by E. K. Blair
Somehow I let Jase and Ryan talk me into going to Ryan's bar to hear Mark's band play tomorrow night. Still nervous about the possibility of seeing Jack out one of these days, the fact that I'll be there with Jase and Ryan was comforting enough for me to say yes.
Ryan is working late tonight, so Jase and I are spending the evening together at his place. After grabbing some tea and coffee at Peet's on the ground floor of Jase's apartment building, we head upstairs for the night.
Making ourselves comfortable on his couch, we talk for quite a while about Mark and Ryan. This is the first time that both of us have had boyfriends we can talk about, and I'm enjoying our newfound pastime for gossiping. But, the conversation takes a more serious tone when Jase asks, "Can you hear me out on something?"
"Sure. What's up?"
"I know I've brought this up before, but I want to bring it up again because you seem to be in a better place now."
"What are you getting at?"
"Have you thought about calling the detective from that night?"
"What? Why would I do that?"
"Because Candace, you know who did this, and the hospital has the evidence."
"I don't want to talk about this."
"What if he does this to someone else?"
"Drop it, Jase."
"Candace, think about it. If he could do what he did to you..."
"I'm serious, Jase. Drop it." My hands are shaking, and I cannot believe he even went there. Getting off the couch, I storm off to the bathroom and slam the door behind me. I have been trying so damn hard to not think about that night, and now when I close my eyes, I'm right back there. How could he do this to me? I turn on the faucet and splash cold water on my face, but the anger keeps coursing through me. Looking at myself in the mirror, I realize I'm crying, and when I see the tears, I get more pissed.
The door swings open, and Jase is standing there with guilt all over his face.
"What's wrong with you?!" I scream at him.
"Shit, Candace, I had no idea," he pleads. "I honestly thought you..."
"Would be over it by now?! I can't. He won't ever let me," I sob out. "I can still feel his hands all over me, and I hate it."
"God."
"All I have ever asked is for you to drop it, and now you bring this shit up?! Now?!"
"I thought..."
"I just can't. And God, Ryan would find out."
"He doesn't know?"
"No! He'll never know. He can't."
"Why?"
"Because I'd lose him. He'd run away. Who would want me?"
"You have to tell him."
"No, I don't. This is my secret, and I plan to keep it that way."
"Candace, I'm sorry. I didn't realize." His voice is hurt, and I feel horrible for blowing up at him like that.
"I'm sorry," I say then hug him. "I'm sorry."
"I never thought you'd be over it; I know you better than that. I just thought that you'd be in a little bit of a better place."
"Can we just forget about it?"
"Of course. Forgotten."
I decide to call it a night. Jase wanted me to spend the night, but I really need some space.
Seth's car is parked out front when I get home. As I walk past it, I notice for the first time that he has Greek letters on his back window; the same Greek letters of Jack's fraternity.
Oh my god.
Does Kimber know this? She'd almost have to know. I start to panic a bit, wondering if she's talked to Jack, and if so, what was said. Did he say anything about me?
I feel uncomfortable when I walk in and see Kimber and Seth watching a movie in the living room. I quickly walk through the room. Kimber doesn't say anything; she simply sits on the couch and looks at me when I walk to my room. This tension with Kimber hurts and the fact that Jase and I just had an argument, when we never argue, has me emotionally exhausted. God, I hate this.
Ryan seemed excited this morning on our run that I was finally going to come by his bar and hang out. After everything that happened with Jase last night, I am more apprehensive than ever, but I stuff it down deep because I know Ryan wants me at the bar with him tonight.
He's already there—he's been working all afternoon—and Mark drove with Chasten, the drummer, for a quick sound check. So, I'm getting ready and hanging out with Jase. The tension between us has dissipated and neither one of us mentions our fight.
Sliding my black boots on over my jeans, I say, "Okay, I'm ready."
"Finally," Jase teases as we start to head out.
I pull my hooded black raincoat over my plum satin swing top and lock the door behind me. When we get in the car, I text Ryan to let him know we are on our way.
"Mark is really excited that you're coming tonight."
"I feel bad that I've missed all of his shows," I say.
"Don't. He gets it."
Jase turns in down an alley, and I give him a look as he says, "We're parking in the back employee lot."
As we drive around the building, I'm surprised at the size. I had no idea he owned a place this big. Although it's dark and rainy out, I can see that the front lot and side streets are lined with cars.
Jase turns the car into a small empty spot in the back. When I get out and turn around, away from the car, my heart freezes—I can't breathe.
Holy shit.
I zone in on the blue chipped paint. I see those chips that expose the dark metal underneath almost every day. I'd know them anywhere.
When I take a step back, the heel of my boot snags on a divot in the asphalt and I trip, falling on my bottom. I begin to panic when I hit the ground. All I see is that dumpster, and I can't get up fast enough.
I can't even hear Jase as I see his lips move as he squats in front of me. Quickly, I pull myself up and Jase follows, grabbing my shoulders, he puts me back in the car. I lower my head to my knees and begin to sob uncontrollably.
When Jase gets in the car, I start screaming, "Get me out of here! Go! Get me out of here!"
He doesn't say a word as he starts the car. I sit up, with sobs wracking me. I'm still screaming when I see the back door open, and Ryan comes out. His eyes meet mine, and I can see the shock in his face as I'm crying and screaming at Jase to drive.
He rips out of the parking lot as I hear Ryan yelling my name.
Covering my face with my hands, I continue to wail.
Jase pulls the car into a gas station and throws the car in park. Getting out, he comes around to my side, opens my door, and kneels down beside me.
"Candace, I need you to breathe. Calm down, okay?"
But I can't. That night keeps replaying in my head. That dumpster. Jack ripping off my clothes. Digging my nails in the asphalt, trying to get away. It all flashes through me.
"Candace, look at me. What's wrong?"
Letting my head fall in my hands, I say, "That's the alley. That's the alley Jack..." I still can't bring myself to say that word, but no words are needed when Jase pulls me into him and holds me.
"Oh God," he mutters over and over as I cry.
My sobs begin to weaken, and fatigue overcomes me. I release my hold on Jase and fall back into the seat, thoroughly drained and exhausted.
"Let me take you back to my place, okay?"
My eyes sting from the mixture of tears and makeup, so I keep them closed and nod my head.
Walking into Jase's apartment, I head straight to his bedroom and lay my head on his pillow. My head is pounding, and my body is weak. Jase lies down next to me and holds me.
"What can I do?" he asks hopelessly.
"Just make it go away," I mumbled. If only he could, I just might have a fighting chance to be myself again. Instead I lie here, as I have so many times before: pathetic, weak, and broken.
Letting out a sigh of defeat, he tells me, "I wish I could. I would. I would do anything to take this away from you."
I know that he would too, but hearing the pain in his voice brings on another slew of tears.
We bo
th jump when there is a loud pounding on his door. I sit up when Jase gets out of bed.
"Stay here," he says as he shuts the bedroom door behind him.
I soon hear Ryan's loud voice demanding to know where I am and Jase yelling at him to give me space, when the door suddenly opens.
Still crying, I look up at Ryan, and he gently closes the door behind him and rushes over to the side of the bed where I am sitting. Kneeling between my legs, he holds firmly onto my knees. I hate seeing the pain and confusion in his eyes. I continue crying and repeating, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Ryan. I'm..."
Grabbing me behind my back, he slides me off the edge of the bed and onto the floor with him. "What happened, babe?"
Hiding my face in my hands as I cry, I keep apologizing. He pulls me tight against him, and I wonder what I could possibly say to excuse this breakdown. He's going to want to know, and I don't know what to do.
He takes my wrists and pulls my hands away from my face, "I need you to talk to me."
Looking down at my lap, I say the first thing that comes to my mind, "I just...I got myself too worked up and had a panic attack. I know you wanted me there tonight, but I couldn't."
"Why couldn't you just tell me?"
"I was embarrassed. This has happened a few times in the past, but only Jase knows that I have these."
He wraps me up in his arms, and I feel horrible. I didn't lie, but I still feel guilty.
When I'm calmed down, he backs away and looks me in the eyes when he says, "You could've come to me. Jase isn't the only one you have, you know?"
The hurt in his eyes is too much, and I have to look away, but he lowers his head to catch my dropping eyes. "I need you to trust me enough to talk to me." Nodding my head he continues, "I understand you and Jase, but I know how I feel about you." He takes a moment before softly saying, "I want you to need me more than him."
Feeling the need to defend myself, I say, "He's all I've ever had."
Taking my hand in his, he places it against his chest when he tells me, "You have me now too."
I feel myself falling for him even more when I hear the sincerity in his words. Fisting his shirt in my hand, I wrap my free arm around his neck and hug him.
"Let's go home," he says into my ear, and I know that when he says home, he means his place, and I like that.
School started back up this past week and so far, it seems that apart from my dance studios, classes should be fairly easy. Leaving my Technique Instruction lecture, I text Ryan to let him know I'm coming over a little earlier than planned since all we did was go over the syllabus.
The other day I was looking at the matted photos that I had seen back in November and when I asked to see more, he offered to show them to me this afternoon. I have been fixated on the photo I originally saw of the curve of a woman's back. I've been trying to not let my curiosity get the best of me, but I can't help but wonder who the women are in his photos.
When I arrive, the door is unlocked, so I let myself in. I don't see Ryan when I enter, so I call out, "Ryan?"
"Back in my office," he yells.
Walking down the hall to his home office, the door is cracked. I lightly knock before I enter.
"Hey, babe," he says as he leans back in his leather chair from behind his desk. "Come here."
I walk around his large desk as he scoots his chair back. He stretches his arms out and envelops me as I sit on his lap.
"How were your classes today?" he asks as he brushes my hair off my shoulder.
"Uneventful, but it's only the first week. Nothing but going over the syllabus for the most part."
"I'm glad you're here. I've missed you," he says as he brings my head down so that he can kiss me.
I've been working more while Roxy rearranges the calendar to accommodate everyone's new class schedules. When I'm not working, I have been in the studio adding choreography and rehearsing my solo. Auditions for our final production are next month, so there hasn't been much time for Ryan and I to spend together.
"So, don't be mad, but..." I start when Ryan interrupts, "Oh, God."
"Just listen," I say. "When I was on campus today I ran into Stacy Keets who works at the Henry Art Gallery. She was telling me that one of her pieces got picked up for a gallery show next month."
"So, you want to go?"
"Yes, but I was thinking that you could submit one of your photos."
"Babe," he says as he cocks his head to the side. "Those are just a hobby that I hardly even take seriously. I'm far from having them displayed in a gallery of all places."
Rolling my eyes at him, I continue, "Well, I happen to love the few photos I've seen. They're a lot better than you think they are."
"You're cute," he teases.
"I'm serious, I think that you should at least submit something and see if it gets accepted. If not, nothing lost, right?"
"And if they are?"
"Then you can take me as your date for the showing," I say with a sly grin.
"If I say I'll think about it, will that suffice?"
"Yep."
Laughing at me, he buries his head in my neck and starts nipping the curve of my shoulder, which he knows is my ticklish spot.
Giggling uncontrollably as he playfully assaults my neck, I manage to push him away and hop off of his lap.
"Show me all your photos so I can pick out the ones for you to consider submitting," I tease.
Rolling his chair back to the wooden credenza on the wall behind his desk, he slides one of the doors open and pulls out a stack of mattes.
"Here, boss," he says with a wink and then follows me as I start making my way to the living room.
"Want something to drink?" he asks.
"Yeah, anything hot."
Taking a seat on the couch, I cross my legs under me and make myself comfortable as I look at the first photo. It's a black and white image of a woman's neck and collarbone. It's backlit so everything is black except for the outline of the curves. Flipping to the next, it's another similar sensual photo. Then a photo of a naked woman lying on her back with her legs seductively crossed. I keep flipping, until my stomach is knotted up so tightly that I can't look anymore.
I set the stack facedown on the coffee table and stand up.
"I'll be right back," I say as I rush to the bathroom and shut the door behind me.
Seeing the one photo a few months ago seemed so harmless compared to all the ones I just saw. Who are all those women, and why is every picture so sensual? What is he doing with me? I could never be what those photos are, and I know he can't possibly see me in that way. I don't think I want him to see me that way. No, I definitely don't. It's not me. I'm...no, I can't even finish my thought.
Thoughts begin to flash quickly through my head, and I can't tell if I am overreacting. If he looks at women like that, then what is he doing with me? I have never really felt unsure of Ryan, but maybe I should be.
My thoughts seize for a moment when I hear Ryan tap on the door, and I wonder how long I've been in here going crazy. Apprehensively, I open the door.
"What are you doing?" he asks suspiciously as he takes a step in, and I take a step back. He can read my apprehension and gives me a confused look. "Babe, what's wrong?"
"Nothing."
Dropping his head, he lets out a breath of irritation at my lie.
"Is it the photos?"
I don't respond when he asks, but I know it's all over my face.
"Candace, you asked to see them. You knew what they would be of."
"I know, I'm sorry. I didn't think they would all be like that."
He walks in front of me and leans against the sink and says, "They're just pictures, that's all."
Sitting down on the closed toilet seat, I say, "But...they just seem so intimate."
"Babe, don't."
I look up at him and ask, because I need to know, "Did you sleep with them?"
"Yes," he responds honestly.
"How many have you...?"
"A lot."
"And you photograph them?" I say with a tinge of disbelief.
"No. I've only photographed a couple women. Most of those photos are the same person."
"Oh," I say as I drop my head, now more worried than ever. I feel uneasy sitting here in front of him when he's just told me all of this. I can't help but think what those women must have meant to him. Did he talk to them the same way he does with me? Were they all in his bed, the bed I sometimes sleep in? And what am I to him?
He crouches down in front of me and says, "I know what you're doing, and you can stop. None of them meant what you mean to me. I never had or wanted a relationship with them."
"Then why?"
Holding my hands, he admits, "Because for most of my life I've been lost. I dealt with a lot of shit growing up, and I used women as a way to escape. But when I met you...you're just different. I wanted to know you, really know you. You're nothing like those women. Nothing. I've never looked at them or wanted them the way I do you."
"I don't know what I'm doing," I shamefully confess.
"I don't either."
"I mean...I haven't..."
"Been with anyone?"
When I cover my face with my hands, he grips me behind my waist and brings me down to the floor with him, sitting sideways between his legs. Holding me, knowing I must be embarrassed, he says, "Talk to me."
"Only once, but he was really drunk and it...well, it was pretty much over before it begun."
"Sounds like an asshole."
"He was, but it kept my parents off my back. They really liked him and his family, so we would go out every now and then, but that was about it. So, I can't help but sometimes wonder what you're doing with me." Crap! Did I really just admit that?
"Look at me," he says, and when I do, he continues, "I don't give a shit how inexperienced you are. In fact, I prefer that because the thought of another guy touching you pisses me off. That guy was a dick for treating you like you were disposable. But don't devalue yourself because of that. I won't rush you into anything. You know that right?"