Текст книги "Falling "

Автор книги: E. K. Blair

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 19 (всего у книги 29 страниц)

After a few more days, it’s time to head back to Seattle. I’m finishing packing our bags while Candace gets ready in the bathroom. Having this week away has been good for us. And having her here with my mom makes this connection that we have so much stronger.

Needing to grab a few things out of the bathroom, I don’t knock when I see she has left the door cracked. When I open it, she startles as she pulls down on her sweatshirt.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” she says as she still has her top clutched in her hands.

I walk over to her and take her hand, lifting it up along with the shirt, and when I do, she says, “I don’t like it,” referring to her tattoo that is peeking over her pants that she has tugged down.

I lower her shirt and ask, “Why?”

“Because it’s not me,” she admits. “I was trying to be someone different, and it only led to bad things.”

“What do you mean?”

“I got it in a moment of rebellion, I guess. It was stupid, really. I got it and started acting foolishly, which led to . . . umm . . .” her words stammer off as she drops her head away from me. I know what she’s trying to say, and it’s insane to think getting a tattoo would result in her getting raped.

“I get it. But, babe, nothing you did led to that.”

When she doesn’t say anything and refrains from looking at me as she starts walking out of the bathroom, I grab ahold of her because I need to know that she agrees with me.

“Wait. You know that, right?”

God. She doesn’t agree with me. I can see the guilt in her eyes. How could she possibly think this?

“Come here,” I tell her as I sit on the bed, taking her hand and pulling her towards me. “Tell me you don’t think that.”

When she doesn’t respond, I say, “Babe, there is nothing you could have possibly done to deserve that.”

She turns away from me as I say this, and when I tug her back to me, she’s crying.

Fuck.

How did I not know that she blames herself for this?

“Shit, babe. I had no idea this is how you feel.”

“Please, don’t,” she says in a broken voice.

“I need you to talk to me about this. You have it all wrong. What that guy did was fucked up, babe, and you didn’t do shit to deserve what he did to you.”

She looks up at me and pulls her hands out of mine when she gets mad and yells, “You don’t get it, Ryan! What I did was stupid, and I completely led him on. It wasn’t right, and I knew it, but I did it anyway.”

Infuriated that she feels this way when her logic is so fucked up, I raise my voice at her, saying, “What the fuck could you have possibly done? Because I know you, Candace, and I know you couldn’t have led him on that much. But that shit doesn’t even matter because you could’ve stripped down in front of him, and you still didn’t deserve to be raped.”

“Don’t say that fucking word, Ryan!” she snaps and then begins to fall apart, sobbing.

Banding my arms around her, I hold her close. “Babe, I’m sorry. I just had no idea that this is how you think.”

“I didn’t even really like him,” she begins to stammer out between her cries. “But I was stupid and lonely, so I would let him kiss me, knowing that I didn’t like him. And I fucking hate my mother for this, because if it wasn’t for her being such a bitch, I never would have gone out with him.”

“Candace, please don’t do this.”

“You just don’t get it. I did lead him on, and I pissed him off. I never should’ve acted like that. I should’ve just been honest.”

“This isn’t your fault.” I tell her in a hard voice.

“Yes, it is!”

“It isn’t your fault, Candace.”

Facing me, she takes my shirt in her hands, fisting the fabric when she yells, “But it is!” and then falls into my chest. Her cries are loud, staggered, and strained. It’s hard to listen to, but I do because I love her. I don’t say anything else because I’m only upsetting her worse.

I can’t argue her irrational thinking because she isn’t seeing it with clear eyes. This guy screwed with her head so badly that she’s been carrying the weight of the responsibility on her own shoulders. And here I am, blind to this fact. My girl has been holding fault when that son of a bitch is the only one to blame.

Moving her with me as I lie down on the bed, she tucks her head under my chin and continues to cry for a while. She’s in so much pain, and I don’t know how to make it any better for her. I’ve always questioned her choices for how she’s been dealing with this, but now, knowing this piece of the puzzle, it’s clear that she needs to do something.

We’re face to face when she finally speaks. “It’s been seven months, Ryan.”

“I know, babe.”

“I just want it to go away.”

“I know. But it’s never going to get easier if you keep blaming yourself. It kills me that you feel this way. It fuckin’ kills me that I can’t take this away from you.”

Knowing that there isn’t a goddamn thing I can do to lessen her misery frustrates me beyond anything I have ever dealt with. I want to take care of her, to be the person that makes this better for her, but that’s what’s so fucked up about this situation—that’s what’s so scary—because it all lies within her. She’s the only one who can make this better, but she refuses to help herself. She figures if she just ignores it for long enough then it will fade away and everything will go back to normal. It’s not a sane way to deal with this. In fact, I think it’s just making it worse for her with every day that passes. The avoiding is catching up with her, and I’m afraid she’s just going to—one day—crumble.

When her breathing begins to even out, she asks, “Can’t we stay another night?”

“Anything you want,” I tell her.

I lie here, and I can’t shake my own guilt about this whole situation. I’ve always had it. I’ve always asked all the what-ifs, but the fact remains, this girl was outside fighting for her life while I was mere feet away. If only I would have gone out there, I wouldn’t be lying here with my girl falling apart on me. She wouldn’t be carrying this around with her every day. I was the only other person there, and I did nothing.

Noticing that her body has gone limp, I remember that she hasn’t taken her sleeping pill. Slipping out of bed, I go to her purse to grab the bottle. I take out a pill and fill up a glass of water from the bathroom before waking her.

“Baby,” I urge as she slowly opens her eyes. “Here, take this.”

She does and then hands the glass back to me. I crawl back into bed and hold her until she falls back asleep. The whole time, my mind is just eating away at me. At everything. When she’s finally asleep, I quietly head downstairs because I need a little space to get my thoughts together, but shit is just spinning more and more the longer I sit at the dining room table.

“Hey, dear,” I hear my mom say softly when she crosses the room to sit with me.

“Hey,” I sigh.

“Where’s Candace?”

“She’s sleeping. We’re just gonna head back tomorrow,” I tell her as I look at her from across the table.

“Are you okay?” she asks. “I heard you two fighting earlier.”

Leaning forward in my seat, I rest my forearms on the table, saying, “We weren’t fighting, Mom.”

She shakes her head at me and questions, “Well, is everything all right?”

I normally tell my mother everything, but when I found out about Candace, I held it secret. But I feel like I’m in so deep with this girl, and the stuff I’m dealing with is some of the heaviest shit I’ve ever dealt with. I haven’t had anyone to really talk to about it, and knowing how much my mother loves her, I trust her enough to make this confession that I have had locked up inside of me.

“No.” I drop my head when I say this because I already feel the remorse building inside for betraying Candace by telling her secret, but it’s breaking me, and I don’t know where else to turn.

She places her hand over mine as she says, “Talk to me, sweetheart.”

Staring at our hands, I take in a deep breath and begin, “There’s something I’ve never told you about Candace.”

“Okay.”

“Remember the attack I told you about that happened this past summer at the bar?”

When she nods, I swallow hard and reveal, “It was her, Mom. That girl was Candace.”

“Oh my God,” she whispers as she removes her hand from mine to cover her mouth. She’s in complete shock when she asks, “How did you . . .?”

“She doesn’t know,” I confess. “I didn’t even know it was her for a while. I thought it could be, but I wasn’t sure. I was so confused, thinking my head was just trying to make something out of nothing with her weird behavior. But I honestly didn’t know.”

“I don’t understand. Where did you meet her?”

“I grabbed a coffee from where she works. And then I kept seeing her because she’s friends with a couple buddies of mine. But there’s this tattoo,” I say as I fight to hold back the tears that threaten. “I saw it on that girl, and then after I had already fallen for Candace, I saw that same tattoo on her. I was scared, so I never told her.”

“Ryan . . .”

“We weren’t fighting earlier. She told me that what happened to her was her fault. I was trying to talk to her about it, and she got really upset.” Pressing my palms to my forehead, I tell her, “God, Mom, you have no idea what that fucker did to her. What she looked like when I found her.”

It’s when I drop my hands that I see the tears running down my mom’s face and that’s what sends me over. I don’t cry, but I feel it stabbing inside of me.

“Honey, you have to tell her.”

“It felt like the right thing to do at the time. That I was keeping it from her for all the right reasons,” I try to explain. “I didn’t want to hurt her, but now . . . now it feels like a lie, and I’m scared. I’m scared I’m gonna lose her.”

“But now things are different with you two, and she needs to know.”

I can feel the heat of the tears welling in my eyes when I ask, feeling desperate, “Do you think she’ll understand?”

She takes her time before responding with, “I think you have a girl that’s been shown, in the most horrendous way a person can be shown, just how gruesome life can be. She’s been stripped of her security and faith in people. It’s awful, and people like that don’t trust easily.”

Dropping my head in my hands, I nearly beg, “What do I do? I love her.”

She takes my hand and pulls it down when she looks at me and tells me to do what I’m terrified of doing.

“You have to tell her . . . You just have to.”

But I don’t want to. I can’t risk losing her. All I want to do is keep her forever, so I selfishly go back upstairs, crawl under the sheets next to her, and hang on to the one good thing that finally came into my life and changed everything about me. I can’t lose her.

Waking up with Candace just didn’t feel right with the dread that has made its home in the pit of my stomach. And seeing how clingy she’s been with me all morning, and now on the drive home, makes the thought of telling her that much worse.

She has kept a hold on my hand ever since she opened her eyes this morning. I don’t question her about it; I just give her the closeness, the security that I’m here and I’m not leaving. I can’t tell her. Not now. Not when she’s vulnerable like this.

Thinking about what sparked the whole conversation with Candace yesterday, I say, “I hate that your tattoo makes you feel the way it does.” I hate the way it makes me feel too. It’s hard for me to look at because almost every time I do, I see the girl from that night, and I can’t stand thinking of her like that, the way she looked lying there unconscious. There have been a couple times in the past where I’ve had to cover it with my hand while we make love because it hurts too much to look at.

“I thought about having it removed once.”

“Have you thought about changing it?” I ask as I glance over at her, giving her hand a little squeeze.

“I just don’t know what I would do. I don’t want anything bigger than it is now,” she explains.

“Did Roxy’s boyfriend do it?”

“Jared? Yeah.”

“When we get home, why don’t we talk to him, see what he can do?”

“I guess,” she says, unconvinced.

“I just think if it looked different, or you could add something to it that was meaningful to you, that you could associate it with something new, instead of what you’re doing now. Give it new meaning.”

“We can go talk to him,” is her only response, and I don’t say anything else about it because I know it’s a difficult thing to talk about.

When we arrive back in Seattle, I take Candace to her house to spend a little time with her before I have to run to the bar to take care of some work.

Setting her bags down on the bed, Candace quietly says, “I don’t want you to go to work.”

I hate that she’s feeling like this today, and that she doesn’t want to be alone, but I tell her, “Baby, I have to. It’s Saturday night, and I’ve been gone all week.”

She leans into me, sliding her arms around my waist. She’s needy, and I don’t want her to be alone either, so I offer, “Come with me.”

“What?”

“You don’t even have to be around everyone. Stay with me in my office.”

I’m not expecting her answer when she says, “Okay.”

“Really?” I question, stunned that she would agree so easily, especially for a Saturday night.

“Just park in the front, okay?”

I was relieved to see Candace enjoying herself when she went with me to the bar. I was nervous because Saturday nights are really busy, but I had Max with her the entire time. Jase was there to hear Mark’s band play and was able to talk her into going downstairs with him while I got my work done. Once I finished up, I hung out with her for the rest of the evening. Aside from meeting Max, she also met Mel. Candace has always been a mystery to them, so to have them finally meet her was nice since they know what a big part of my life she’s become.

When Candace walks down the stairs, I ask, “You ready?”

“Yeah, I just need my coat,” she says as she walks towards me.

“I got it,” I tell her when I stand up and help her put it on.

We head out into another rain-filled night to go spend the evening at Max’s place. He invited us over when he met Candace at the bar last week. Zane is back in town for a few days, so he and Mel will be there as well.

It’s an odd transition to be coupled off and doing things like this tonight, but it’s a welcome change that seems to better suit me now.

When we pull up to Max’s place, I help Candace out of the car and then head inside and out of the cold. We walk in, and I introduce her to Zane and Traci, who is now very pregnant. We sit around and talk for a little bit until Traci takes Mel and Candace back to see the baby’s room, leaving the guys alone in the living room.

“Dude,” Zane says as he nudges me with a smirk.

“What?”

“Who’s the chick?”

“Candace?”

He laughs when he says, “Yeah, man. What’s going on?”

Last I spoke with Zane, I was still into going out a lot with Gav, so I clue him in when I tell him, “We started dating soon after you high-tailed your ass to L.A.”

“What?!” he exclaims, nearly spitting out his beer. “What the hell have I missed around here? Seriously, I come back and you’re settled down with some chick, and this guy,” he says, pointing the neck of his beer bottle towards Max, “has his girl knocked up.”

Max laughs at him and says, “That’s what happens when you ditch town and don’t check in.”

“I guess,” he says and then turns to me. “Just never thought I’d see you with a chick.” Taking a swig of his beer, he asks, “Are you guys serious?”

“Yeah, man. Pretty serious.”

Max butts in, and asks Zane, “Tell us what’s going on with you and Mel.”

“I have no idea. She refuses to come to California, but I’m not giving up this opportunity so that she can stay close to her family.”

“Stop bullshitting,” I say, calling him out. “She said you told her you didn’t want her to go with you.”

“Why would I?” he responds. “I mean, she has done nothing but bitch about all of this, so why would I want her to tag along with her piss-poor attitude?”

Our attention is distracted when we hear a burst of laughter coming from the girls in the back of the house. In this moment, I smile. I just can’t help it. Candace doesn’t have any girl friends aside from Roxy, so to hear her laughter spilling through the house is infectious, and I let out a light chuckle.

Looking back over at Zane, I tell him, “She was upset when you left.”

“When I left? What about now?” he questions. “Seems to me that she’s doing pretty well on her own here.”

“God, you’re hard to talk to,” Max interjects.

“Can we not talk about my shit?” Zane says. “What about you?” he asks as he eyes Max. “I can’t believe you’re gonna be a dad. How are you not freaking the hell out right now?”

“I did when I found out, but it’s all good now,” he states simply.

We continue to catch up for a while until the girls eventually join us again. Candace has a smile on her face when she sits next to me on the couch as she continues to talk with Traci and Mel. Max and Zane are in their own conversation while I find myself focused on Candace. She’s happy and light-hearted tonight in this new circle of people. She’s so tight with Jase and Mark, but I’d like to see her widen her group of friends. She needs it even though she doesn’t see it.

On the drive home, I look over at her and ask, “Did you have a good time?”

“Yeah, Mel’s pretty funny.”

“She definitely keeps things entertaining at work,” I say with a grin. “So what did you talk about? We kept hearing you all laughing.”

“Traci was just talking about her pregnancy. I was a little shocked with some of the things she was telling us,” she says with a dramatic shudder.

Laughing at her, I ask, “Like what?”

“Stuff I had no clue about,” she tells me in a high-pitched voice, reeling with disbelief. “She told us that she has hemorrhoids!”

“What?!”

“Yes!” she squeals.

“I don’t wanna know about that shit,” I say, disgusted.

“Well, I don’t either, but I do now, thanks to Traci!” she says as she begins to laugh, and I join right in with her. “She said that most pregnant women get them! It’s so gross!”

“Shit, are you serious?”

“Mel said it was true too.”

We both continue laughing as she fills me in on more than I ever wanted to know, and the theatrics of Candace telling me all of this and freaking out is completely entertaining when I’m not cringing at the unwanted information.

Once we have quieted down and composed ourselves, I look over as we’re stopped at a red light and ask, “Do you think that’s something you want?”

“What? A baby?” she asks.

“Yeah.”

“I don’t know,” she says softly. “I’ve always been scared to be a mom.”

“Why’s that?”

When she leans her head back against the seat, she tells me, “Because I’m not sure I know what it is to be a good mom. I mean . . . how would you know if the choices you were making were the wrong ones? I wonder if my mom thought she was making the right choices with me.”

She says this and I understand her fears. I get it because they’re my fears. Scared to become what we are products of. But I know that she would have nothing to worry about because she’s the most non-judgmental person I know.

“But I don’t have to think about that for a long time,” she adds.

“Why’s that?” I ask, when I pull up to the loft and park the car.

“Because dancers don’t have babies until they are done with their professional careers. Your body changes too much, so the likelihood that the way you dance would be impacted is high. It’s just not something you toy with if you want longevity,” she explains. “What about you?”

“Me?”

“Yeah,” she says as she shifts herself to face me.

“I’ve always wanted what my cousins have, but never saw it in the cards for me,” I tell her. “But when I really think about it, it scares the shit out of me too.”

“Because of your dad?”

I nod my head and when she smiles up at me, she says, “I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

I lean over and kiss her before giving her sentiment right back. “I don’t think you do either. You’re amazing at everything you do.”

Making our way inside, she turns to me and asks, “You wanna camp out and watch a movie?”

“Anything you want.” I tell her as we head upstairs to change clothes.

When we return to the living room, I get the fireplace going while Candace tosses a bunch of pillows and blankets onto the floor and flips the TV to TCM. I love sharing my black and white movies with her, and lately, I’m finding that she’s starting to get into them as well.

Lying down, pulling Candace into my arms, we relax and watch ‘Bank Holiday.’ I lazily comb my fingers through her hair, and we fall asleep before the movie ends.

Waking up in the middle of the night, Candace is sleeping along my side, and the fire is almost out. When I pick up the remote to shut the TV off, the screen reads that it’s almost two in the morning. Setting the remote down, I roll over to look down at Candace, and my shifting causes her to stir awake.

It takes a moment, but when her eyes flutter open and she focuses on me, we stay silent as we watch each other in the faint glow of the firelight. When I lean in to kiss her, she runs her hand behind my neck, pulling me down to her. I slide my tongue across her lower lip before sucking it into my mouth, and she grips my neck tighter. Her body is flush against mine, and I begin to lift her shirt so that I can feel the warmth of her on my skin. Discarding her top, I reach back and remove mine as well before bringing her back to me. The room is silent as our bodies begin to move as the haze from our sleep dissipates.

When I roll on top of her, I drag my head down the center of her body, letting my lips move along her smooth skin. Licking and sucking my way down, her hands are holding the sides of my head, and when I hit her pants, she lifts her hips, allowing me to pull them off, keeping her lace panties in place.

Taking her leg in my hand, I kiss my way back up, giving her soft sucks behind her knee before I lower myself down on her. I want to feel every part of her, but she has always been so skittish with some of my touches. Needing the closeness in the moment, I break our silence and whisper, “I want to touch you.”

I see the reluctance when she looks at me, and I reach my hand back to hold her knee as I say, “Let me touch you.”

I catch her faint nod and take my time as I let my hand fall along the inside of her thigh, but as soon as I reach the edge of her panties, she clamps my wrist with her hand and jerks her hips away from me. I want to show her that it isn’t disgusting and that she doesn’t have to be scared of my touch, so I move my hand back to her knee as I rest my body on top of her. With my forehead against hers, I take her lips with mine. Her hand rests on my cheek while she keeps her other locked around my wrist, not letting go. I stay close to her when I move my hand back down her leg, and this time, she doesn’t startle.

Her breathing is shaky when I touch her and cup her in my hand, holding still as her legs are clutched to my sides. My lips continue to move with hers as I take in the warmth of her before I gently run my hand up the edge of her panties then tuck my fingers under the lace of the fabric and run them back down.

She lets out a whimper as I feel her smooth skin under my fingers.

“Just relax, baby,” I breathe as I drop my head to her shoulder.

Keeping my wrist clutched in her hold, I bring my hand to the top of her underwear and then slip it under the fabric, moving the back of my fingers down the seam of her. I know this is hard for her, but I also know that no one has ever touched her like this, without hate and force, so I keep my touches soft as she gives me this. After a little time, her body begins to respond to me, and I feel her relax as she grows hot in my hand. Her forehead becomes damp when I sink my fingers inside of her, breaths heady, and bodies on fire as we move in this new way together.

We spend a good amount of time like this before we make love in the darkness of the room. The only noises are the ones that are products of the pleasure we give each other and eventually the moans that come from us losing ourselves completely to the other.