Slipping on the hospital gown, she walks straight into my arms, and I hold her; I cling so tightly to her.
“Candace, whenever you are ready, I need you to have a seat on the exam table behind the curtain,” the nurse instructs.
Looking up at me, her dirty face soaked in tears, she says, “I don’t have anything to wear.”
“When the nurse called me, she told me to bring clothes with me. They’re in my backpack.”
She nods and we walk over to the exam table. She steps up to sit down on it, never letting go of my hand. I hate that she is so scared. She’s never scared.
I concentrate on her face as the nurse starts collecting the evidence from underneath her nails. I watch as the life leaves her eyes and she completely zones out. It kills me to see her so void and incoherent right now. That her pain is so wrenching that she has to escape somewhere deep inside her head.
When she lies down, the nurse explains the internal exam that she’s about to do. I hear every word, but I know Candace isn’t hearing a thing. She just stares at my t-shirt as tears run freely down the side of her face.
My mind is consumed with a million questions, and I know that I will probably never get any answers. I don’t see Candace talking about this. Ever. I want to murder the piece of shit who did this to her.
I snap out of my internal rage when Candace screams, “Enough!” She’s freaking out and shrieks, “Get out!” Scrambling back on the table, trying to get away, she keeps screaming, “Stop touching me, and get the hell out!”
“Candace, calm down, sweetie.” I try to say this as calmly as I can, but seeing her reaction is throwing me into a panic as she yells at the nurse, who quickly collects everything and leaves the room.
Curling into a ball, she cries, “I want to go home.”
“What happened?” I ask, wondering what triggered her outburst.
Glaring at me, she says in a slow, stern voice, “I want my clothes, Jase.”
I don’t say anything because I don’t want to upset her any more, so I pick up my backpack, and when I turn around, the door opens and the nurse who spoke to me when I first got here steps in.
“Candace, Detective Patterson needs to ask you a few questions,” she says. “Can I send him in?”
Knowing that Candace needs space, I ask, “Can she at least get dressed first?”
“Of course,” she says, and then leaves the room.
I hand Candace the bag and watch as she drags herself to the bathroom. While she’s in there, someone knocks on the door. I open it to see an older man with a badge clipped to his belt standing there.
“Hi, I’m the detective that’s been assigned to this case.”
“She’s in the bathroom,” I say before Candace walks out.
“Ms. Parker,” he says. “I’m Detective Patterson. Do you mind if I ask you some questions?”
“Right now?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I’ve already told the nurse everything. Why can’t you just ask her?” I can tell she’s at her end, and I just want to get her out of here. She shakes her head, and says, “Look, I don’t want to press charges or anything like that, so . . .”
Fuck. I knew she would do this. She avoids everything, but her words feel like a goddamn stab to my lungs.
“Ma’am, I know this is difficult, but there’s a good chance we can catch this guy, and the fact that we have a witness—”
She hangs her head and completely shuts down as he continues to talk. When he hands her his card, she shoves it in her pocket. I shake the detective’s hand as he walks out, and as soon as he leaves, another nurse walks back in. Christ, it’s never-ending.
“I’m just going to clean up and bandage these cuts for you, okay?”
I take a seat in one of the chairs across from Candace. The nurse is cleaning up her face when I hear her ask Candace if she needs the morning after pill. My head snaps up, and I stare at Candace as she sits there for a second, revulsion plastered all over her face. “I think so,” she whispers.
“Fucker,” I mutter and drop my head in my hands, trying my hardest to control my anger and not start throwing my fist into the walls. I have never—not in my whole life—felt the wrath that I feel right now.
The nurse keeps talking, but I don’t hear what she’s telling Candace. I’m too focused on settling myself down, trying to weaken the erratic pounding of my heart. Once all the discharge papers are signed, I can’t hold Candace tight enough to me as I walk her out to my car. She cringes in pain as I help her up into her seat. I reach over her and strap the seatbelt across her lap. Tears flood her eyes when I reach out to touch her face, wincing when I make contact, and then letting her head fall into my hand. She begins weeping, and I just stare at her—desolate. I wish I could do something to help her. I wish she would’ve come to my place tonight like I had asked her to. I could throw a thousand worthless wishes into the air, but none of them would change this nightmare, so I quit tormenting myself. I kiss her shoulder before closing the door.
She’s silent as she stares out the window while I drive her back to my place. The misery is palpable; the way life can change in a matter of a moment. I look over at her as she sits there—lifeless—and I desperately want to make it all disappear.
I help her out of the car and hold her hand as we walk into the building. She keeps a death grip on my hand but doesn’t speak. When I unlock the door to my apartment, she lets go of me and heads straight to my bathroom, closing the door behind her. It feels like there are bricks in the pit of my stomach, razor sharp. The past few hours are a complete haze. I hear the water to the shower turn on as I sit down on the couch. I wish I knew what to say, what to do, but I feel so helpless.
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.
&nb
sp; 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.”
“Jase!”
“What the hell happened?” I need to know what he did to her.
“Don’t.”
“Candace, you have to tell me.”
“Please, don’t,” she cries, and I know I’m scaring her, but I’m losing control.
I stand up and walk out to the balcony, slamming the door hard behind me. Rage is cutting through my veins, and I can feel it seeping through every inch of my body. Leaning my elbows on the railing, I let my head fall, and I focus on taking deep breaths as I cry. I need to calm the hell down because the look in her eyes, the fear that’s there . . . I can’t fuckin’ do that to her. As much as I hate it, I know I have to put it aside and be exactly what she needs me to be. I’m all she has and the only one she isn’t hiding from.
When my head starts to clear, I sit back in one of the chairs and watch the sun begin to rise. My eyes sting, and I can’t stop crying. I know I can’t go back in there until I have myself in check. I try to keep my focus on Candace instead of Jack because just the slightest thought of him makes my skin burn with disgust. What kind of sick fuck would do this to someone?
When I finally walk inside, Candace is curled into a little ball on my bed. She looks so broken. I slide behind her, and wrap her up in my hold, whispering in her ear how much I love her and how sorry I am for scaring her. I know she can’t hear me, but I don’t have it in me to wake her up, so I just let her sleep.
Waking up, I notice Candace isn’t in bed with me. I blink a few times and can feel that my eyes are swollen from how upset I was earlier this morning. When I walk into the kitchen, I see Candace standing there watching the coffee pot percolate. I walk straight to her and cup her head in my hands. Looking down at her, all I say is, “I’m sorry.”
She nods her head, and I draw her in and just hold her. When the coffee is done brewing, we break our hold on one another and pour our mugs of coffee and sit on the couch.
“I didn’t mean to push you earlier this morning. I just don’t know what to do here.”
Cradling the mug in her hands, she whispers, “I know.”
She doesn’t look at me; she just stares down at the ribbons of steam drifting off of her coffee. I watch her for a minute before breaking the silence. “I think you should stay here until you’re ready to go back home.” I want her here more for my own peace of mind. I’m worried about her nightmares, and I want to make sure I’m with her when she sleeps.
As she takes a sip from her mug, she finally looks up at me. “All my stuff is at home. What if Kimber’s there?”
“How about we just drive over there, and you can get your car and come back here while I pack a bag for you? Just tell me what all you need, and I’ll get it.”
Letting out a sigh, she says, “Thanks. I think she might
be in class this morning, so . . .”
“Go throw on some clothes and let’s just go then.”
I can tell she’s nervous when we start driving down her street, so I reach over and hold her hand, which is cold and clammy. She stares out the window, not looking at me, and quietly says, “He knows where I live, Jase.”
I turn to look at her, but she’s looking away. If I could keep her with me forever, I would, but I know I can’t. “He won’t hurt you,” I say, but I don’t even believe my own words. Will he? Would he be stupid enough to come to her house? My gut tells me that he will stay away, but what if he doesn’t? She doesn’t say anything, and I don’t either.
Candace is already on her way back to my apartment, and when I’m done packing her bags and leaving her house, I shoot her a text.
Got everything you asked for and more. On my way home.
Thank you so much. See you in a bit.
Walking into the apartment, I see Candace in the bathroom as I start unpacking her bags. When she comes into the room, she starts putting her things away and I sit on the bed and, watching her as she moves around. She seems so hollow when she used to be all smiles and laughs, so full of life. She has a pained look on her face, like she’s using all her strength not to cry. I wish she would; I wish I could make her—drain her of her misery—but I can’t. She’s so closed off.
“Stop,” she says, and I snap out of my thoughts.
“What?”
She comes over and sits down next to me on the bed. “Stop looking at me like that.”
I deflect her thoughts when I say, “You know Kimber’s going to flip when she comes home and sees that a bunch of your things are gone.”
“I know. What am I going to tell her?” she asks as she lies back on the bed.
I lie down with her and say, “We’ll figure it out.”
When the tears fall from her eyes, I reach down and hold her hand, squeezing tightly as I stare into her eyes. They are so swollen and bloodshot; I know they have to burn.