“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.
“Baby, wake up,” I say as I hover over her, scared to touch her.
She begins trembling, pleading in a strained voice, “Please, not again.”
Fuck. Knowing exactly what her dream is, I panic. “Candace, babe. Wake up.”
“Get off of me!” she yells, frantically kicking her legs.
Quickly straddling them, I grip her upper arms as she thrashes herself against my hold.
“Get the fuck off of me!” she shrieks, and when she opens her eyes, tears fall freely down the sides of her face. She looks at me, but there’s nothing there. No focus. Her eyes are completely glazed over, scaring the shit out of me. “God, please stop!”
“Candace, wake up!” I bark at her, desperate for her to snap out of her nightmare.
She’s in a frenzy, screaming hysterically. Crying. I let go of her, and when I do, she desperately shuffles back and away from me, falling off the bed and hard onto her hip. I hop off the bed and kneel down in front of her as she’s huddled in a ball against the wall, sobbing.
“Don’t fuckin’ touch me!” she screams when I hold her shoulders with my hands, but I don’t take them off of her.
“Candace, open your eyes,” I beg as she covers her face with her hands. She’s so loud, and my mind is overwhelmed with anxiety.
Her breathing is rapid and she’s terrified, but I need her to know she’s safe.
“Candace, please. Look at me. It’s only me here with you.”
I take her wrists to move her hands from her face, and she turns her head to the wall as she cries.
“Babe, please don’t hide from me.”
She struggles to breathe through her tears, and when she begins to gasp, I tug her between my legs and her body gives in, falling limp into my arms. I hold her tight. Tighter than I have ever held anyone. She has to get this secret out of her. It’s agonizing to see how this is tormenting her. I just need her to get it out.
I rub her back while she has her head tucked into my chest. She’s no longer screaming, but the crying continues.
I don’t want her to hide from me, so I tell her, “You have to look at me. Please.” With my hands, I move her head up to face me. She opens her eyes, and I hate the fear and embarrassment I see in them.
“You okay?”
She simply nods.
“What happened?”
Lowering her head, she takes a couple deep breaths before asking, “Can you please call Jase?”
“What?” I hate this shit. That she would run to him in a heartbeat like I don’t exist. Like I’m not enough for her, but he is. “Shit, Candace, no,” I tell her, refusing to allow her to run from me. She told me she loves me, I just need her to trust me enough to be here for her.
“Please.” She begins to cry again.
“Candace, no. You can’t always run to him. Need me for a change,” I beg. “Talk to me.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes, you can,” I urge. God, just talk to me. Tell me. Get this out of you so that you can start dealing with it.
“No, I can’t. Please. I just can’t,” she strains through her sobs.
“But you can with Jase?” I question in disbelief. I thought we were past this.
“I want you to need me,” I plead, tightening my hold around her. I feel desperate.
“I do.”
“You don’t,” I say. “You cling to him for everything. Look at me,” I demand and then hold her hands, pressing them hard against my chest, and beg, “Cling to me. Love me enough to need me.”
“I can’t . . . I . . .”
“Why?”
“Because . . . you’d leave me.”
“Not happening, babe.”
“Ryan, please.”
“I’m not leaving you,” I assure her. She can tell me this; I know she can, and I need her to. “Nothing you could say would make me want to leave you.”
“I’m just too fucked up.” Her face is covered in tears that I just want to kiss away. I wanna take all of her pain away, but I resist the urge to give in to her. So I keep encouraging, knowing that I’m guiding her to a painful place.
“We’re all fucked up,” I tell her. “I want you to let me in.”
Her body is shuddering as the sobs wrack her. I’m powerless, and it fuckin’ sucks.
“I can’t! You’ll never look at me the same. You’ll run away.”
She says this and I want to cry for her. Take her pain and shove it deep inside of me. I’d take her misery as my own in a second.
Wrapping my hand behind her head, I hold it close to my heart when I vow, “I promise you, nothing will change the way I look at you. Nothing will change what you do to me when you’re next to me. You make my heart beat in a completely different way—nothing will ever change that.”
“I’m so embarrassed,” she cries into my chest as she slips her arms around me, clinging to me like she’s about to fall—maybe she is, but I need her to.
“God, babe.” I’m fighting my own tears so hard. “Please, don’t be.”
I strengthen my hold on her, and when I do, she falters with a whimper when she releases it.
“I was raped.”
Those words. I already knew it. I even saw her body afterwards. But hearing those words. I can’t take the pain and guilt any longer. It’s like a knife to my lungs, and I can barely breathe. I take a hard breath in when the tears slip out and fall.
I’m helpless. I don’t know what to say to her, but I knew that she had to tell me. To stop hiding it away, but what have I done to her? She’s broken in my arms right now, sobbing, and I don’t know what to do to help.
We sit, clinging to one another as we both cry. Time passes and she begins to tire, now softly weeping as I continue rocking her and planting kisses on top of her head.
“I’ve been lying to you,” she mutters quietly.
“I don’t care. It doesn’t matter.”
“I feel horrible.”
“Candace, don’t do this,” I tell her. “You have every right to lie.”
“I can’t go to see you at work because . . .”
“Shhh . . .” I want her to stop because she doesn’t need to apologize for shit. She shouldn’t feel bad for trying to cover this up. I get it. Understand it.
“Because it happened in your parking lot. By the dumpster,” she tells me, and I figure she simply needs to get it off her chest, so I don’t say anything. I just listen as she relieves herself of whatever guilt is weighing on her as she continues. “That’s why I freaked out. I didn’t know where I was until I saw the dumpster.”