mold my upper body to his. Warmth spreads from every
    place we are touching to every place we are not. “Where were we?”
    His hand splays between my shoulder blades, a hot branding I
    welcome, but the warning that follows is ice dousing the fire. “You aren’t
    going to pretend what just happened didn’t happen. Just like you aren’t
    going to tell me you didn’t walk into the bathroom at the restaurant
    running from me and then exit running from someone, or something, else.
    And I’m not buying it was Meg.”
    “New places make me nervous.” I press my lips to his.
    His hand tangles in my hair and gently pulls my head back, forcing my
    gaze to his, and his eyes are as hard as his voice as he orders, “Don’t give
    me that kind of answer. Raw and honest, Amy. That’s what we are or we
    are nothing at all.” He presses me against the wall, caging me with his arms,
    pinning me in a stare. “Tell me who is scaring you and I promise you, Amy, I
    will make them go away.”
    If only it were that easy. If only he could be my Prince Charming, my
    hero. But the truth he wants is that I’m a reality show kind of gal. And in
    reality, heroes die, just like everyone else in my life. I grab his shirt and lean
    into him. “What happened to you fucking me until we can’t walk anymore?
    That’s what tonight is supposed to be. Not you making me one of
    your mathematical equations you have to crack. I don’t want to be cracked,
    Liam. I don’t want to answer questions. I want to be fucked.” I barely
    recognize the woman who can say such a thing and that only twists me into
    a few more knots. I am sick of not knowing. “You promised. You said you
    were—”
    I yelp in surprise as he picks me up and starts walking. “What are you
    doing?”
    “No more questions, remember?”
    Blood rushes to my ears, and I do not even try to see the room
    around me but I am aware it’s a fancy sitting area that is nothing more than
    a means to an end. The bedroom. Sex. We are going to have sex. That’s
    what I asked for. That’s what I dared to demand. Actually, I demanded I be
    fucked. Until last night, I didn’t say that word. This man is changing me and
    I am not sure if that is good or bad. It feels good. He feels good, but maybe
    too good. I cannot even willingly lie to the man when lying is how I survive.
    He is making me careless. He is making me…so much.
    Too much. Not enough when I want more, and I have no business
    wanting anything at all.
    We enter the bedroom and a light glows dimly, though I am not
    aware of how or when
    Liam turned it on, and to my surprise, he bypasses the bed that sits in
    the center of the main wall of the room. Instead, he sets me on my feet in
    front of a massive bathroom I barely glimpse, before he shuts the door. And
    that intense edginess I’m coming to know as Liam has cranked up several
    notches. He is mad or…wounded? Over me? That can’t be. He is confident
    and experienced and I am…whatever I am, but I am less, if I have hurt this
    man who has already proven he is so much more than his Wiki page.
    “Liam—”
    “No more talking.” His hands come down on my waist, a possessive
    branding, and his voice is hard, a tight band I have the impression might
    break with his mood at any moment. He walks me backwards several steps
    until my heels hit the door and I lean against the hard surface.
    His legs shackle mine, holding me as captive as the burn in his eyes.
    “You want me to fuck you, Amy, I’ll fuck you.”
    I think he is angry and suddenly, the word “fuck” feels like a slap
    when I am the one