Laying my head back, I hear her start to cry. Dropping my head in my hands, I can’t stop my own tears from falling. Fuck. When her cries turn into howling sobs, I leap off the couch and rush into the bathroom.
I look at her through the steamed glass, on her knees, at the bottom of the shower. I feel like all the air is sucked out of my lungs. Seeing her like this is almost unbearable, so I quickly kick off my shoes and socks, open the shower door, and wrap my arms around her from behind as she breaks. I don’t know what else to do, so I just cover her bruised and cut body with mine.
I have no clue what the hell really happened, and knowing Candace, she will never say. He beat the shit out of her, that much is evident. Rage roils in my gut when I think about what he did to her. I know I have to keep it together though, ‘cause she’s going to need me.
Listening to her wails is excruciating. I love this girl more than anything, and to see her in this much pain kills me. I’m so scared for her; I’m afraid of what this has done to her. I know there is nothing I could possibly say, so I just cling to her as she falls apart in my arms.
When she exhausts herself and quiets down, she remains frozen in my hold. I don’t think twice when I stand to get my body wash. Still in my gym shorts and t-shirt, I begin to clean her as she sits there, vacant, on the bottom of my shower. When I finish washing her hair, she finally looks up at me, and I see it. Desperation.
I shut the water off, strip out of my wet clothes, and grab some towels. Drying her off, I help her change. She just cries and apologizes as if she’s a burden. I pick her up and carry her to my bed. Tucking her into me, I wrap myself around her and never loosen my grip.
I don’t even question skipping my classes today. We didn’t get home from the hospital until close to six o’clock this morning, and Candace has been waking from nightmares all day. When she’s up, she sobs, and when she sleeps, she thrashes around and screams herself awake. I don’t know what to do for her, so I just hold her.
I just finished up cleaning the cuts on her face, and she’s asleep again. My phone vibrates from the nightstand and when I pick it up, I see the time is almost five p.m. I swipe my screen to see that I have several missed calls and texts from Mark and Kimber. I read a missed text from Mark first.
Why aren’t you at studio?
I scroll down to the next text.
Tried calling you. Where have you been all day?
I’m not sure what to say to him. I hate that we have only been back together for a week and I feel like I have to hide things from him. I need to show him that he can trust me, but I know I can’t say anything until Candace tells me what she wants.
I open up the text from Kimber next.
Freaking out. Is Candace with you? She never came home last night.
I don’t respond. Candace didn’t want to go home and face Kimber, so she asked to stay with me. I know she doesn’t want to deal with Kimber. She’s pushy and aggressive and Candace clearly wants to be left alone. She won’t even talk to me.
I ignore the texts and don’t even bother listening to the voicemails. I have hardly slept and I’m exhausted. Rolling over, I hold Candace and try to get in some sleep before she wakes again.
The sounds of Candace crying and vomiting in the bathroom wake me up. The apartment is dark as I rip the covers off of me, rush into the bathroom, and flip on the light. She’s huddled over the toilet and begins screaming and crawling back into the corner. She’s panicking, and I can’t tell if she’s still dreaming or not. I drop down on my knees in front of her. Gripping her wrists, I freak out when I see her glazed over eyes.
“It’s okay, Candace. I’m here,” I say as calmly as I possibly can.
Her eyes shift to mine, and I keep repeating, “It’s okay,” to her. When her screams turn to cries, I pull her into my arms and slowly rock her. I don’t know what the fuck to do. I have no clue what just happened.
She clings to me and her cries start to soften, sniffing between shallow breaths. Scooping her up off the floor, I carry her to the living room and set her down on the couch. She hasn’t eaten or had anything to drink since we came home, so I get a box of crackers and some bottles of water.
Handing her one of the bottles, I tell her to drink.
I sit down next to her and ask, completely confused, “What just happened?”
“I don’t know. It felt like a nightmare, but I was awake,” she says and then takes a drink of water.
I let out a sigh and lean over, resting my elbows on my knees. “You scared the hell out me. I know you don’t want to talk, but maybe . . .” I trail off when I hear her cell ring.
“You have my phone?”
Standing up, I walk over to the kitchen bar to grab it for her. “Yeah, the nurse at the hospital gave me your purse.”
When I sit back down and open the box of crackers, I ask, “Who was it?”
“Kimber.”
“You should call her, she’s probably freaking out and wondering where you are.”
“Maybe later.” She sets her phone down and leans her head back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling.
“She probably knows you’re with me. She sent me a text earlier asking if I knew where you were. I figured you didn’t want her to know just yet, so I didn’t respond.”
When she rolls her head to the side to look at me, I hold a cracker up to her mouth and feed it to her.
After she swallows, she says, “I don’t want anyone to know.”
I knew she would react this way. I knew she’d shut herself off, and I hate that. “I know, but she’s going to know that something happened. She’s going to want to know how you got all these bruises.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Why can’t you tell her? You know she wouldn’t say a word to anyone.” I’m trying to support Candace, but I shouldn’t have just said that. Truth is, Kimber is unreliable and unpredictable.
“I just can’t. Even the way you look at me now is different.”
Her words make me feel horrible. I don’t want to hurt her, and I don’t want to make her feel uncomfortable, but I’m worried.
She continues, “It makes me feel weird. It just reminds me that it happened when all I want to do is forget.”
“You know you can’t do that. It did happen.”
She begins to quietly weep when she questions, “But why? I don’t understand what I did that was so wrong.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I say as I run my thumbs under her eyes
“Then why did this happen to me?”
I shake my head. Her voice is so desperate. Desperate for answers I can’t give her. My chest tightens, and I can’t control the tears that start running down my face. “I don’t know, sweetie. But I do know that you didn’t do shit to deserve this. This isn’t your fault.”
“But maybe it is. I mean, I really led him on when I had no intentions of . . .”
“You mean Jack did this?!” I snap. Holy shit. “Christ, Candace. I thought it was just some random asshole. Why didn’t you tell the police? Why didn’t you say anything?” My mind is racing, and I have to fight the urge to grab my keys to go find that dipshit and kick his ass.
“Because I can’t. Everyone would know. Everyone, including my parents.”
I’m on fuckin’ fire, and I swear to God, if he were here right now, I would murder him.
“Fuck,” I spit out. I turn to look her dead on, and say, “I’m gonna kill that fucker.”