Falling (Fading Series)

  Nodding her head, we continue to eat our dinner when I suggest, “Wanna watch something on TV?”

  She picks up the remote and hands it to me. Flipping through the channels, I already know she’s a fan of MTV, so I decide to go for one of my channels. When I land on TCM and they’re playing one of my favorite movies, I set the remote down, get comfortable, and wait for it. Knowing she’s gonna tease me, I find myself already enjoying her reaction when she says, “What the heck is this?”

  “You don’t know this movie?” I ask, mocking a serious tone, playing right into her.

  “Does anyone know this movie?”

  Smiling, I say, “Candace, it’s a classic.” Seeing the blank look on her face, I continue, “It’s ‘Double Indemnity’ from the 1940’s. It’s a great movie.”

  “You watch a lot of these movies?”

  Shaking my head, I tell her, “Sit back and just watch. You’ll like it.”

  When she sits back with me, I start to explain the movie. “See that girl? Her name is Phyllis and that guy is an insurance agent that she is trying to seduce.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she wants him to murder her husband so she can collect the money from his policy.”

  “Oooh, I like her already,” she playfully says, and gets me laughing.

  “Just watch.”

  Kicking our feet up on the coffee table, we lean back and watch the movie. After a while I feel her head drop onto my shoulder. Looking down, her eyes are closed. I don’t move for a while, scared of how she’ll react. After what happened in my car yesterday, I make sure she’s sound asleep before I slip my hand under her head and lower her onto my lap.

  She curls up into a ball, and I take this moment to really look at her. Her skin is light and flawless. I gently run the back of my hand down her cheek and along her jaw. She’s soft. I knew she would be. My heart begins to beat faster at the subtle contact.

  I sink down into the couch, getting comfortable, and observe the stark contrast of her dark, thick lashes as they fan across the tops of her cheekbones. Leaning my head back, I relax with finally having her close to me. The warmth of her against me is something I’ve been craving. Even though she isn’t giving this to me—I’m taking it right now—it appeases me for the time being, hoping that one day she’ll want to give this to me. That simple thought alone is enough for me to know that I’m falling hard for this girl, and that worries me, because I know better than to allow myself to feel like this. But with her, all my logic seems to dissipate.

  I let her sleep for a while, but when I begin to grow tired myself, I know I need to wake her. She’s out cold when I lean over and whisper, “Candace.”

  When I run my hand down her arm, she starts to stir. “Candace . . . Candace, wake up.”

  Her eyes slowly flutter open and when she looks up at me, she locks them to mine. I can tell she isn’t fully awake as she continues to stare. Out of nowhere, she startles me when she lurches off of the couch, finally coherent and free from her haze.

  “Are you okay?” I ask when I stand up, and as soon as I step towards her, she shoots her hands out, wanting me to stay away. She’s scared of me, and I hate that. Whatever it is she’s dealing with, whatever is causing her to react this way, I just want to comfort her, but there’s no way she’d let me if I tried.

  “I’m sorry,” I say as calmly as I can, not wanting to freak her out any more than she is. “I didn’t want to leave you without you locking the door behind me. You fell asleep, and I didn’t want to wake you, so I let you sleep for a while.”

  “I’m sorry,” she breathes out.

  “For what?”

  Lowering her hands, she looks a little mortified when she explains, “Startling easily. I didn’t know I fell asleep. I’m just . . . I was just disoriented.”

  “Candace,” I quietly say, not wanting her to feel uncomfortable with me. I step toward her, and when she doesn’t move away, I take my hand and brush aside a lock of her hair that’s fallen across her forehead. I feel her stiffen, and I quickly pull back.

  “I’ll lock the door behind you,” she says.

  “Let me help you clean this up.”

  She looks at the mess and tells me, “I’ll do it. It’s all trash anyway.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah.”

  She follows me as I walk to the door. Before I leave, I turn back and she’s right next to me. She has to tilt her head to look up at me, and when I see her from this angle, she looks so fragile. When her eyes shift up to meet mine, I softly tell her, in all seriousness, “I want you to feel comfortable with me.”

  I notice her shallow breaths when she whispers, “I know.”

  “Okay. So, we’ll talk later?”

  When she softens her face and says, “Yeah,” I feel better about leaving.

  When I pull into the parking lot of the gym, I spot Jase’s 4Runner already here. He got back in town a couple days ago, and the three of them have been busy with school as the quarter is coming to an end, so the two of us arranged to get together to do some lifting.

  “Jase, hey,” I say as I walk in and see him mixing his Gatorade.

  “Hey, man,” he says as he turns around. “You ready?”

  “Yeah.”

  We head over to the free weights and pick up our dumbbells to start our bicep workout.

  “So, how was Ohio?” I ask him, knowing it was the first time he met Mark’s family.

  “Better than I anticipated. Never had to meet parents in the past, so I was uneasy going there.”

  Jase told me that before Mark, he was a lot like me. Random hook-ups. But he seems to really love Mark, so I’m glad everything is working out for them.

  “His family cool?”

  “His sisters are a little wild,” he laughs. “But yeah, his parents are great. Much different than mine.”

  “How so?” I question.

  Taking his weights over to the bench, he sits down and says, “I’m pretty nonexistent to them. And when I told them I was gay . . . they were done.”

  “That’s fucked up.”

  “Before Mark came along, all I really had was Candace. She’s been my family since I moved here.”

  “You guys seem really tight,” I respond as I set down the dumbbells and start racking the weights on a barbell to do some bench presses.

  “We’ve always been that way,” he tells me, walking over to spot.

  As I lift the bar out of the rack, he stands over me, saying, “Thanks for checking in on her. I didn’t even know she had that blowup with her parents until I got back home.”

  Pushing out the last of my reps, he grabs the bar from me as I sit up.

  “Yeah, well, I was home with nothing to do, so it was nice to have someone around to hang out with,” I say, downplaying the whole situation. I’m not sure how Jase would react if he knew how I’m starting to feel about his best friend.

  “Well, for what it’s worth, it’s good to see her hanging out with someone else besides me and Mark.”

  “Is she really that closed off?” I ask. I know what I’ve seen, but it isn’t much.

  “Lately? Yeah.”

  That’s all he says when I lie back down to pump out another set, and I wonder what he means by ‘lately.’ Was she not always like this? Then I make the connect—I wasn’t always like this either. Never really. Not until her. But it was before that—it was that night that got me thinking so differently. That night that messed with my head so much that I started drifting away from old habits, old friends.

  My mind goes back to the alley, and I get a flash of Candace on that rainy night in the coffee shop. Fuck. Why am I thinking about that? I thought I let it go, but it’s back—the question. Ripping through my reps, I force that sick thought out of my head.

  There’s no connection there. It’s just your mind trying to put an end to what was left unresolved. I repeat this silently to myself a few times, knowing that my subconscious is just screwing with me. Ther
e’s no connection . . . is there?

  I spend the next hour distracting myself, talking with Jase about football and how the season is going so far for the Huskies. Anything to keep my mind away from that night. After we finish up and say our goodbyes, I head out.

  When I’m not around her, my mind seems to drift, so I selfishly pull out my phone and text her, knowing when we hang out, I’m too consumed with her to think about the other shit that tends to creep up in my head.

  You hungry?

  I start driving home, which is only about ten minutes from the gym, and it takes about that long for her to reply.

  Can’t eat. Have a 2-hour dance studio today.

  Well shouldn’t you fuel up?

  Not if you want me to barf. :-)

  I laugh at her text as I sit in my jeep that’s now parked in my driveway.

  I’d love to see that.

  That’s disgusting.

  More for having something to tease you about and less for the actual barf.

  Can we stop talking about barf? LOL

  You free for a run tomorrow morning?

  Yeah.

  Happy to spend more time with her, I type out my last text.

  Be at your place around 7.

  “You sure you wanna go?” I ask as we walk out to her front porch. She looks exhausted, and by her bloodshot eyes, I can tell she didn’t get any sleep last night.

  “I’m sure,” she says with her head down as she walks past me.

  We start with a light jog through the mist that fills the chilly morning. I look over at her as she stares straight ahead.

  “Bad night?”

  “What?” she questions when she looks over at me, and then responds, “I was up late catching up on school work. It’s the end of the quarter.”

  I don’t buy her lie. I know this chick wouldn’t be behind in school, but I don’t push it ‘cause if she’s choosing to give me an excuse, then she doesn’t want me to know what really kept her up last night.

  Going along with her, I ask, “You ready for the break?”

  “Mmm hmm,” she hums, and we’re back to closed-off Candace.

  I pick up the pace when we get close to campus, and she strides along with no problem right beside me. I wish she would talk to me, but even if I’m with her in silence, it’s better than not being with her at all.

  “I’m sorry,” I hear her say softly, and when I look over at her, I ask, “For what?”

  “I’m just tired, that’s all,” she explains.

  “Candace,” I say, and when she turns her head and catches my eye, I continue, “You don’t need to be sorry.”

  I see the corner of her mouth turn up before she looks away.

  “So what did you do yesterday?” she asks, and I’m glad she’s talking now.

  “Not much. Hit the gym with Jase and that’s about all.”

  “I think he mentioned that to me,” she mumbles.

  “What about you?”

  “After studio, I had to work. Jase came up there and hung out for a little while,” she tells me. “It was pretty dead, and Roxy left early.”

  Because the curiosity is killing me, I go ahead and bring up Jase. “You guys seem really close.”

  She looks over at me and narrows her eyes, like she’s questioning what the real meaning is to that statement, but she goes ahead and gives me a response. “We’ve always been close. He’s like my family.”

  “It’s good that you have someone like that.”

  She doesn’t speak as we continue to make our way through campus, jogging up the stairs as we leave the quad. We take the rest of the run through the surrounding neighborhoods with nothing more than random small talk before I drop her off back at her house and head home.

  Something was clearly bothering Candace yesterday when we met up for our morning run, so when I call to see if she wants to grab a bite to eat before I head into work tonight, I’m surprised when she easily agrees.

  I meet up with her at the sushi-go-round restaurant close to my loft. She looks a lot better than she did yesterday morning, and I smile as we sit down.

  “You ever been here before?” I ask when we start picking our plates off of the carousel.

  “A couple times. Mark likes this place.”

  “You coming to see him tonight?” I ask, knowing that she’s never come to the bar to hear his band play.

  She shakes her head as she plucks her sushi up with her chopsticks and takes a bite. When she’s done, she says, “I’ll see him after.”

  “After?”

  “I’m staying with Jase tonight. So I’ll see Mark for a little while before he goes home.”

  “You spend a lot of nights with him?” I ask, and when she looks up at me, she defends, “It’s not weird or anything.”

  “I didn’t say it was.”

  “We’ve always been this way,” she tells me.

  “What way’s that?”

  “Close.”

  I’m a little confused as to why she spends nights with him, but I don’t push the subject anymore. It’s not my place to question, so I drop it.

  Changing the subject, I ask, “Are you free tomorrow?”

  “Why?”

  Grabbing another plate of sushi before it passes, I tell her, “Didn’t know if you wanted to get in another run.”

  She doesn’t say anything as she turns her attention to her food and starts eating. She’s uncomfortable, so I add, “Wanna?”

  “I have to work in the morning.”

  “After?”

  Looking over at me, she nods and says, “Yeah. I’d like that.”

  Satisfied with her response, we grab a few more plates and finish up our dinner.

  “Sorry I’ve gotta run, but I haven’t been working much lately, and I need to get a few things done,” I explain as we head outside, and I walk her to her car.

  “It’s okay,” she says as she unlocks her door and then turns to face me.

  I want to touch her, hug her, anything, but nothing about her is telling me that it’s okay as she turns back around to open her door, and before I can even try to do anything, she’s in her seat.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says, and I wonder if I’m ever gonna get her to let me in.

  When I walk into Common Grounds, I don’t see Candace, but quickly notice her boss eying me. She’s obvious and doesn’t even try and hide it. I walk over to the counter where she’s standing with her indigo hair, and for some reason, it totally works on her.

  “Candace here?” I ask.

  “Mmm hmm,” she playfully hums as she turns away from me and walks into the back.

  She pops back out after a couple minutes and says, “She said to give her ten minutes and she’ll be out.”

  I nod my head and scan the tats on her arm, asking, “Who does your work?”

  “Place next door. My boyfriend works over there.”

  “That’s convenient,” I tease.

  “My thoughts exactly,” she says with a hint of indecency, and I have to laugh at her vibrant personality. “You got any?”

  “Yeah,” I say as I lift the sleeve of my t-shirt to show her the half-sleeve I got a few years back. My mother’s favorite flower is the peony, so I have an almost cryptic interpretation of one surrounded by shaded water with the words, ‘Struggles are not identities,’ woven through the art.

  “Nice,” she says as she moves her eyes over it, noting the details. “Any others?”

  “No,” I lie. I have another, but I keep it private and don’t ever mention it to people if they ask. “How long did it take you to get all those?” I ask about the full colorful sleeves that run down the length of her arms.

  “Here and there for a few years,” she says when I notice Candace out of the corner of my eye.

  “Hey.”

  “What are you guys talking about?” she asks as she walks over to me.

  “Your friend, Ryan, was asking about my tattoos,” Roxy tells her.

  Walking t
owards Candace, who is already in her running gear, I ask, “You ready?”

  “Yeah, I just need to put my bag in my car.”

  I take the bag out of her hand, and she turns to Roxy to say bye as I start heading out.

  Candace is quiet while she listens to me talk about work. She asks a few questions along the way, and I end up venting about some of my aggravation with a couple of the staff that I had to get rid of the other night. But when the conversation shifts to Mark and his band, we start talking about music. When I ask her what some of her favorite bands are, I’m surprised to hear that they sync right up with mine.

  We eventually weave into my neighborhood, which is only a couple blocks from her house. We both live right outside Fremont, which Jase’s apartment is in the heart of. Candace stops talking for a while, and when I look down at her, I can see she’s struggling a bit with her breathing.

  “You okay?” I ask.

  “I’m thirsty. We forgot water.”

  “No worries,” I tell her, knowing that my loft is at the end of the street we’re on. When we get close, I slow down and start walking up my drive.

  “What are you doing?” she asks, and when I look back, she’s standing in the middle of my drive—anxious.

  “Getting you some water. Come on,” I say, trying to act like her being here shouldn’t be a big deal, but by the way she’s hesitantly walking towards me, I can tell that it is for her.

  Pulling out my keys, I click the fob and open the garage.

  “Do you own this building or something?” she asks, not registering that this is my place, and I guess I can’t blame her because it’s a three-story loft—much bigger than one person should need.

  “This is my loft. I live here,” I say with a grin.

  “Oh,” she breathes and then stops in her tracks, no longer following me. She doesn’t want to be here, but I want her here. She shifts uncomfortably before walking into my garage and following me up the stairs to the door.