by E. K. Blair
Raking my hands through my hair, I drop my head and spot a small crate of empty bottles. When I can no longer stand the rapid banging of my heart against my chest, I fume as I pick up the whole crate, smashing it violently against the side of the dumpster. Screams grit through my lungs, and the explosion of glass shattering echoes in the quiet morning air.
“What the hell are you doing?” Max yells out from behind me, but I keep my eyes on the shards of glass that are scattered on the ground. The same ground where some fucker . . .
“Ryan, man,” Max says and knocks me out of my thoughts when I turn to face him, and the anger inside of me is blatant. It’s a force that I can’t push down when I yell, “It was her!”
“What are you talking about?” he questions as he moves closer to me, glass crunching under his boots with each step.
“The girl that was raped . . . It’s her.”
He shakes his head, not piecing it together while my muscles tense up in frustration with everything.
“It’s Candace,” I breathe out because the constricting of my throat makes it painful to speak.
His face drops, stunned when he asks, “How do you know?”
“Because that girl, she has the same tattoo that I saw on Candace last fuckin’ night!” Those last words seethe out of me as I pick up a bottle from another crate and barrel it into the dumpster, creating another spray of glass after it smashes into a splattering of pieces. My breathing is heavy as I press my palms to my forehead and admit, barely holding myself together, “I don’t want it to be her, man.” I can barely choke out the words, but I had to hold my shit together quietly last night and now . . . now it bleeds out.
“Fuck,” I hear him mumble before he asks, “What did she say?”
Looking up at him, I tell him, “She doesn’t know. I couldn’t tell her.” When I see the way he’s looking at me, like I’m an idiot for not telling her, I shout at him, pleading, “What would I fuckin’ say, Max?! What should I have said to her?!” I pause, catching my breath before I continue in a calmer tone. “I love her,” I tell him with a defeated shrug of my shoulders. “I can’t hurt her like that.”
“Has she even told you that she was . . . you know?”
“No,” I respond. “I don’t think she ever intends to either.” I start walking away, not wanting to talk about this shit anymore, and when I pass him, I stop and look over at him. “We’re never gonna mention this again. Got it?”
“Yeah, man,” he whispers to me. “Got it.”
I’m not talking about this shit with anyone. Max knows and that’s where it stays. It won’t come up again. I won’t talk about her like that. Whatever happens, it’s private and stays between Candace and me.
Candace’s roommate wasn’t home when I went over to help her get a few bags packed. Most of her belonging were all ready to go by the time I got there, so it didn’t take us too long before we left, which was good because she was really upset about the whole thing.
We spent a while moving things around in my room to make space for her. She didn’t want to go through the hassle, but I wanted to make sure that she was comfortable and that all her things had a place in my home. She didn’t say how long she was staying, and I told her to play it by ear. I’m just happy that I don’t have to say goodbye to her at night anymore. That she will be here every day with me.
Getting into bed, I sit back against the headboard and watch her as she ties her hair up on top of her head.
“Come over here,” I tell her as I wrap my arms around her.
She slips her arm around my waist as we lie here. It feels good to have her close after the shit day I’ve had. She’s always has this effect on me, and I’ve never needed it more than I do now.
When I kiss the top of her head, she runs her fingers along my scar, asking, “How did you get this?”
“My dad.”
“Sorry,” she says as she looks up at me.
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to bring it up if you aren’t comfortable talking about it.”
“Babe, I’d tell you anything.” She keeps her eyes on me when I open up to her and show her the side of me that no one else gets to see. “I came home from a party one night and walked in on my father beating the shit out of my mom in our kitchen. He smashed a coffee mug into the back of her head, and I lost it. I started whaling on him. Eventually, he managed to get his hands on a butcher’s knife.”
“Oh my God,” she whispers. I know it can’t be easy to hear, but I give her this, knowing that I hold what is probably her darkest secret.
“That’s the night he died. He left, and my mom called 911, so we were taken to the hospital by ambulance. The next morning, we were back home, and two cops showed up at the front door to tell me about the car crash.”
“I don’t know what to say,” she quietly admits.
Running my fingers up and down her arm, I tell her, “There’s really nothing to say. I hated him. He had beaten the shit out of me my whole life. He didn’t even need a reason. Sometimes he would just come home from work and knock me around for the hell of it.”
“But why?” she asks, and when she looks up at me, her eyes are rimmed with tears.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “But I do know that he couldn’t stand me. He hated me just as much as I hated him.”
“What could anyone possibly hate about you?”
Her words are sweet, and I lean down to give her lips a quick kiss before she continues, “So . . . nobody knew?”
I shake my head.
“How did you deal with all of that alone?”
“Vices. In high school I used to do a lot of drugs, but I stopped shortly after my dad died. I felt like what happened to my mom that night was my fault. I was wasted and passed out at a party when I should have been at home with her.”
“That wasn’t your fault though,” she tells me.
“I know that now. But it got me to give up popping so many pills. In turn, I just traded one vice for another. I was searching for a way to numb myself. I’d been doing it since I was a little kid, and by the time he was dead, it was all I knew to do. So I kept looking for ways to escape.”
“I can see that,” she responds. “The need to hide.”
I shift us down so that we’re lying on our sides. She hides behind her dance and school. She busies herself when there isn’t anything to really keep her busy. She’s an overachiever, but I don’t point out her vice, instead I reveal, “I don’t want to hide from you though. You’re the only one I can say that about.” She runs her hand along my cheek, when I go on, “I’ve always been scared to connect with women.”
“Why?”
Giving her my fear, I let it all out there. “Because I’m afraid I’ll wind up just like him.”
Keeping her hand on my face, she whispers softly, “That won’t happen.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because you’re the kindest person I know. Because you’ve never put yourself before me. You’re a genuine guy, Ryan.”
“You’re probably the only woman who would say that about me.”
“But how well did they know you?”
“They didn’t. Nobody does except you.”
“Can I ask you something?” she says coyly.
“Anything.”
Closing her eyes, she lets out a slow breath and then asks, “If you never wanted to connect with those girls, then why sleep with them?”
“Because they offered me an escape. If even for a few minutes, it was my way of disconnecting.” Tucking a loose piece of hair behind her ear, I lean my forehead against hers and tell her, “I was too scared to feel because I hadn’t ever done that before. I don’t know what it’s like to care more about someone other than myself.”
“But why me?” she breathes.
“You’ve always intrigued me. You aren’t like any girl I’ve ever known. Without even trying, you get me thinking about myself and what I want out of life. You’re
everything I never thought I wanted, but when I met you, you were everything I needed.”
She rests her hand on my jaw, and slowly runs her thumb along my lips when she says, “Somehow, you make up for everything I was missing before you. I have a hard time opening up to people; I know that. But I don’t want you to doubt that you have me, because you do.”
I know she struggles, and I’m still waiting for the day she will drop that wall with me to feel safe enough to tell me she loves me, but this . . . this lets me know that she’s trying.
“God, you are so much more than I deserve,” I breathe against her mouth before I kiss her.
I take what I learned last night and refuse to let it stand in the way of what we have together. I’m not gonna beat myself up because I want to touch her, because I know that each touch I want is because I love her. And that’s the only reason. I simply love her.
“What are you doing?” I ask when I walk through the front door and see Candace bent over in my kitchen, wrapping her thighs in Saran Wrap.
Peeking her head up, she tells me, “Helping my muscles recover,” as if this image isn’t anything out of the realm of normal.
I start laughing at her while she continues to wrap her legs. “Explain this to me because I’m dying to know.”
She rips the plastic from the roll and sets it on the counter before defending, “I swear it works. I’ve been doing it for years.”
“Wrapping yourself up like leftovers?” I tease.
“No,” she drags out. “You see, I use Tiger Balm,” she says as she hands me a tiny brown jar that can’t hold any more than an ounce. “Then, I seal it in with plastic wrap. It traps in the vapors, which allows for maximum absorption, bringing more relief to my muscles.”
Setting the jar down, I say, “Are you not worried about a chemical burn or some shit like that?”
“It’s never happened before,” she says as she walks out of the kitchen and into the living room.
Watching her, I laugh at the image . . . and the sound.
“Candace, this is some crazy shit you do, you know that right?”
She takes a seat on the couch as I move to join her.
“Yes, I know, but I swear it helps. Look, I have my audition in two days, and I’m freaking out because I keep getting these cramps in my legs. I’ve upped my calcium and potassium, but it’s still bothering me.”
“Give me your legs,” I tell her and she shifts to lie on her back, kicking her feet onto my lap.
“What are you doing?” she asks when I turn to the side to face her.
“I’m gonna give your calves a solid rubdown.”
She smiles as I start to knead my fingers into her muscles. I can’t get enough of her legs, even wrapped up like she has them. They are solid and sexy, and I take my time, thoroughly enjoying myself, as I give her calves a deep massage. She closes her eyes and relaxes while I make good use of the next thirty minutes.
When I’m done, I take her up to my bathroom where she begins to unwrap her legs.
“God, that shit stinks,” I complain as she wads up the wrap and tosses it to me.
“Be nice,” she scolds playfully. “I’m gonna take a quick shower. I’ll come to bed in a few minutes.”
“Okay,” I say when I lean down to peck her lips before I leave and close the door behind me.
I run downstairs to plug my cell into its charger in my office before locking up. Candace has her dance bag by the front door with her toe shoes lying on top of a towel. Walking over, I kneel down and run my finger over the dirty, torn pink satin. You can see the burn marks on the ribbon where I can tell she has used a lighter to stop them from fraying.
It’s ironic how these shoes mirror Candace. On the verge of falling apart. Barely holding together. Yet they do. She’s strong even though she’s breaking. I don’t see her doing anything to heal; she’s hiding and masking what I know is eating away at her. And these shoes, as worn as they are, they’re still strong and beautiful.
Turning off the lights, I head back upstairs and lie down. When Candace is done drying her hair, she crawls in next me, and I curl myself around her. We don’t talk as we both drift off to sleep.
When I stir awake, I’m alone in bed. Sitting up, I lean over to her nightstand to check the time on her phone. It’s after two in the morning. I roll out of bed and walk out to the top of the stairs and see her. She’s downstairs, sitting on the couch in the dark, watching the rain fall. The past couple nights since she’s been staying here, she hasn’t slept well. I haven’t said anything to her, but she spends most of her nights in a fit of restless sleep, keeping me awake while I hold her and just watch.
Quietly, I walk down the stairs and across the room. As I round the couch, I see her wrapped up in a blanket, and she’s crying. My heart is so heavy, and I don’t know what to do. All I want is to take it all away, but I don’t know how to do that.
She senses me and turns to look. I see it all over her face—the pain. She’s so tired. Without any words spoken, I sit down next to her and wipe the tears that stain her cheeks.
“I can’t sleep,” she whispers to me.
I look over her face, searching for words, but my own sadness wells up inside of my chest, and I can see the pleading in her eyes. She doesn’t want me to question why she’s crying, so I don’t. I already know. Pulling her closer to me, I hold on to her as she draws her legs up to her chest, cuddling into me. She turns her head and continues to watch the rain while I sit here in a painful silence. All that fills my head is the sound of her shrieking cries from that night, and I do everything I can to keep my emotions intact. Eventually, she dozes off and I scoop her up, carrying her back to bed.
I’ve been sitting here, anxiously waiting for Candace to get back. She left a couple hours ago for her audition at Meany Theater. I wanted to go with her, but she made me stay, saying that she didn’t want anything to distract her. I wouldn’t have been able to go into the theater to watch, but I wanted to at least be there to support her, but I understand.
She was a jittery mess all morning, and I did what I could to relax her, but she was too distracted to focus on anything, including me. Her determination and the neurotic behavior that comes along with it make me smile. She even broke out the Saran Wrap again when she woke up.
As soon as I hear the front door open, I walk out of my office to see Candace running down the hall. She jumps into my arms, wrapping her legs around my waist, and I’ve never seen a more perfect smile. She’s elated, and her joy is infectious, making me laugh, saying, “I take it you kicked ass?”
“I totally kicked ass. It was amazing!”
Her legs are clutched so tightly around me that I don’t even have to hold on to her, so I take my hands from her hips, move them to her face, and kiss her smile. She crashes her mouth with mine, enthusiasm controlling her. Taking her, I press her back up against the hallway wall, and before I can go in deeper with our kiss, she pulls away and starts laughing, telling me all about her audition. She spews out a bunch of French ballet shit, and I have no clue what she’s talking about, but she’s excited and happy, and that’s all I need to know. My smile is big as I stand here and watch her.
“I’m so proud of you, babe. I wish I could have seen you.”
“I know. I’m sorry,” she says as she combs her fingers through my hair. “Auditions are always closed.”
“When will you find out?”
“March first.”
“Next week?”
“Yeah, Friday,” she answers excitedly before pulling my head back to hers to kiss me, but I’ve got something to tell her as well.
Mumbling over her mouth, I say, “I’ve got news too.”
Not willing to take her lips from mine, she mutters, “What’s that?”
“Thinkspace Gallery called.”
Her head pops back. “And . . .?”
“They accepted your photo.”
“Your photo?!”
“No, your photo, babe.”
She smiles. She knows that picture is all her, and I refuse to take the credit for it.
“Congratulations,” she tells me, and I slow her down, wanting to really feel her against me.
I kiss her softly, gently sucking on her bottom lip as I graze my tongue along it. She tangles her hands in my hair when I band my arms around her. We move like this, taking our time, and when she pulls back, she peers into my eyes. There’s a look in her eyes that I can’t peg, so I ask, “What is it, babe?”
She takes her hand and runs it slowly down the side of my face, and I see the wall crumbling.
“I love you.”
Every part of me awakens, and I’ve never felt so alive. I didn’t think I needed to hear those words as much I did, but the trust that comes with them was what I craved the most.
“You’ll never know what those words just did to me,” I tell her and then carry her over to the couch so that I can show her, in our own way, how much I love her.
I lie on top of her, and she begins to lift up my shirt, so I reach over my head and pull it off. Sliding my hand down her leg, I lift it and wrap it around my hip.
“I’m sorry you had to wait so long,” she breathes.
“Don’t be,” I tell her. “You don’t even know how much you have already given me. When I met you, I found me.”
She smiles, saying again, “I love you.”
“I love you too, babe.”
We move slowly and spend the next hour making out the way we tend to do. I want more with her. I’ll always want more, but for now, I enjoy taking my time with her and savor every piece as she gives it to me.
“Ryan?”
Her soft voice pulls me from my sleep as I roll over and drape my arm around her from behind.
“Yeah, babe?” I whisper with my eyes still closed, but she doesn’t answer, so I let myself begin to drift back to sleep.
“Ryan?”
She calls my name louder, almost panicky, and when I open my eyes to look over at her, she’s still sleeping. I watch her for a second and then she screams, “Ryan!” as she flips onto her back, her hands clenched into fists.
