Devour

by E. K. Blair

  We’ve hung out with Gavin several times in the past few weeks. He has since apologized to me for making that comment to me at Ryan’s loft. I could tell he felt bad about it, so I brushed it off. He’s very crass with his words, but he’s really funny at the same time. The party, if nothing else, will at least be amusing with him there.

  

  Walking into Gavin’s house, Ryan is greeted by several people. Keeping a firm grip on my hand, he introduces me to a few guys before Gavin walks up and throws his arm around me.

  “It’s about time you guys showed up. Help yourself to whatever is in the kitchen.”

  “Hey, Gav.”

  “Hey, gorgeous. I can’t believe you haven’t left this ass-hat for me yet.”

  “If it weren’t for your delicate language, I might consider it.”

  “Leave her alone,” Ryan says as he pulls me away and into the kitchen to grab a couple of beers.

  As he’s opening my bottle, I notice a tall blonde eying him. When he hands me my bottle, he leans down and gives me a chaste kiss then leads me back to the living room. We sit on the couch and Ryan begins chatting with two guys that he knows. I sip on my beer and only catch bits and pieces of their conversation. I like that he never takes his hand off of my knee while talking to them; that he’s always so aware of me.

  I scan the room and spot Gavin who is talking with the blonde I saw in the kitchen. Her hair is long, about the length of mine. She wears her makeup in a sultry way, opposite of my simple mascara and lip-gloss.

  When both she and Gavin turn their heads and look at me, I immediately shift my eyes to Ryan. Looking back at me, he squeezes my knee, and Gavin flops down next to me.

  “What’s up?”

  “Were you talking about me?”

  “God you’re paranoid,” he teases and nudges my leg.

  “I’m gonna go get another drink.” Scooting forward on the couch, I ask Ryan if he wants another beer.

  “Yeah, babe. Thanks.”

  I grab his empty bottle and make my way into the kitchen, tossing them into the trash. Opening the fridge, I grab two more and when I turn around, the tall blonde is standing next to me.

  “Hi, I’m Gina,” she says politely and holds out her hand.

  Sticking one of the bottles under my arm, I reach out my now free hand to shake hers.

  “I’m a good friend of Gavin and Ryan.”

  “Oh. I’m Candace.”

  “They’ve never mentioned you before.”

  “I just met Gavin a few weeks ago,” I say.

  “So are you and Ryan . . .?”

  “What?” I question, not quite sure what she is trying to ask me.

  A grin begins to spread across her face when she leans in and says, “He’s good, isn’t he?”

  I back away from her face and say, “Excuse me?”

  “Oh, come on. Everyone knows what he’s like.”

  What the hell is this girl’s deal? Did he sleep with her? Thoughts start flooding my mind, and I just want to leave. Jealousy fills me when she says, “I’m a little surprised by you though. You don’t seem to fit his type.”

  “Excuse me,” I say as I start to walk away. I don’t know this girl, but I hate her nonetheless.

  “Oh my God. That’s so cute,” she says before I can get too much distance between us. When I turn around to look at her, she’s laughing at me and says, “You think he loves you? Ryan doesn’t know what that is. Trust me, I’ve been with him enough times to know that.”

  I feel sick and fire rushes through my veins, and if I wasn’t so small compared to her, I’d slap the shit out of her. I set the beers on the counter and turn around. Walking through the living room, I pass Ryan and snap at him, “Take me home,” and then make my way outside. My hands are shaking as a multitude of emotions runs through me: jealousy, anger, embarrassment.

  “Candace,” Ryan says as he rushes behind me.

  I turn around, angry, and shout at him, “Did you sleep with that girl in there? Gina?”

  He lets out a deep breath, and I shake my head and say, “Forget it. Just take me home.”

  I open the door before he can open it for me and hop up onto the seat. It’s one thing for me to hear about his past, but to have his past right there in my face, taunting me, is more than I can handle.

  When we start driving, Ryan finally speaks up. “I didn’t know she was going to be there. When I saw her, I didn’t want to say anything to draw attention.”

  I don’t respond. I’m too upset to respond, so I pull my knee up to my chest and shift my body toward the door, leaning the side of my head against the cold leather seat and stare out the window. I want to cry because I’m embarrassed and hurt, but I don’t.

  “Candace, say something.”

  I don’t.

  To be honest, I’m upset with that girl, not Ryan. I know Ryan has been nothing but open with me, so I can’t fault him for that. But, it doesn’t make it any easier. I wonder if everyone in that house thought I was just another girl like Gina. I hate that thought.

  When he pulls into his driveway, I softly say without moving, eyes still looking out the window, “Ryan, I really just want to go home.”

  He doesn’t say anything when he gets out of the car and walks around to my side. Opening the door, he takes my hand and helps me out. I don’t protest because I’m too tired to argue with him. We walk inside, and he takes me upstairs to his room.

  I stand in the doorway as he walks over to his dresser and starts pulling out clothes.

  “Ryan, what are you doing?”

  “You’re not going home. Here,” he says as he hands me a pair of his boxers and a t-shirt.

  I stand there for a moment and watch him as he begins to undress, then I turn to go to his bathroom and change myself. Realizing I don’t have my pills, I call out for Ryan to bring me my purse.

  When he knocks on the door, I open it and thank him when he hands it to me. I quickly brush my teeth, and when I walk out, the lights are off, and Ryan is already in bed. He didn’t pull the drapes shut, and the moon casts a muted light through the room.

  When I slide under the covers, Ryan instinctively pulls me in, facing him.

  “Talk to me,” he says with a soft voice.

  “I’m sorry. I’m not mad at you, and I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I just . . . I don’t like feeling the way she made me feel. It’s embarrassing.”

  “She was nothing to me.”

  “When did you . . . I mean . . . How long ago?”

  “August or so.”

  I sigh and close my eyes, not wanting to talk about this or think about this anymore.

  Brushing my hair back with his hands, he tells me, “They were only there to distract me, but when I saw you, you faded everything I needed distracting from.”

  Opening my eyes, I look up at him and ask, “Did you love any of them?”

  “No.”

  Hesitantly, “Do you love me?”

  “I’ve only ever loved you.”

  He rolls on top of me, staring down into my eyes. I pull him down, and I kiss him with an intensity I haven’t felt before. Crushing his lips with mine, tasting each other, and feeling each other, I grab his hair, keeping him close to me. He trails his hand down the center of my sternum, between my breasts, over my stomach, and when he reaches the hem of my shirt, I feel the heat of his hand as he slides it up, making my body shudder beneath his. When he cups me in his hand and squeezes, my body bows up to him, and he lets out a deep moan.

  “God, I want you,” he whispers.

  Sitting back on his heels, he pulls me up to him. He reaches down and slowly begins lifting up my top. Raising my arms up, he peels the cloth off of me and tosses it on the floor. He takes his hands and slides them down my sides. “Babe . . .”

  He lays me back down and grazes his lips down my neck and over the thin lace of my bra. I hold tightly onto the sides of his head when he covers my nipple with his mouth and drags his tongue a
cross the fabric. I begin to feel the anxiety build inside my stomach. I can’t do this.

  When he hooks his fingers under the waistband of my shorts, I clench my eyes tightly shut, panic coursing through me. I choke back a silent sob, and when I open my eyes to stop him, I see a pained look on his face. He’s sitting back and slowly brushing his thumb over my tattoo, staring at it intently. His touch is jittery on my skin, and when his eyes shift to mine, I can’t take the panic that is still coursing through my body.

  I quickly shift up to my knees and throw my arms around his neck, just needing to feel safe in his hold. It takes him a while, but he eventually wraps his arms slowly, almost hesitantly, around me. I grip him tightly, trying hard to not freak out in front of him, and I notice his body trembling under my arms. I don’t say anything because I am still so consumed with anxiety and wondering if he can tell how scared I just got when he touched me like he did.

  Silently freaking out, neither one of us moves. We cling to each other and let time pass.

  Eventually, I feel my heart slow, and I begin to soften in his arms.

  “Candace.”

  “Please, don’t say anything.”

  And he doesn’t as he lies us down and pulls the covers over us.

  

  When we wake up the next morning, Ryan is really quiet and seems tense. I notice his eyes are a bit bloodshot, and I ask him, “Did you not sleep last night?”

  “Not too much,” he says while pouring me a cup of coffee to take with me before he drives me home.

  We’ve barely spoken this morning, and he hasn’t been his usual affectionate self with me. In fact, I feel like he’s avoiding me. I’m feeling extremely self-conscious; not only because of what happened last night, but also the way he is acting today. I’m sure he’s getting tired of me always pushing him away. From my run in with Gina last night, I can tell he’s used to getting what he wants without having to wait.

  “You ready?” he asks.

  “Yeah.” I’m surprised when he takes my hand as he walks me to his jeep.

  When he pulls up into my driveway and parks, I turn to him and say, “I’m sorry about last night, and I get that you’re mad, but—”

  “What?” he interrupts. “Why would I be mad?”

  Suddenly feeling very unsure of the situation, I say, “Because I keep pushing you away. You’ve hardly said two words to me this morning. So, I just figured . . .”

  He turns away from me and gets out of the car. I watch him, confused, as he walks around to my side and opens the door. He reaches over me and unclicks my seatbelt, turning me toward him.

  “Everything you give me is perfect. You have to stop feeling like this. I’m here with you, and I’m not going anywhere.” He leans in to kiss me, and his words bring me relief. “I’m sorry if I’ve been a dick, I just didn’t get much sleep.”

  “It’s okay. I overreacted.”

  Helping me out of the car, he kisses me again before leaving.

  When I walk inside, Kimber is studying on the couch, and I’ve never felt more awkward around her since she asked me to move out.

  “Who was that?” she asks as I walk across the room.

  Turning to her, I ask, “Who?”

  “That guy you just kissed in the driveway. I wasn’t spying or anything, but you’re right outside the window.”

  I look out the large bay window then back at her. She looks sad when I say, “Oh, um, his name’s Ryan.”

  “You dating?”

  “Yeah,” I say, and I can tell that she is upset. I’m guessing it’s the same sadness I felt when I found out about her and Seth. I want to talk to her, to tell her all about him and how great he is, but I can’t. We aren’t like that anymore, and I know she’s hurting more than me as each day we grow more distant.

  “Well, I have to go get ready for school,” I softly say and then walk out of the room.

  Seeing her now, after yesterday, is awful. I hate knowing that I’ve hurt her this much. I feel like I’ve lost her, and it’s hard to be in the same house as her when we both feel the way that we do.

  When I pick up my phone, with apprehension, I type out my text.

  Can I stay with you?

  I hold my phone with nervous hands and wait for the reply.

  Of course babe.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  After I had texted Ryan about staying with him, he came over later that night when I got off work to help me pack a few bags. Thankfully, Kimber wasn’t home. It was hard enough trying to pack when I was so upset. But I know I need a little time away from this house so that emotions can settle.

  I thought it would be weird staying with Ryan, but he’s been able to keep the weirdness away. I know he’s happy that I ran to him instead of Jase. But after knowing how he feels about Jase and me sleeping in the same bed, I knew I couldn’t stay with him.

  My sleep has been a little more restless lately and filled with night terrors since I stopped taking my sleeping pills last week. Taking them was always hard for me; a daily reminder of why I need to be on them and it was only becoming worse. So I hoped that enough time had passed, and I wouldn’t need them anymore. I haven’t had another nightmare though, which has been a relief. My restless sleep worries Ryan, but I just told him it’s because of stress with school, graduation, and my issues with Kimber. I know it’s a lie, but I told him that regardless.

  Jase and Mark have been spending more time at the loft as well, now that I’m there. They tend to come over, or at least Jase does, when Ryan goes into work at night. They have both been scouting out firms to start applying to in a few months. I try not to think about what graduation will mean for Ryan and I. He hasn’t ever said anything or asked, so if it’s been on his mind, he doesn’t want me to know. Truth is, I could wind up staying if this is where my job is. I have no idea where I will wind up, but for the moment, I want to enjoy being right where I am.

  Ryan makes me happy, and I desperately need that. I still have my moments where I think I’m going to see Jack at school, or that he’s going to walk into the coffee shop. And I know he’s the cause of my restless sleep. Every time I take off my clothes, I’m reminded of him, of that night. He left a scar on my breast where he bit me so hard that he broke my skin. I can still remember the pain that shot down to my belly. Ryan has never seen it because the few times he’s taken off my shirt, I never let him take off my bra. But he’s seen my tattoo; the foolish tattoo I got when I thought it was time to abandon my cautious ways and have a little fun. Who knew fun would have left me battered, lying on a street by a dumpster? But, when I’m next to Ryan, he takes almost all of that away from me. I only wish he could take it all away.

  

  “Candace Parker, please take the stage.” My name echoes throughout Meany Theater. Nerves course through me, as they do every time I walk across this stage. Walking to the center, I find my spot and posture myself in fifth position. The thump of the spotlight being turned on is loud as it casts its glow down on me. And as it does, like all the times in the past on this very stage, my body relaxes and I am free when the music begins.

  I let go, and do what I have been training for during the past six months. My body knows exactly what to do as I work the floor. The comforting sounds of my ripped satin pointes gliding across the stage, and the thuds of my boxes only add to the peace I feel when I am on this stage. I know I don’t have to concentrate on my turnouts and port a bras, my body does it for me.

  One haunting beat after another, I feel it pouring out of me: the pain, the darkness, the weakness; it’s all there on the smooth black floor beneath my feet. My spots hit hard and sharp, and I know my lines are perfection when I feel the pinching in my back. My ankles are warm and loose when I move into my fouettè combination during the peak of the music. When I flow out of it, naturally leading with my heel to further push my turnout, I progress through the piece. The return of the staccato brushes of the violin pushes the music to its drop int
o silence.

  The spotlight thumps off, and I can finally see the panel of instructors as they are taking notes. There are nine of them. I’ve been with them for the past four years, dancing in their classes and learning from them.

  None of them look at me, and when I hear the voice of Sergej through the speakers announcing the next dancer, I walk off the stage and hope it isn’t the last time I will grace it alone.

  My heart races the whole drive back to Ryan’s. I can’t get out of the car fast enough when I pull into his driveway. I run up the stairs and burst through the door, throwing my bag on the wooden floor. When I see Ryan walking down the hall from his office, I run like a child and jump into his arms, wrapping my legs around his waist.

  “I take it you kicked ass?” he asks through his laughs.

  I can’t wipe the cheesy smile off my face. “I totally kicked ass. It was amazing!”

  My legs are strong around his waist when he takes his hands off of my hips, places them on my cheeks, and kisses me. I slam my mouth onto his as he pushes me up against the hallway wall, but we don’t stay connected for long because I cannot stop talking and laughing, telling him each detail when I know he has no clue what the hell I’m saying, but I don’t care and I know he doesn’t either. He just watches me in my excitement with his beautiful smile.

  He never moves me from the wall, and I keep my lock around his waist as he lets me ramble on.

  “I’m so proud of you, babe. I wish I could have seen you,” he says when I finally stop talking.

  “I know. I’m sorry. Auditions are always closed,” I say as I run my fingers through his hair.

  “When will you find out?”

  “March first.”

  “Next week?”

  “Yeah, Friday.”

  Pulling his head in, I kiss him again, and he begins to mumble over my lips that don’t want to stop. “I’ve got news too.”

  Still not willing to break my lips from his, I mutter, “What’s that?”

  “Thinkspace Gallery called.”

  I snap my head back as a new wave of excitement begins to flow through me. “And . . .?”