by E. K. Blair
I don’t want to say anything because I don’t want to draw any attention and embarrass Candace. Plus, last I heard, Gavin was still fucking her, so I’m just hoping that for Gavin’s sake, she’ll stay away from me.
We take a seat on the couch with one of my old college buddies, and after introducing him to Candace, we begin catching up. I keep my hand on her knee while I talk to my friend, but my mind is elsewhere. Bringing Candace here was more for her than for me. She had expressed to me that she was curious to get to know my friends since I’m now a part of her small circle with Jase and Mark, already knowing so much about the three of them. But these friendships here are superficial. None of them have a clue about Candace, and probably just assume she’s a random chick I’m banging. There was a time that I would hang out with these people on a regular basis, but it’s been a while.
The evening wears on, and eventually Candace leans into me, saying, “I’m gonna go get another drink. Want one?”
“Yeah, babe. Thanks.”
When she heads into the kitchen, Gavin flops down next to me.
“What the fuck is Gina doing here?” I ask under my breath.
“Dude, relax. She’s chill.”
“You still seeing her?”
Cocking his brow at me, he says, “First off, you know I don’t see anyone. But I haven’t hooked up with her in a while. Between you and me,” he says when he shifts himself on the couch, “she was only fuckin’ me to get to you.”
“What?”
“Yep. Her roommate told me, and that’s when I backed away from that crazy bitch,” he says with an exaggerated shudder.
“That’s sick,” I tell him and then add, “And you’re trying to tell me she’s chill?”
Gavin starts to respond, but I’m no longer listening when Candace walks back into the room, fuming mad. She doesn’t even stop when she passes me and snaps, “Take me home,” and then heads out the door.
Grabbing her coat, I don’t say shit to Gavin or even look back when I go outside.
“Candace,” I call out, and when she gets to my jeep, she turns, and I see the humiliation all over her face as she yells at me, “Did you sleep with that girl in there? Gina?”
I release a hard breath, hating that I have to do this to her, but she cuts me off before I can even open my mouth.
“Forget it. Just take me home.”
She opens the door and hops in. She’s pissed and rightfully so. I knew it was a mistake to bring her to Gavin’s. Why the hell would she want to see what I’m trying to forget? I don’t know what the fuck Gina said to her, but I hope I never run into her again.
As I start driving back across town, Candace is silent, staring out of her window.
“I didn’t know she was going to be there,” I start to tell her, needing to clear the air because I can’t stand her being upset like this. “When I saw her, I didn’t want to say anything to draw attention.”
She doesn’t speak. She only pulls her one knee up to her chest and turns to face out the window, giving me nothing but the back of her head. I don’t know if she’s crying or not, but the fact that she won’t talk to me hurts.
“Candace, say something.”
But she doesn’t. I know she wants to go home, but I’m selfish and don’t want her to run from me, so I take her to my place. Pulling up to my loft, she quietly says, “Ryan, I really just want to go home.”
I don’t respond when I get out of the car and walk around to open her door. Holding out my hand for her, she doesn’t protest when she takes it and follows me inside and up to my room.
“Ryan, what are you doing?” she finally asks when I drop her hand to grab her some clothes from my dresser.
“You’re not going home. Here,” I tell her when I hand her a pair of my boxers and a t-shirt.
She takes them and makes her way into my bathroom, closing the door behind her. I quickly change, not enjoying a second of this tension, but I’m not letting it go unresolved.
“Ryan,” she calls to me when she cracks the door open. “Can you bring me my purse?”
Picking it up off the bed, I go hand it to her before she shuts the door again. It bothers me that I’ve never seen her undressed. That she always hides herself in my bathroom to change. I’ve never been so in the dark with a girl before, and I don’t know what to make of it.
I turn the lights off but leave the shades on the panoramic windows open so that I can watch the rain that is now falling hard. The moon must be full with the glow of the clouds that casts a faint bluish hue throughout the room.
When she finally comes out of the bathroom, I watch her as she pads across the wooden floor and climbs up onto the bed. I never get tired of seeing her in my clothes, and when she slides in, I instinctively pull her into me, face to face.
“Talk to me,” I tell her softly.
She lets out a slow breath and is so forthcoming with me when she says, “I’m sorry. I’m not mad at you, and I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I just . . . I don’t like feeling the way she made me feel. It’s embarrassing.”
“She was nothing to me.”
Looking down, she hesitantly asks, “When did you . . . I mean . . . How long ago?”
“August or so,” I give her honestly. I brush her hair back when she closes her eyes and quietly say, “They were only there to distract me, but when I saw you, you faded everything I needed distracting from.”
“Did you love any of them?” she asks when she opens her eyes and looks at me.
“No.”
“Do you love me?”
“I’ve only ever loved you,” I assure her, not even wanting to think about the absurdity of her question.
When I roll myself on top of her, she doesn’t miss a beat when she pulls me down and kisses me. It’s strong and sure. It’s the first time she has ever kissed me this way, and I feel like I need it right now. The confirmation that we’re okay. I return her intensity when I dip my tongue inside of her mouth and start running my hand down her neck, over her shirt, and between her breasts. She fists my hair, and I’m gone.
My desire for closeness takes over, and I need to feel her skin against mine. Slipping my hand under her shirt, I notice she’s still wearing her bra when I take her in my hand. Her nipple hardens as I slide it between my two fingers, and when I press them together gently, her body arches up into mine, and I can’t control the moan that comes out of me.
“God, I want you,” I whisper when I sit back on my heels and pull her up to me. I can see it in her eyes, the want, so I don’t ask as I slowly start peeling her shirt off when she lifts her arms up.
Tossing the shirt aside, I look at her as I gradually run my hands down her sides. She’s perfect in her purple lace bra. She doesn’t have large breasts, but fuck, she’s sexy as hell, and I just want my hands all over her.
I peer into her eyes when she cups my face in her hands, and my heart starts beating in a way it never has before. “Babe . . .”
As I lay her back down, I drag my lips along her neck as she holds on to the sides of my head while I keep trailing down. I suck her nipple into my mouth, dragging my tongue over the swollen bud. Heat courses through me, and I need to feel more of her when I begin to run my fingers along the underside of her waistband. Hooking them under the fabric, I sit back, and when I slightly tug down, I see it.
No.
Suddenly, reality stabs into my chest, and I feel everything I never wanted to be true pour out of me. Time freezes. I can’t breathe, and the panging inside of me is unbearable. I know I can’t deny what I see, but I want to. Because it can’t be. It just can’t.
God, don’t let it be.
Slow motion. Everything moves in slow motion as I bring my hand to her hip, and with a trembling thumb, I drag it across what I can no longer blame on head-trips. I brush it again, not wanting to believe what my eyes see. A thin black outline of a tiny heart. That tiny heart from that night.
The thudding of my chest is painful; it’s the
most painful thing I’ve ever felt in my entire life, and before I know it, she slings hers arms around me, but I’m in shock. I can’t fuckin’ move. I’m too scared.
It can’t be her.
Not her.
Not that girl.
Not my girl.
Squeezing my eyes shut, it’s all I see now. Her bloody thighs. Her beaten face. Her shredded nails.
“God, please! Stop!”
I hear it. Her voice. Her shrieking, desperate voice. Opening my eyes, I’m jittery. She has to feel it. Her body is clung tightly to mine, and I realize that I’m not touching her. I feel like I can’t touch her. Like I don’t know how, but I force myself to. And when I cautiously wrap my arms around her, I feel her shaking too. And now everything is clear. I can’t pretend that I don’t know exactly why she’s shaking. I’m such a fuckin’ dick, rubbing up on this girl because I can’t fuckin’ control myself around her.
God, what the hell is wrong with me?
Her body begins to soften into mine, and I don’t know what to say. How do I tell her? Do I tell her? Do I say something?
Say something.
“Candace.”
“Please, don’t say anything.”
Her voice is pleading, so I don’t. And now, I’m scared to take my hands away from her. Like she would break if it weren’t for my arms. I keep her close when I lie us down and pull the sheets over us.
She’s doesn’t say anything else, and the silence rings in my ears. My head is loud. It’s a maniacal filtering of memories, flashes weaving together to form a solid image that’s undeniable. But I denied it. How could I have done that when it all makes sense now? Every panic, every startle, her fear of crowds, her night terrors, her constant hesitation with intimacy. And fuck. That dumpster. How stupid could I be? She stood right there. She panicked . . . in my parking lot. My bar. That’s why she’s never come back.
I can’t be with her.
I have to be with her.
God, I love this girl so much. I can’t let her go even though I know I should. But with me, I have the guarantee that she’s safe. And I need her. Because it’s only with her that I’m finally realizing that I can be the man I never thought I could be, and I don’t think I could be this way with anyone else but her.
Lifting up, I scoot back so that I can lean against the headboard, bringing Candace with me and tucking her head under my chin. I don’t want to lie to her, but do I tell her who I am? Does she even know that someone was there? This girl has been hurt so much, and by too many people, that I can’t have my name added to that list. I can’t do that to her. And for what? What difference would it make, if any at all? For this, I resolve to not say anything. I just can’t do that to her.
This shit hurts. Bad. And now, every time I close my eyes, I see her lying there naked, raped in the alley of my bar. It’s like someone’s slowly gutting me. And for the first time in years, I let myself break. Candace has long fallen asleep in my arms when I feel the first of many tears roll down my cheeks and into her hair.
When I release the pain, I see that I hold so much of the blame. I heard her from inside. I heard the banging around, and I ignored it. If I would have just gone out there, I could have saved her. I could have done so much more than I did because I dismissed the ruckus for a couple of drunken guys. She was being raped when nothing but a brick wall separated us. How could I be so irresponsible?
We’ve taken our slow time getting to know each other, but now I feel like she’s different, and I don’t know what to do with that feeling. I always knew she was hiding something. Jase even told me that she was going through some tough shit, but this? I don’t know what to do with this. I feel like an ass for all the times I’ve tried to touch her in ways that were too much for her and she had to stop me.
I’ll never be able to tell her how sorry I am. There aren’t enough words. There isn’t enough in this world that I could give her to show her how truly fuckin’ sorry I am. So I sit here and cry for her because I don’t know what else to do. I love this girl beyond anything. Love her from a place in my heart I never knew I had.
So now . . . now she sleeps in my arms while I stay up, because sleep isn’t strong enough to take me out of my head tonight. When I close my eyes, it’s August, and I’m hovering over my Jane Doe. The girl I spent weeks wondering about. The girl that kept finding her way back into my head, only to realize that I’ve had her in my arms for months now.
My head is pounding, and I’m tired as hell. Now that she’s awake and moving around my loft, I suddenly don’t know how to act. I don’t know what to say. This realization has flipped a switch for me, and I don’t know how to respond, so I stay quiet.
I’m in the kitchen, fixing her a cup of coffee when she walks over to me and asks, “Did you not sleep last night?”
Screwing on the lid to her mug, I’m evasive when I tell her, “Not much,” before handing her the cup and walking into the other room to grab our coats so that I can take her home. I feel like I can’t touch her. Like I can’t be the same with her. I want to scream and punch my fuckin’ fist through the wall. Why did it have to be her? And what piece of shit would do that to her? She’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever known.
Handing her the coat, I ask, “You ready?”
“Yeah,” she says shyly as she keeps her eyes down.
She slips it on, and I know that my attitude is making her uncomfortable, so I take her hand in mine as we head outside into the bitter cold.
It only takes a couple of minutes to drive to her house, and when I pull up and park the car, she turns to me and says, “I’m sorry about last night, and I get that you’re mad, but—”
“What?” I interrupt, not understanding what she did that she would need to be sorry for. “Why would I be mad?”
She shakes her head, unsure of herself when she tells me, “Because I keep pushing you away. You’ve hardly said two words to me this morning. So, I just figured . . .”
Fuck. I’ve been so wrapped up in myself that I didn’t realize I’ve been a total dick to her this morning. Getting out of the car, I walk over to her side, open her door, and unclick her seatbelt, grabbing on to her hips to face me. I don’t know what I’m doing, but seeing the look on her face snaps me out of my fears immediately. I feel like I can’t be the same with her, but I have to be. I want to be, because I love what we are together.
I’m firm when I declare, “Everything you give me is perfect. You have to stop feeling like this. I’m here with you, and I’m not going anywhere.” Needing her to believe me, I don’t hesitate when I take her lips with mine. It bothers me that she doubts herself so much with me. My thoughts are all over the map, but one thing is certain, as hard as this is, I know I can’t let it change us. I can’t allow it to filter in and affect me because I can’t give her any reasons to doubt that I love her from the purest part of me there is.
When I break our kiss, I softly tell her, “I’m sorry if I’ve been a dick, I just didn’t get much sleep.”
“It’s okay. I overreacted.”
But she isn’t overreacting because her observations are astute and this is my fault. Taking her hand, I help her out of the car and shut the door, leaning her back against it when I take her face in my hands and look into her eyes, trying to connect in a way so that there is no doubt within her when I tell her, “I never thought I needed anything in this life until I met you. Everything you give me is exactly what I have always needed, and you do it perfectly.”
I don’t give her a chance to respond when I pull her into me, pressing my lips into hers. Her hands around my back are firm as she holds me close, and I wish she didn’t have to go to school because I want to keep her wrapped up in me like this all day.
We say goodbye, and when she’s inside, I start driving to work. When I pull into the lot and park, my phone buzzes with a text from Candace.
Can I stay with you?
I’ve never been so sure of anything when I type out my response.
I don’t know what happened in the past ten minutes since I dropped her off, but if she needs me, she has me. Sitting in my jeep, I go ahead and call her so that I can make sure everything is all right.
“Hey,” she answers apprehensively.
“Did something happen?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t want to impose, but I just . . .” she trails off when I assure her, “You’re nothing close to an imposition, babe.”
“Kimber is here, and it’s not good. I just think I should give her some space.”
The comfort of knowing that she ran to me, and not Jase, shows me that she’s in this, and I love her even more for that. “When do you get out of class?”
“I’m going straight to work after I get out of school, so I won’t be home till a little after seven tonight.”
“I’ll meet you at your place and help you get a couple bags together, okay?”
I hear her release a sigh before she says, “Thank you, Ryan. Really.”
We hang up, and when I get out of the car, I can’t help myself when I turn to the back of the alley. I walk over towards the dumpster and can see that son of a bitch on top of her again. Shoving his hand between her legs. Slamming his fist into the side of her head. The images unleash a rage inside of me when I think about what happened to her, and the guilt that I was right fuckin’ here and didn’t protect her from it.
Questions storm inside. Is she a different person now because of it? What did she go through after it happened? What is she going through now? I know she has to be masking the pain because I’m pretty certain that I now know what it is that’s constantly causing all of her restless sleep at night. Is that what she dreams about? Fuck! Is that the shit that fills her head when she’s in bed with me?
