Silk

by Heidi McLaughlin

  “You seem excited.”

  “I am, but I’m mostly nervous. Most of these girls have done their apprenticeships up there and already know each other. I’m the only one coming from a university,” she tells me.

  “You’ll be fine,” I assure her. “I’m so happy for you, babe.”

  I kiss her dimple when she smiles, and then ask, “Who were you talking to when I came in?”

  “Oh,” she says as she sits up, looking a little flustered. “Um, that was Dr. Christman, my therapist. I needed to get back on her schedule. But . . . umm . . .”

  “What is it?” I ask when she starts hesitating.

  “Well, I told her what happened with the whole New York thing and moving in with you. She suggested that maybe you could come in with me for my next appointment, but you can say no,” she says timidly, avoiding my eyes.

  “Why would I say no?” I question. I’ve never done the whole therapy thing, but for her, I’d do anything.

  “Because it’s . . .”

  “Embarrassing,” I answer for her.

  “I know you’re sick of hearing that, but I can’t help it.”

  “I’m not sick of hearing it, babe. I get it. You just tell me when, and I’ll be there,” I say, trying not to make too big of a deal about it for her.

  Switching the subject, she tells me, “I invited Kimber to come over Friday night.”

  “Jase and Mark coming over too?”

  “Yeah, if that’s okay? I should have asked first.”

  “This is your home, Candace. You don’t need to ask me if you want to have your friends over. It’s fine,” I tell her. “Max invited us over to hang out as well.”

  “What about Gavin?” she asks out of the blue.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You still talk to him?”

  “I haven’t seen him in a while. I think that friendship is dead. We’re just on totally different wavelengths,” I explain.

  “When did that happen?”

  “When he kept trying to sling chicks at me when all I wanted was you,” I tell her as I run my fingers through her hair.

  She looks uncomfortable when her only response is, “Oh,” and knowing her so well, I go ahead and answer her unspoken question.

  “No. I couldn’t even bear to look at another girl. You were all I ever wanted even when I didn’t have you.”

  She runs her hands along my jaw before she kisses me with an affection that only she can show. Slipping my hand under her knees, I cradle her in my arms as I carry her upstairs and lay her down in our bed. We move at a leisurely pace as we remove our clothes, feeling the need to connect with each other in this way. She normally keeps herself tucked against me, bodies close, when we make love, but to see her now, completely relaxed underneath me as I move inside of her, it’s stunning. Her hair splayed around her face, her arms draped above her head, she’s completely exposed to me as I move up to my knees and watch her.

  Seeing her this comfortable with me, a level of comfort I’d yet to experience with her, is something I wasn’t expecting. She’s beautiful as I reach down and grab on to her hips, lifting them off of the bed and completely flush against me as I move deeper inside of her. She has her whole body bared to me, and I can’t help but stare down at her and admire how perfect we look together like this. It’s overwhelming, and when she grips my wrists and thrusts up to me, I let myself fall on top of her as we both come. Her hands never let go of my wrists, as if she needs them there for support as we both continue to move, greedy to prolong our release.

  ***

  She holds my hand as we walk into the dimly lit office of her therapist and take a seat on the small leather couch. Pulling her hand onto my lap, I can tell she’s nervous. Shit, I am too. I have no idea what to expect or what this lady plans on talking to us about.

  “It’s good to see you again,” Dr. Christman says to Candace and then turns to me to introduce herself before saying, “It’s nice to finally meet you. Candace has filled me in on a lot already about the two of you, but I wanted to take this time to not only talk with you, Ryan, but to hear from both of you together. First, Candace, tell me what happened.”

  “With New York?”

  “Yes. Last we spoke, you were excited and happy to be moving on and starting something new. What changed?”

  Her grip tightens on my hand as she adjusts herself, bringing her legs up onto the couch and folding them in front of her. I watch her as she begins to speak with Dr. Christman.

  “I don’t think anything really changed. I was sitting at the gate, about to board the plane, and all I could feel was sadness and regret. I was scared, but I realized that everything I was so scared about wasn’t the fresh start, but what I was leaving behind. It was like I was trying so hard to focus on my dream of New York that I completely shut out my dream of Ryan. Like I was trying to switch one for the other. Somewhere along the way my dream of New York changed, but I never allowed myself to see it until I was about to leave.”

  It’s a little strange for me to hear Candace being so open. I’m not used to her speaking so freely, so I’m taken aback by her candidness.

  “So what did you do?”

  “I left the airport,” she tells her. “I felt like my world was spinning out of control, but in a good way. As soon as I got to his place and saw him, it was like all the happiness I lost when I lost him came rushing back. I just knew this was the choice I was supposed to make.”

  Dr. Christman turns to me, and says, “I bet that came as a shock to you.”

  “You have no idea,” I tell her with a chuckle.

  “So, Ryan, Candace and I have spent a lot of time talking about your relationship and how the two of you came to split. Have you had a chance to explain to her the reasoning behind why you withheld who you were?”

  “I feel like I have. I mean, I hope I have. We spent a few hours talking the other day, unraveling all the questions we each had.”

  She looks over at Candace and asks, “Do you feel you got everything you needed from that conversation?”

  “I think so,” she says in a shaky voice, and when I turn to look at her, she’s wiping her fingers under her eyes.

  “Tell me why you’re crying,” she asks Candace.

  “Because it was hard to hear. I’ve gone nearly a whole year without having to talk about what happened. And listening to him tell me what he saw that night . . . it’s just hard to hear and to know that he saw me like that.”

  “Ryan, I’m curious. When you realized Candace was the girl you had seen that night, how did you deal with that?”

  I wrap my arm around Candace while she dries her tears with a tissue and answer, “As soon as I knew, I wanted to tell her, but I didn’t know how. Then I started thinking that if I did tell her, how much it would hurt her. She was in a really dark place at the time, and I was scared she would break. She hid a lot, but I always knew she was barely holding on. But it fucked with my head—a lot. I get these flashbacks. It used to only be of my childhood. I see something or whatever and my mind takes me back. But ever since that night she was attacked . . . it keeps playing back in my head.”

  “What do you normally do when that happens?”

  “Nothing. I eventually just snap out of it. But it kills me that I have that in my head,” I say before I turn to see Candace staring at me in disbelief with what I just said.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell her.

  “Were you aware that he has these flashbacks, Candace?”

  “No,” she answers and then asks me, “So that’s how you see me?”

  “No. I denied you were that girl for so long. I fell in love with everything I had in front of me. But when I found out you were that girl, the visions were just so conflicting because I don’t see you like that at all. I know it’s you, but I still don’t want it to be.”

  She’s crying now, and I take her other hand in mine when I affirm, “That is not what I see when I look at you.”

  “I don’t
want that in your head,” she chokes out.

  “I don’t either, babe. But these aren’t our choices, and I’ve told you before that I love you regardless.”

  “It makes me feel disgusting.”

  She takes a moment to settle her tears and take in a few deep breaths when Dr. Christman asks me, “What’s the biggest thing you feel you struggle with about Candace’s attack?”

  Letting out a sigh, I tell her, “That I let her down.”

  “How so?”

  “I was inside and heard the commotion in the alley. I ignored it, figuring it was just people passing through, which happens occasionally. If I had gone out there, then maybe none of this would have happened.”

  She sits back in her seat as she looks at Candace and asks, “Is it okay if I share some of the things we’ve discussed in our previous sessions?”

  “Of course.”

  Focusing back on me, she says, “One of the issues I’ve been working on with Candace is her feeling of blame. She believes that her behavior led to her attack, and she continues to hold herself responsible.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “Do you see the parallel here?”

  Looking at Candace, I see what Dr. Christman is trying to point out, something I guess I never really saw before. I’ve always thought it was crazy that she could think she was to blame, but in turn, she probably feels the same way about my thoughts.

  “Yeah,” I answer.

  “Neither one of you are to blame, yet both of you are holding yourselves responsible,” she says. “Did you know he felt this way?” she asks Candace.

  I watch as she nods her head, saying, “Yes.”

  “Just as Candace and I have been discussing, there’s no way you could have known what was going to happen that night, so you can’t hold yourself responsible for that.”

  She says this, I get it, but I can’t accept it . . . not right now.

  “Well, I want to be mindful of our time together, so I’d like to focus on Candace, simply because she’s the one who I have been working with. But going forward in your relationship, it’s important that you’re there to help support her as she continues to process and heal. Being aware of her triggers and knowing ways you can help her cope and push her are key.”

  “I know that she shuts down and avoids. I like to get it out and talk, but it’s a challenge to get her to open up. I notice she’s been more willing since we’ve been back together this past week, but . . .” I let my words fall, but she picks them up when she says, “It’s very typical of trauma victims to shut down. Candace has expressed to me that when she opens herself up to emotions, she panics and feels like they’re going to flood her, and the loss of control is scary.”

  I look to Candace and ask, “But what do you think is going to happen?”

  She shakes her head before turning to Dr. Christman, and when she blinks, tears fall.

  “Babe, I need you to tell me because I don’t understand.”

  “Can you tell me why you can’t answer him?” she asks Candace.

  She shakes her head as I move my hand to her back.

  “Go ahead and take a moment, but I want you to tell Ryan what you have told me whenever you’re ready.”

  I feel like we sit here forever in the silence when she eventually turns to me and takes a deep breath before revealing, “It feels like I’m losing control and that I won’t be able to handle it.”

  When I shake my head, still unsure, she tells me, “In the moment . . . it feels like I’m going to die.”

  I can barely handle her words and to know that this is how she feels. I pull her into my arms, thinking back to all the times she’s been so scared. The day she saw that dumpster, her nightmares, our fight, and so many other things.

  As I keep her folded into me, Dr. Christman says, “I’ve been asking Candace to try and put herself in situations that will generally trigger these emotions but in a place where she feels safe. Trying to help her cope with living inside the emotions, feeling them and not shutting down. Understanding that even though it’s scary, the emotions will eventually lessen, and she’ll be okay. I think it’s important for you to understand how she’s feeling during these episodes so that you can help push her through them, but to also be aware of her limits. Also, encouraging her to talk about her attack will help lessen the power it has over her.”

  I give her a nod of acknowledgement as Candace pulls away and sits back.

  We talk a little while longer about how I can help Candace and discuss some goals as we move forward. Before we leave, we agree I will come in with Candace twice a month, but the rest of her visits will remain focused on her.

  I was proud of Candace before, knowing she was doing this, but to actually sit next to her and listen to her makes me realize how much strength it must have taken her to do this on her own. Honestly, I don’t think she would have ever done this if it weren’t for us being apart. She had to do it alone and for herself. And just from that one session, I learned things about her that I never knew before. It helped me understand her in a way I wouldn’t have been capable of on my own.

  Instead of going back to the loft, we decide to take the rest of the afternoon to relax, and we head to Fremont to grab some coffee at Peet’s before roaming around some of the antique shops. We don’t talk about what was said. Although it seems Candace is feeling needy with me, I let her be. She never takes her hand out of mine as we drift aimlessly in and out of the different shops, simply enjoying each other.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  The past couple of weeks have been disappointing for Candace. She’s been trying hard to include Kimber in our lives, but she continues to have a crap-ass attitude with me. I’d never say anything to Candace about it, but she sees it, and it upsets her that her friend has been shutting me out.

  Candace realizes that too much has changed in the past year and they’ve simply grown apart. She’s been sad, thinking about the what-ifs and wondering how it would have been different if she would’ve just told her about the attack instead of hiding it. But what’s done is done, and people grow apart. I have with Gavin, but along the way we’ve made new friends. Candace now has Mark and has also been getting together with Mel and Traci, and I’ve befriended Mark and Jase and even become closer with Max, who I continue to spend more time with.

  Now as we drive to my mom’s, Candace is sleeping. We invited Mark and Jase to come as well, and they plan on driving down later this afternoon. We thought it would be fun for the four of us to get away since everyone has been so busy with their new work schedules, and we haven’t spent that much time together.

  Candace has been avoiding my mom’s attempts to talk on the phone. I understand her apprehension about it, and I know she’s a nervous wreck about seeing her, so I’m glad she’s finding some relief from the stress as she sleeps. It’s a good thing that Jase and Mark won’t be there until later, giving the three of us time to talk privately and hopefully help ease Candace’s embarrassment.

  When I pull up to the house, I run the back of my hand down her arm. Rolling her head to me, she slowly opens her eyes.

  “We’re here,” I quietly say, and she turns to look at the front of the house, letting out a soft breath. I hop out of the car and walk around to her side, helping her out. Placing my hands on the sides of her face, I tell her, “I love you.”

  I take her hand and walk her inside, calling out, “Mom.” We head back to the living room, and my mom is already making her way to us.

  “Candace!” she squeals, not even acknowledging me, and I have to laugh when she pulls my girl into her arms.

  I’m relieved to see Candace smile. I went ahead and told my mom a few days ago that Candace is aware that I told her about the attack because she was starting to wonder why Candace wasn’t returning her calls.

  “I’m so happy you’re here,” she beams and then turns to me to give me a hug. “How was the drive?”

  “Candace slept most of the time, and there was a
ton of traffic.” Cannon Beach is a hot spot for the summer, let alone the Fourth of July.

  “Well, I’m glad you two made it safely. When will Jase and Mark be getting in?”

  Candace lets me do the talking while she stands close to me, holding on to my hand. “Jase texted me a while ago, so maybe five hours or so with the traffic.” Wanting to get Candace alone for a moment, I tell my mom, “We’re gonna take our bags upstairs. We’ll be down in a couple minutes.”

  Closing the bedroom door behind me, I sit with Candace on my bed. “Babe . . .”

  “I hate this,” she lets out as she falls back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

  “Just talk to her.”

  “What do I even say?”

  “Come here,” I tell her as I tug on her hand and draw her up to me. “Just like you and I have been doing, just talk. Clear the air.”

  When she nods, I offer, “You want me to go with you?”

  “Yeah,” she says, and then I pull her off the bed, not wanting her to stew on this any longer. I give her a soft kiss before taking her back downstairs.

  Walking through the house, I find my mom in the study, sitting in one of the chairs, flipping through a book.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  “That was quick,” she says as she closes the book and sets it on her lap while Candace and I take a seat on the couch.

  “I think we need to talk,” I tell her and then look at Candace who’s holding my hand with both of hers, keeping her eyes fixed on them.

  “Has Ryan told you about his father?”

  Candace looks up to my mom, answering, “Yes.”

  “So, I’m sure he also added me to that equation as well.”

  When she nods her head in response, my mom begins talking and opening up to her about things she hasn’t even talked to me about.