by E. K. Blair
Thank God.
I knock lightly, and when no one answers, I check the handle to find it’s unlocked. Worried about why she’s here and not in my bed, I go ahead and let myself in, making my way back to her room. As soon as I open her door, she’s in a frenzy, slinging the sheets from her bed across the room.
“Candace?”
She snaps around, and her face is worse than it was last night. Puffy with bloodshot eyes, and she’s crying.
“Get out,” she seethes, and my gut knots. I don’t know what’s going on, but the look in her eyes is freaking me out.
“Babe, what’s going on?” I ask as I walk towards her, but she shoots her arms out at me, not wanting me to come any closer.
“Stay away from me.”
“Baby, what happened?”
She begins to cry loudly as she backs herself against the wall, and I just want to know what the fuck happened and why she’s acting so scared of me.
“You know exactly what happened. You know exactly who I am!” she screams.
I stand there, in the middle of her room, confused as shit while my mind races to find clarity in this.
Suddenly, it hits.
She knows.
But how?
She’s freaking out, and I can’t seem to find the right words to explain myself.
“How could you?!” she screams, and I don’t know how I’m gonna calm her down. My heart is pounding, and the utter fear inside of me has me in a panic.
“Babe, let me explain.”
“Explain what?! That you’ve been lying to me this whole time? That you’ve just been using me? Why?!”
“No! It’s not like that. I didn’t know.”
“How could you not know? God, I’m so fucking stupid.”
“I didn’t know when I first met you. I didn’t know until I saw your tattoo,” I try telling her, but I see it in her eyes. She doesn’t believe me, and I don’t know what to do.
Fuck. What do I do?
“What?!”
“Babe, please let me explain.”
“Get out! Get the fuck out! I don’t ever want to see you again.”
Her words pierce through me, and I choke in a breath as she falls to the floor, wailing, but I can’t leave. My mind is racing, and I’m at a loss.
“Just leave me alone,” she cries.
“I’m not leaving,” I tell her because I don’t know how to leave her. I can’t. I’ve never seen her so mad and to have all that anger directed at me makes me terrified to walk away until I know we’re okay.
I quickly move to the floor, kneeling in front of her, but she coils herself away from me.
I’m desperate.
“I fuckin’ hate you,” she throws at me, and it kills. “You made me fall in love with you, and it was all a goddamn lie.”
“God, Candace. Please let me explain,” I beg as I reach out to touch her.
“Get out! Get the fuck out!”
My head snaps back when I hear the door slam open.
“Get the fuck out and away from her before I call the cops,” Kimber says as she stands in the doorway, but I don’t give a shit about her as I look back to my girl who is falling apart on me.
“Babe, please. I love you so fuckin’ much. Let me explain. Don’t do this.”
“I didn’t do shit, Ryan! Just go. It’s over!” She covers her face and won’t even look at me. It’s like a damn knife in my heart, and I feel like I’m drowning. I don’t want to believe her words. She’s just upset. She can’t really want this to be over.
“I’m serious. After the shit from last night, you better get the fuck away from her and leave. Now!” I hear Kimber say from behind me.
I don’t know how to fix this or what I can do. Every time I speak, I seem to only make it worse. So against everything I want to do, I stand up and walk away. It’s like I’m losing her piece by piece with every step I take, but I love her too much to hurt her, and I’m so fuckin’ mad at myself for lying to her.
Walking past Kimber, I can’t even look back to Candace who’s crumpled on the floor crying. It hurts too much to know I’m the cause of her pain. How could I do this to her? How could I have been so selfish?
“Fuuuck!” I scream, gritting it out of my lungs as I slam the door shut and walk out to my car. Getting in, I strike my palms against the steering wheel, pounding it over and over again, screaming. It hurts coming out, but I need to feel the pain because I feel like I just lost everything.
I’ve seen her cry and be upset in the past, but this . . . this is beyond just being upset. Instead of going back inside to be with her, comfort her, explain to her how stupid I am, I drive back home. I don’t want to, but I do. I don’t feel like I have a choice since I just ripped out my girlfriend’s heart because I was too much of a coward to tell her the truth.
Walking through the door, I see her phone that remains at the bottom of the stairs and begin to wonder what the hell happened while I was asleep. How did she find out? I have a thousand questions swarming inside of me, but I’m just too far gone to concentrate to try to make sense out of all of this.
I don’t know how to respond or what I should do. I figure I’ll give her space to calm down before I try talking to her again. She has to understand. She has to listen and believe me when I tell her how much I love her. I can’t lose her, but what if she doesn’t believe me?
The agony ripping through me hurts so much, and I can’t control the unrelenting tears that begin to pour out of me, taking every bit of happiness with them, until I’m nothing but numb, sitting on the couch and staring out at the rain.
Time doesn’t exist right now. Nothing does. I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting here in a stagnant melancholy when I hear a knock on my door. I hope with everything I have that she’s standing on the other side. When I walk over and open it, I barely get a glimpse of Jase before his fist barrels into the side of my face, clipping my jaw, causing me to lose my balance as I stumble back.
“I told you not to fuck around with her.”
Looking up, he steps inside and slams the door shut. I wish he would come back and bury his fist into me again. I deserve every hit. When I straighten myself up and wipe the blood from my split lip, he’s pissed and has every right.
“What the fuck, man?” he slings at me.
I don’t even try to defend myself. I’m a piece of shit and know it.
“You better fuckin’ say something and give me a reason to not beat the shit out of your ass.”
“Is she okay?” I ask because that’s all I care about.
“No, man. She’s not okay. She’s a fuckin’ mess right now, and I don’t know what to do for her. What the hell were you thinking?”
“I don’t know,” I say as I walk over and flop down on the couch. “I didn’t know it was her.”
“Don’t bullshit me.”
“I’m not bullshitting you.”
“Did you just feel sorry for her?”
“Fuck no. It wasn’t like that.”
“Then tell me what it was like, because right now, my best friend is falling apart,” he says, completely pissed, as he sits down in the chair.
His words hit me hard, and I lose it. I don’t even try to hide my pain from him because at this point, I feel like I have nothing left. I give him the honest truth when I tell him, “I was the one who called 911 that night. But that girl was unrecognizable, so when I met Candace, the only thing that struck me about her and that girl in the alley was their small size. I swear I didn’t know it was her.”
“But you did eventually.”
“She has this tattoo. The same tattoo I saw that night. I had already fallen hard for her when I saw it, and it fuckin’ killed me. I didn’t know how to tell her at that point. I couldn’t hurt her.”
“So you lied to her?”
“It didn’t seem like a lie, man. Not for a while. Not until she opened up to me about the rape.”
“So why didn’t you tell her then?” he asks
.
“I was scared I’d lose her. It was selfish, but I love that girl with everything I have. I just . . . I didn’t know how to tell her.”
“When I met you at the bar that morning . . . you hadn’t just found out, had you? You already knew.”
“Yeah, man. I knew,” I admit. “It was just the first time she opened up about it.”
Jase leans forward, with his elbows propped on his legs when he releases a deep breath and says, “You should have told me. We could have figured out a way to tell her.”
The two of us have become pretty decent friends, and now I see that I deceived him as well.
“I’m sorry, man,” I tell him, completely defeated.
He stares out the window when he says, “She’s devastated.”
I want to help her, but I’m not even sure if I know how. “What do I do?” I ask, desperate.
“I don’t know. She feels betrayed and lied to. Like she was some project just to make you feel better about what you saw.”
“She said that?”
He nods his head, and I ask, “You believe that?”
When he looks over at me, he says, “No. I know you love her. I get that you were trying to protect her.”
“I just need to talk to her. I need her to understand.”
“I don’t know if that’s gonna happen.” He takes a pause before continuing. “You know how she is. She avoids and hides. I don’t know if she’s gonna want to deal with this pain.”
Lowering my head, I choke out, “I can’t lose her.” I let the agony take over me for a moment before I sit up, and ask, “How did she find out?”
“She spoke with the detective this morning.”
“What?” I ask in shock. “Wait. Is she pressing charges?” I ask.
“I think she was considering it, but now, I don’t think so. I don’t think she’d be able to deal with it right now. Not with how upset she is.”
I had no idea that she was thinking about this. Enough to make a phone call. It’s all I’ve ever wanted her to do. To take control and stand up for herself. Whether or not she wants me in her life, I need her to do this because I know it will help her deal with all of it, so I tell Jase, “You need to tell her to do it.”
“I don’t think it’s gonna happen, man. Not now.”
Guilt floods me. Knowing that I possibly ruined this for her. Ruined this opportunity for her to seek justice and to help herself fight through this. That my lie would take that away from her. I feel like I keep failing her. Hurting her because of my selfish decision.
“Talk to her. Tell her to not let what I did stop her from doing something about this. She needs to do something.”
“I know that. Trust me, I do. But she’s in a bad place right now, and I can’t push her.”
I take in his words, knowing that he’s right, but it doesn’t make it any easier.
Jase stands up and says, “She wants me to get her things.”
His words take me by surprise. “Why?”
He doesn’t say anything, but I can read his face. She’s having a knee-jerk reaction, and I’m losing control. That she would be so quick to walk away from me. To want her things out of my house. The place she’s been spending all of her time when she’s not at school. How could she want me gone in an instant when I want to fight so hard to keep her? I want to throw him outta here. Not because he isn’t a friend of mine, but because the longer he’s here, the more I feel her slipping away. If he takes her things, he takes a reason for her to come back here. It’s selfish, I know, but it’s all I have.
“How much?” I ask, fearing the words that come next.
“Everything.”
He follows me upstairs, and as I help him pack her clothes and dance stuff, it’s like I’m packing up parts of me that she helped me find. Without her, I just don’t know who I am anymore. I can’t even wrap my head around what’s going on right now.
I go into the bathroom to get her belongings, but I keep a few of her things, including her bottle of perfume. I can’t let him take all of her away from me, so I leave them on the counter as I carry her other items out and pack them in her bag.
I watch as Jase zips it up and slings it over his shoulder. Before he walks out, he steps next to me and says, “I’m sorry.”
Nodding my head, because I can’t speak with the pain in my chest, he adds, “I’ll try talking to her for you. You’re a good guy and the only reason why she was able to be happy after what happened to her,” before walking out of my room and out the front door to head back to where I left my heart—with Candace.
Turning to face the bed, I look at the mussed up sheets where I held her last night. I tell myself that she just needs time. That when she calms down, I’ll be able to explain everything and we can work this out. Because we just have to.
Walking over to her side, I sit on the edge of the bed and see her necklace on the nightstand. She never takes it off, but here it lies. When I reach over to pick it up, I notice the chain is broken. I run my finger over the stamped words and wonder if we’re broken too.
“Baby, please. I know you’re upset with me, and you have every right. I fucked up, but I love you. Please call me back. Let me talk to you and explain everything. I miss you.”
I hang up the phone after leaving another voicemail for her. I’ve been calling and texting for the past few days, but I get nothing in response. It kills me to think that I might not ever hear her voice again, but each day that passes without being able to talk to her confirms what I don’t want to accept because it can’t be over. This can’t be it.
I went out yesterday to get her necklace fixed. I didn’t like the idea of it remaining broken. I can only hope that she’ll one day wear it again, but for now, it lies on the counter in my bathroom by her perfume.
I decided to come into work today because I’m going crazy at home. I need the distraction, and when I get here, I head upstairs. Max’s office door is open, and when I stop in, he says, “Hey, man. Been trying to call you.”
“Sorry. Things have been crazy,” I tell him as I sit down in front of his desk.
“Dude, I don’t even know what to say. Shit was insane when you left the other night.”
“Yeah?” I ask, but that night feels like it was weeks ago instead of days. So much has happened, and my thoughts haven’t been on anything but Candace.
“The cops came by later that night.”
“What did you tell them?”
“Just that I didn’t know who the fuck started the fight. That by the time I made it inside they were gone. There were so many people here that they weren’t gonna waste their time asking around, so you’re good.”
“Thanks, man,” I say. “What happened when I left?”
Leaning back in his seat, he tells me, “I dragged his ass out back and kicked the shit out of him before slamming him into the dumpster. He was fucked up. Bad.”
I don’t even know how to feel about all of this because it all just hurts. Every part of it. It all came crashing down so fast.
“How’s Candace?”
“I don’t know. She won’t talk to me.”
“Why? What happened?”
Dropping my head to the side, I rest it in my hand, telling him, “She found out about me being the one who found her that night. She bailed, and I haven’t heard from her since the day after the fight.”
He shakes his head, confused, and questions, “You told her?”
“No. I talked to Jase. He said she had spoken with the detective on the case, and he had told her who the witness was . . . me. She took the call while I was still asleep, and when I woke, she was gone.”
“Fuck,” he sighs out.
“I really fucked this up.”
Leaning his arms on the desk, he asks, “What are you gonna do?”
“I dunno, man. I keep calling and texting, but knowing her, she’s probably just deleting them.”
“Maybe she just needs time.”
“Yeah,” I say
as I stand up. “Maybe. I’ll be in my office if you need me.”
I spend the rest of the day buried in work that Max should be doing, but I need to keep busy, so I take it off his hands and work late into the night.
I finally talked to my mom last night after avoiding her calls. She was upset, hating that Candace had to find out from someone other than me. But I can’t keep asking myself what if. It is what it is, and I can’t go back because if I could, I would have done it all differently.
It’s been two weeks—and nothing. I call her everyday—and nothing. I’m going crazy, practically living at the bar, hiding in my office, and doing what I can to keep busy. I wound up hanging out with Jase and Mark the other day when they came up for drinks.
They’re my only connection to her, but they are also genuine friends and I don’t want to let go of that. Aside from Max, they’re friends that I’ve connected with on a more authentic level than I have in the past. I don’t want to go back to what I had before I met them. Candace showed me what it was to connect, and I’m not going to trash that. I can’t.
When there’s a knock at my door, I open it to find Jase standing there.
“Hey, man. What’s up?” I say as he walks in.
“Nothing. What are you up to?”
“Not a damn thing,” I tell him. “Wanna beer?”
“Nah, I’m good,” he says as he takes a seat in my living room. “How have you been?”
“How do you think I’ve been?” I respond as I fall back on the couch, kicking my feet onto the coffee table.
“I can’t get her to talk to me,” he admits.
“Join the club.”
“I’m serious, man. She won’t leave her house. I’m worried.”
“Why are you telling me this?” I ask, because all his words do is hurt me.
“Maybe if she could hear you explain yourself . . .”
“You don’t think I’ve tried? Dude, I call her every single day. She won’t talk to me.”
“Go over there,” he says.
“If she’s not returning my calls or texts, she’s not gonna let me in.”
“She needs to talk to you. Take my key and just go. She needs to hear you ‘cause she’s shutting us all out,” he says. “You should see her. She looks awful.”
