Falling (Fading Series)

by E. K. Blair

  I watch as he slides her house key off his key ring and then sets it on the table.

  “I don’t know, man. I don’t wanna hurt her.”

  “She’s already hurting. You’re the only one who has ever really gotten through to her in the past. Just try?”

  Staring at the bronze key lying there, I’d be an idiot to not take it. If only just to get a look at her. Anything. I’m desperate, so I take it.

  “Thanks, man,” he says before heading out.

  Pulling into her driveway, I already feel my anxiety welling up. I don’t know what I’m about to walk into, but I know she’s inside, and I’m desperate to see her. When I ring the doorbell, it takes a moment before I hear that voice I’ve been missing so much, but her words are nearly lifeless when she says, “Go away.”

  “You won’t return any of my calls, babe. Please, let me talk to you.”

  She doesn’t respond, and when I use the key to unlock the door, she turns to me and yells, “What are you doing?!”

  “Jase gave me a key.”

  She mumbles something under her breath before saying, “Ryan, please go. I don’t want to talk.”

  Jase wasn’t lying; she looks awful. She was small before, but I can tell she’s lost weight by the way her clothes are hanging on her. And I know she isn’t sleeping by the dark circles under her eyes. What the hell have I done to her? God, knowing she’s hurting so much that she isn’t taking care of herself is just another punch to my gut.

  “I can’t not talk to you. It’s killing me.”

  “It’s killing you?” she snaps. “What about me? Ryan, I can’t do this. I can’t even look at you. Please, just go.” Her words are strained as she speaks.

  “I can’t stand to see you like this.”

  “Then go! I will do almost anything to make you leave.”

  “Just let me talk to you. Please, babe, just let me talk,” I beg.

  “Fine, say whatever you need to say, then leave me alone.”

  When she sits on the couch, I walk over and sit next to her as I watch the tears begin to fall from her tired eyes. I wanna touch her. I wanna pull her into my arms like I’ve done so many times before, but now I feel like I can’t. Like if I tried, she would just reject me. I’m so close to her right now, but I’ve never felt so distant. I hate it.

  “I’m worried about you.”

  “Don’t,” she says as she turns her head away from me.

  “When was the last time you’ve eaten?”

  “Ryan, don’t. Just say what you need to say.”

  Reaching out to take her hand, she yanks it away from me. God, this is bad. Needing to get through to her, needing her to know, I just start talking—pleading. “I love you. I know you don’t believe me, but I do. No one has ever affected me the way you do, babe. I swear to you . . . I swear I didn’t know. I didn’t, Candace. Not at first,” I tell her when I start to choke up, and I just let it out. I let all the tears fall that I’ve been holding in because I feel like I’m losing everything I am at this point. She’s all I have ever wanted in this life, and I’m losing her.

  “When I saw you at the coffee shop, I thought it was you. I thought you were that girl,” I tell her, nearly crying out the words because they hurt so much. “But then I kept thinking, ‘What are the chances?’ I didn’t know because you looked so different than from that night. And then I found out that you were friends with Mark. Every time I saw you, I felt myself being drawn to you in a way I’ve never felt before. I had myself convinced that my head was playing games with me, and I honestly did not think you were that girl. It wasn’t until I saw your tattoo when we were in bed. That’s when I knew. When I found that girl, I saw her tattoo—your tattoo.”

  “Ryan, please,” she begs, but I can’t stop. She needs to hear this because I’m starting to wonder if I’ll ever get this chance again.

  She’s trying to shut me out, so I continue, “When I saw it, I broke. I didn’t want you to be her. I had already fallen so hard in love with you, and realizing that it was you fuckin’ killed me,” I explain through my tears as she sits there crying with me. “Everything started making sense to me. How scared you always were with me when we first met, how afraid you were when I tried to touch you. Everything made sense. But, I didn’t know how to tell you. And then you told me you loved me, and I know how hard that was for you. I just couldn’t hurt you.”

  “But you did,” she sobs out. “You lied to me. I let you see all the parts of me that weren’t pretty, but you knew all along. And when I finally opened up to you, you already knew.” She drops her head and begins to cry harder when she says, “You let me give everything to you. You had to have known that you couldn’t hold on to that secret forever. I would’ve eventually found out, and you still let me fall for you like I did. I feel so stupid and used, like you just felt sorry for me or pitied me.”

  “I never pitied you, babe. I have only ever loved you. I just didn’t want to hurt you.”

  When I try pulling her into my arms to hold her, she shoves me back and gets up from the couch, stepping away from me.

  “I can’t do this. You can’t say those things to me,” she says.

  Walking toward her, I stop right in front of her and confess, “I know I fucked up. I fucked everything up so bad. I know all you wanted was someone you could trust. I wanted to be that for you, and I fucked it all up. But I didn’t know what to say; I was scared. You’ll never know how fucking sorry I am.”

  “I knew better. I knew I shouldn’t have let you in like I did. But I can’t see you anymore. You have to stop calling and texting,” she says. Her words tearing me apart as she continues, “I need you to just not exist for me because I can’t do this. It hurts more than I thought anything possibly could.”

  “Candace, please,” I beg. I can’t fuckin’ do this. I can’t not have her in my life.

  “Just go.”

  I see it. She means what she’s saying, but I can’t move. I don’t how I’m gonna turn and walk away from her. So I stand here, a broken man, in front of the only girl I’ve ever given my heart to and I cry.

  “Please, you have to go. I can’t do this,” she pleads.

  “You have to know how much I love you.”

  Closing her eyes, she whispers, “Please, Ryan.”

  I wait for her to open her eyes, but she doesn’t. I’m always gonna want her, but reality hits me like a brick.

  It’s over.

  I’ve never felt pain like this before. It’s one thing to get the shit beat out of you by a man you don’t even like, but it’s another thing entirely when the person you love the most in this world doesn’t even want to look at you. I’d go back and take a thousand more beatings just to have her open her eyes and look at me.

  But she doesn’t, and I can’t bear the agony, so I take one last look and absorb everything I can before I turn away from everything I never wanted to. She gave it all to me, and now I leave it behind as I walk out of her house.

  The finality of what just happened starts to sink in as I drive home. How is this over? Ending faster than it began. I’m not sure what else I could have said to save what we had. I would’ve kept her forever if she would’ve let me. But it’s done, and I’m not sure where I go from here. In my head I’ve been thinking that I was going to give it all up for her. Move to wherever she was going. Maybe I was just in too deep.

  There’s a black van parked in front of my place when I get home, and as I’m getting out of my car, I see a guy opening the back doors and pulling out a large, wrapped item.

  Walking toward him, he asks, “Mr. Campbell?”

  “Yeah. What’s this?”

  “I have a delivery from Thinkspace Art Gallery for you.”

  Her photo.

  “Would you like me to carry it up?”

  “No,” I tell him as I reach out to take the piece, which is covered in a brown paper wrap.

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah. I’ve got it. Thanks.”

>   Before getting into his van, he turns and says, “It’s a beautiful piece, sir. Enjoy.”

  I watch as he drives away, but I don’t think I could ever look at this photo—her photo. How could I enjoy something that has been torn to shreds because of me? Carrying the canvas upstairs, I lean it against the wall as I go to the kitchen to get a beer. Popping the cap, I turn and rest my back on the counter and look at it, just sitting there—masking away my happiness, knowing that she’s underneath the paper. But being the masochist that I am, I need to see her. I set the bottle down and rip the paper off, revealing the white line of her back.

  As I step away, I keep my eyes on her. Her smooth skin. Nothing ever felt better on me, and the thought of never having that comfort again makes seeing her painful. It’s tearing out my fuckin’ heart, and I need it gone.

  Picking it up, I take it upstairs to my bedroom and into my closet where I shove it behind one of the racks of clothes. I hide it because I don’t want to look at it, but I don’t want to let it go either.

  The memories of that day start to run through my head. That rainy afternoon with her in my bed. She was jittery, lying in the dark while I snapped her picture. She trusted me. But now that trust is gone, and she can’t even look at me. I just want to touch her. Have her lips on mine, her body warm against me. She was so good at everything she was willing to give. I took it all, and no amount of pain could make me believe that it wasn’t worth the fall because falling in love with her was the best thing I ever did.

  Sitting here, nursing my beer that has now grown warm, I watch as Gavin talks to some blonde who’s wearing way too much makeup. I want to leave, but I don’t want to go back home. Home and work, those are the only places I seem to find myself lately. But that’s all it was before Candace, so why should I expect it to be any different after her? It feels different, but the routine is the same. I work, I go out with Gavin, and I go home—alone. I’m always alone. There was a time not too long ago that I liked it. Now . . . I hate it. So even though I sit here, miserable and bored in this bar, it’s better than being alone.

  Gavin keeps trying to sling girls at me, but the thought of touching anyone other than Candace is something that I just can’t stomach yet. A part of me wants to. Desperate to do anything to get her out of my head, but then I get scared of losing her, even if my head is the only place she exists for me. I’m torn. Lonely, but unwilling to walk away from the girl who doesn’t want me.

  Another chick approaches, and as soon as she lays her hand on my knee, I’m out of my seat and walking away to go get another drink from the bar.

  “Can I get another?” I ask the bartender as I set down my bottle.

  “I don’t understand why you keep coming out if you’re just gonna be a dick,” Gavin says when he slides up next to me at the bar.

  Looking over at him, I ask, “Who am I being a dick to?”

  “This place is loaded with chicks, but you’re the biggest pussy in here.”

  “Nice,” I say as I laugh with annoyance.

  He turns to lean his side against the bar and gives me a serious look before saying, “She’s gone, man.”

  When the guy from behind the bar hands me my beer, I take a long draw, but it hurts to swallow past the lump in my throat that reared itself at the mere mention of her. Setting the bottle down, I turn and say with irritation, “Yeah? And what if I don’t want her to be?”

  He sighs when he responds in a matter-of-fact voice, “It doesn’t seem to be about what you want. She holds the cards on this one because you handed over that power when you fell for her.”

  He’s right. I’ve always called the shots with chicks until Candace. It sucks to have someone else dictating your destiny, but with her . . . I wouldn’t have it any other way. If this is what she needs, to be away from me, then I’ll stay away.

  “You wanna know what’s gonna make you better? Make you forget?” he asks me.

  “What’s that?”

  He lifts his arm, beer in hand, and points over the crowd of people as he says, “Take your pick.” When he turns to look at me, he gives a smirk and adds, “Just like old times.”

  I might not know what my life is right now, but I do know that it isn’t this. It vanished when I met Candace. She made me see this for what it is. She showed me a different version of myself—a version that I was happy to be. So this? This is nothing but a distraction that I no longer want.

  Before taking a sip of his beer, he mutters, “I never understood what you saw in her anyway.”

  “What’s your problem?”

  “Nothing. Just being honest. She was just so different than your normal type. I didn’t get it.”

  Tossing a few bucks on the bar, I get up and tell Gavin, “I’m going home.”

  “Ryan,” he calls out as I make my way to the door, but there’s nothing here for me. Who am I kidding? No matter where I am, my misery follows, so I might as well be home.

  When I was hanging out with Jase the other night, he told me about his plans to go over to Westport for a day trip to get some surfing in. Needing the headspace, I decide to tag along. He met me at my place earlier this morning, and after several hours of driving, we unload my jeep and zip up our wetsuits before heading out into the water.

  For the first time in a while, I feel good. If only for a moment, being out here in the water, my head finally settles as I simply enjoy the breaking waves as I ride them. The salt on my face and the sun that’s starting to break through the clouds is freeing in a way. Being out of Seattle and away from the gloom that seems to follow, I take a break as I straddle my board and stare out over the endless water.

  “The breaks are pretty decent today,” Jase says as he paddles over to me.

  “Yeah. The tide is starting to come in.”

  Shifting himself to sit up on his board, he asks, “You doing okay?”

  I nod my head, but I know he isn’t just talking about surfing, and curiosity gets to me when I decide to ask, because I just can’t avoid it. No matter what she says or what she does, I can’t forget about her. I can’t stop caring about her, so I go ahead and ask, “How is she?”

  Running his hand through his hair, he says, “She’s better.”

  “Yeah?”

  “She started seeing a therapist a couple weeks ago,” he tells me. “She’s been going a couple times a week.”

  “That’s good.” It relieves me to hear that she’s finally talking to someone, but at the same time, it’s hard to not be there to support her.

  “Yeah. She’s been working really hard, trying to sort everything out.”

  When I don’t respond, he questions, “What about you?”

  “I don’t know, man. I’m fuckin’ stuck. Like I’m just waiting for something I’m not sure is gonna happen.”

  “With her?”

  Nodding my head, I ask hesitantly, “Should I be?”

  “Waiting?” he questions.

  “Yeah.”

  Looking out over the water, avoiding having to face me, he breathes out, “I don’t think so.”

  It’s the reality I’ve been trying to hide from. I’ve been hanging on to a thread of hope, but hearing those words from Jase, they hold an honesty that there’s no more hiding from.

  “She’s working hard on pulling herself together, to make sense of the madness she’s been living in. Maybe you should do more for yourself too. I hate to see you stagnant, waiting for something that doesn’t seem likely to happen at this point.”

  I hear his words, and they’re hard to take. I don’t want to accept them, but he makes it clear what I should do when he adds a hard truth to my reality, saying, “I think it’s time you just walk away from it. She seems to have.”

  How do you walk away from someone that still occupies so much of your heart? To be so certain about something just to turn your back on it? And how can she move on so quickly when I’m still in pieces over here? It sucks to have all these questions that I can’t get any closure with. To con
stantly be wondering and hoping.

  “I’ve tried talking to her, tried telling her how you feel about everything, but she shuts me down. She said she just needs to be on her own.”

  “No, I get it,” I mumble. “You don’t need to say anything to her. If she’s happy . . . that’s all I’ve ever wanted for her.”

  “Sorry, man.”

  “It’s life,” I say as I lie down on my board and paddle back out.

  “So, I’m planning on leaving here next Friday morning,” my mom tells me as I sit in my office at home.

  “Mom, I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

  “It’s your birthday,” she exclaims, but we both know that’s not her reasoning for wanting to come.

  “You never drive up here for my birthday. I know you’re coming to see Candace dance, but I just don’t know if that’s a good idea at this point.”

  “I told her I was going to be there. I would feel awful if I didn’t show up. This is a huge night for her, and I’ve never seen her dance.”

  “I just . . .”

  “Her family turned their backs on her; I’m not going to do the same. I want to support her. No matter what happens with you guys, I’d like to at least offer my support.”

  “Nothing’s gonna happen with us, Mom,” I tell her as I shut the lid to my laptop.

  “How do you know that?”

  “Jase told me last week that she’s done, and I should just walk away. So that’s what I’m trying to do.”

  “I’m sorry, dear. I know you love her.”

  Having her so close, blending so nicely with my mom and me, it was perfect. It’s something I don’t think I’ll be able to find again. Something I’m not sure I want to open myself up to again.

  “You still there?” she asks when I don’t say anything.

  “Yeah, I’m here.”

  “Are you okay?”

  Taking a hard swallow, I admit, “I don’t know how to be okay. I don’t how she’s moving on when I can’t.”

  “Maybe she isn’t. Maybe she’s hurting just like you are.”