by Ivy Jordan
Candace shook her head. She was on the couch, not her corner, but sitting in the center with an open book in her hand. She smiled as she looked up, the same sweet smile I remembered as a kid.
“I won’t be long,” I promised.
As I walked out of the front door, I thought of what it would be like if she stayed, not just until she healed, but long after. My heart swelled with hope and the memory of how our love was so young and pure what seemed to be a lifetime ago.
I climbed into my truck and headed towards Lyla’s office, hoping that she’d shed some light on the mystery that surrounded the woman I once loved, and admittingly, still did.
“I’m so glad you had time to see me, Mr. Sheridan,” Lyla spoke quickly as she reached for my hand.
We shook, and she quickly turned, moving swiftly behind her desk. “Luke. You can call me, Luke,” I mumbled, feeling awkward being addressed with such formality.
Was I supposed to call her Dr. Madsen? I suddenly felt foolish for calling her Lyla.
“Of course, and you can call me Lyla,” she smiled, taking her seat behind her desk.
I sat down in the chair in front of her, eagerly awaiting her to give me some information.
“So, how are things with Candace?” she asked.
“She’s talking more, but not about much of anything important,” I hummed.
“So, you still have no idea what’s happened to her?” she asked.
“I was hoping you did,” I admitted, feeling my anxiety peak.
“I’ve been very patient with her. I’ll admit I’ve been afraid to push her too hard. She’s great with the kittens, almost a complete transformation. I can see her anxiety almost completely disappear when she’s in the barn,” Lyla stated.
She had a warm smile when she spoke about Candace. It was obvious she had a soft spot in her heart for her.
“So what do you suggest?” I asked.
“I suggest, Luke, that you have a straight-forward talk with her about what has happened,” she said sternly.
“I wouldn’t even know how,” I sighed.
“I can speculate. I suspect that domestic violence is the cause of her damaged esteem, but she doesn’t feel safe. Until you know what has happened, you can’t guarantee her safety, and she needs that guarantee,” Lyla dictated.
Sweat beaded up on my forehead as I leaned into the hard chair. I wanted to know how to help Candace, and guarantee her safety, but I wasn’t sure this would go well. The thought of her running away scared the shit outta me.
Lyla shook my hand and walked me to the door. She gave me advice on how to ease into the conversation, but to stay on the topic until I’d gotten at least some answers.
“Don’t expect everything all at once,” she smiled softly as I waved my goodbyes.
I pulled my truck next to the cabin, parking it and sitting inside for a bit. My heart was heavy with the task at hand, and fear filled my soul as I worried about the consequences of my prying questions.
My feet hit the ground, and the truck door slammed, giving Candace plenty of warning that I’d arrived back.
I fumbled with my keys at the door, dropping them on the concrete stoop before finally opening the door. Candace was in the corner of the couch, in her usual spot, blanket pulled to her chin, and her face pale as sheet paper.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” I said softly, moving towards her.
A faint smile appeared on her face, and the blanket loosened from her clenched fingers.
“It’s not your fault,” she whispered.
I knew it wasn’t my fault, but whose fault was it?
“I’ll try not to make such a ruckus next time,” I grinned, taking my seat across from her in the old worn out chair.
Another smile, still faint, but she seemed to be loosening up. I thought about what Dr. Madsen had said. I had to press for answers, for her benefit as well as my own.
“Candace, we need to talk,” I said softly, trying to hold a stern tone in my shaken voice.
Her eyes widened. They were so green.
“I promise not to touch you, but I have to ask you some questions,” I added.
Her beautiful green eyes dropped to her lap, her head limp with defeat, and I couldn’t help but wonder what was going through her mind. Was she thinking about running far, far away from here, never to return?
“Okay,” she mumbled without looking up.
My heart raced. My hands clammed, and the silence in the room gave an eerie atmosphere.
This was it. I was finally going to find out what happened to Candace.
“That night when I picked you up, where were you before?” I asked.
Candace’s face was stricken with panic, and I could see her tense up as she stared down into her lap. Her hands clasped, twisting together tightly, her long, lean fingers intertwining like ivy on a fence.
“I know this is hard, but I need you to tell me what you’re running from. If I don’t know what you’re afraid of, I can’t protect you,” I said softly.
Her eyes lifted. Oh god, they were so green, so destroyed with pain. I wanted to reach out and hug her, pull her small frame into mine, promising I’d protect her from anything, from everything.
“Damien,” she muttered.
Damien. That was a name that would forever be embedded in my mind from that moment on. Damien.
I watched her hands twist and turn within one another, her eyes shift to the left, then right. It was as if by speaking his name he would appear, and she was watching from every corner for just that.
“He hurt you?” I asked.
She nodded, large tears flopping from her eyes.
“He said he’d kill me. He said he’d find me if I ran,” she stammered.
“Was he your boyfriend?” I asked, a lump in my throat forming hard and steady.
She nodded, looking away from the look I gave her, one I was certain was filled with rage and pain.
“You’re safe here,” I promised her.
“I’ll never be safe,” she sobbed, her tears growing heavier as they fell to her lap.
“Did you have a fight that night? Is that why you were covered in blood?” I asked.
She didn’t look up. She didn’t answer. She worked her hands together wildly.
“That wasn’t your blood, not all of it. Was it Damien’s? Did you have to fight him off?” I continued to push.
Her shoulders pushed inward, like she was trying to squeeze her own neck. Her hand wrapped around her wrist, one finger sliding up and down a long scar I hadn’t noticed before. Suicide. She’d tried to kill herself to get away from this man?
“I’m tired,” she whispered, sliding down into the corner of the couch.
“Of course. You should rest,” I agreed, hating that the conversation ended without the answers I needed.
Candace pulled the blanket to her chin, closed her eyes tightly, and let out a soft sigh as I got up from my chair and walked into the kitchen.
There was a lot more to this story, that much I knew, but what or how much, I had no idea.
Chapter 10
Candace
“You dirty whore!” Damien’s slurred words spat into my ear. I pushed up from my spot on the couch, quickly opening my eyes to find him standing there. I was alone. It was dark, and the house was empty. My heart raced wildly as I scanned the room, checking the front door lock with my eyes, ensuring it was bolted, that I was safe.
On the coffee table in front of me, a plate with a sandwich, chips, and three chocolate chip cookies was placed next to a glass of ice and a can of Pepsi. I stared at the offerings with a strange knot in my gut. This kindness wasn’t something I was used to, but I cherished it.
My stomach grumbled as I leaned up, reaching for the sandwich and pulling it to my lips. I bit down into the soft bread, enjoying the creamy mayonnaise on my tongue as my teeth cut into the thick slice of ham. It was sweet, thoughtful, and I suddenly felt bad for not sharing more of my story with L
uke. He deserved to know the truth. But once he knew, he would surely have to turn me over to the police. He wouldn’t harbor a felon.
Damien’s voice echoed in my head once more, repeating the same phrase that woke me from my sleep. It was something I’d heard daily, sometimes up to a dozen times a day when he was drunk or out of his favorite drug. I was worthless and dirty, and he was my savior: at least that’s how he’d have me see things.
To me, Damien was a prison guard, the devil himself, sent to earth to belittle me, hurt me, cause me grief, and steal my soul. He almost had, but I ran. I was so glad I ran. He couldn’t hurt me now.
“I love you, baby, but you make it so hard sometimes,” he’d whisper in my ear as he pressed his body against mine.
My skin crawled with disgust at the memory of him inside me, telling me how lucky I was that he’d decided to forgive me, to keep me safe with him.
Safe. Love. Those were two words that didn’t belong on Damien’s tongue. He didn’t love me. I knew that for a fact because I’d been loved before by Luke. He wasn’t keeping me safe. I knew that for certain now, because now, I felt safe, at least safer than I’d felt before.
I finished the sandwich and let my thoughts drift to Luke, when we were young. That evil house brought back so many horrid memories, but there were many behind closed doors that brought a smile to my face. Luke was always so kind, so enamored by my beauty, and eager to tell me how much he loved me, how we’d spend the rest of our lives together, leaving that place as soon as he got a job that paid enough. How I wished I’d stayed, enduring the pain that the foster dad inflicted upon me to enjoy the comforts of Luke’s arms, his words, his promises of a future. I didn’t have a future now. It was over for me. I’d made my choices, all wrong choices, and when this fairytale was over, I’d pay for them.
I didn’t want to think about that right now. I wanted to think about Luke. About what it was like when we were together, in love. I wanted to think about what it would be like to be together forever, to wish away my past, create a new future in my mind.
A strange familiar tingle started in my belly, then my breasts. My heart raced, and I felt my body start to lighten, loosening up with each thought of Luke. Things could have been different. It was my bad choices that led me here, but here I was.
Luke’s bedroom door was cracked open, dark inside, and soft sounds of his breathing floating through the hallway.
Suddenly, I yearned to be near him, to feel the safety inside his arms. The feeling of arousal deepened, stirring something inside of me that I hadn’t felt in years.
I got up from the couch, leaving my blanket behind. The floor creaked when I stepped towards his room, causing my heart to race even faster and that feeling of excitement to increase ten-fold. I stopped and listened. His breath was still slow with slumber. I continued my steps until I reached his door, pushing it open slowly, exposing his frame, muscular, strong, still.
I walked into the room, made my way to the opposite side of the bed he was on, and pulled back the blanket.
He stirred, quickly lifting himself from the pillow, his eyes wild as they glowed in the dark room.
“Candace?” he questioned, more surprised than startled.
“Shhh,” I slid into the blanket, pushing myself near the warmth that radiated from his body.
“What are you doing?” he asked, this time more startled.
“I don’t want to be alone,” I whispered and pushed myself closer to his frame.
He slithered back into the bed, his strong arms wrapping around me tightly. My breath bounced from his bare chest back to my face. This was where I wanted to be.
My hands wrapped around him, slowly caressing his sides, his back, and then lower to his rock-hard buttocks.
He didn’t seem to mind my touch, so I lifted my face towards his, our lips so close we could kiss without effort. His eyes bore into mine, and mine into his. This would’ve been my life. I wanted a taste, even though I knew that would be it: just a taste.
My lips stretched to his, kissing him softly. He reciprocated at first but quickly pulled back.
“No, we can’t,” he whispered.
“Why not?” I questioned, a question that left him without an answer.
Our lips met again, this time in a fury of passion, our hands traveling along each other’s frames.
My mouth explored his neck, his chest, and then back to his mouth. My hands roamed across his rippled abs and down between his legs and found that he was just as excited as I was for our reunion.
His body rolled towards mine, trying to take position atop me, but I wasn’t ready to be pinned to the mattress, to have that feeling I hated take over this one that I loved. I pushed back, rolling on top of him, straddling my legs around him as my pussy had its first feel of Luke’s unfamiliar manhood. He’d grown since we’d saw one another last, and my arousal burst with excitement as I slid myself up and down his length.
“Candace, are you sure you’re…” Luke gasped as I pressed my finger to his lips.
“I need this,” I said sternly and quickly slid my panties from my hips, lifting my body to release the silk from my feet to the floor below.
Luke wasted little time removing his boxers, releasing his hard cock to my will.
I lifted, reached beneath me, and positioned him between my legs. As I lowered, my body shook, my mind blanked, and the entire world disappeared.
The feeling of control, of deciding when and how he entered me, was enough to make me cum.
A taste of blood rolled onto my tongue as I bit down on my lip to stop from screaming out with pleasure.
My hips rolled against his, taking him into me slowly, rocking, sliding, grinding, and making him squirm and moan with each movement.
This is what love felt like. I remembered.
My body ached as it started to twitch. The muscles between my legs began to contract, and soon, his large muscle met my sporadic explosion with its own.
I fell limp onto his chest, my lips nipping at his neck as his arms held me tight. The heat between us made me sweat, and the hairs on his chest tickled my cheeks as I lay there, wishing that this would’ve been the path I chose, but I didn’t. This was not my path, but a fork in the road on my way to the fate I chose.
I rolled over to my side, snuggling into the blanket without looking at Luke. It wasn’t that I was ashamed but more that I was disappointed that this wouldn’t be my path for much longer. It would hurt to say goodbye, even more so now.
He held me tight. He didn’t speak. That was what I needed.
Chapter 11
Luke
I’d felt Candace wriggle from my arms after we’d made love, but I didn’t let on. I kept my eyes closed tight, refraining from peeking as she snuck out of my bedroom, making her way back to her spot on the couch.
Having her in my bed, in my arms, was amazing, but something was amiss. The way she took control, not allowing me to touch her, it was out of her nature, but somehow fitting. Domestic abuse was one thing, but sexual abuse another; she showed the signs of both.
I climbed out of bed and slowly made my way into the living room. I expected to find Candace curled in the corner of the couch, anxiety-ridden with what had happened last night, but instead, noises echoed from the kitchen.
“Good morning,” she said cheerfully as I leaned against the door frame.
She was making breakfast, seemingly frazzled as she worked on stirring the eggs, grabbing toast as it popped from the toaster, and trying to greet me properly.
“Good morning,” I said, smiling much wilder on the inside than I showed on my face.
“I thought I would make breakfast to thank you,” she said softly, pulling the frying pan of eggs from the burner.
“You don’t have to thank me,” I replied, taking in her absolute beauty.
“I thought we could go visit the kittens after breakfast,” she suggested.
I moved into the kitchen, helping her reach the plates on the top
shelf. She buttered the toast while I scooped eggs onto each of the plates in equal mounds.
“That sounds great,” I agreed, taking my seat at the kitchen table.
Candace slid a coffee cup in front of me and took the seat across from me.
There were so many things I wanted to say, to ask, but I didn’t want to ruin the mood she was in. I knew there was much more to her story that she’d neglected to tell me, and I owed that I’d find a way to get her to open up.
“You really love those kittens,” I sighed.
“I named one Mittens, because she has little black front paws,” she gushed.
I watched her as she chewed on a piece of buttered toast, listening as she talked about each of the kittens. She’d given each one a name, and her eyes lit up when she spoke about them.
A knock on the door interrupted the cheerful morning chatter. I excused myself and headed for the door, hoping it wasn’t something that would interrupt our morning plans.
I peeked out the widow by the door, noticing Jake standing on my front porch and his cop car parked beside my truck. Shit, what did he want?
I thought about not answering, fearing in my gut it was about Candace. My eyes drifted back towards the kitchen where Candace was sitting at the table, her body tense and upright, her eyes wide and curious.
I opened the door, taking a deep breath.
“Hey, Jake, what can I do for you?” I asked, trying to hide the stress in my tone.
“Can I come in?” Jake asked in a formal manner.
I moved from the doorway, letting the officer in. He was a friend, but it was clear this wasn’t a friendly call.
Candace took one look at him, standing there in uniform, and let out a wild cry, rushing past us into the bathroom where she locked the door.
My thoughts scattered. Why had she reacted that way? What had she done?
“Is that Candace Lennon?” Jake asked.
I nodded, still unclear what he wanted with her.
“We got a tip that she might be here,” Jake informed.
A tip?