Chapter Twenty-eight
“What are you doing?” I ask when I walk through the front door and see Candace bent over in my kitchen, wrapping her thighs in Saran Wrap.
Peeking her head up, she tells me, “Helping my muscles recover,” as if this image isn’t anything out of the realm of normal.
I start laughing at her while she continues to wrap her legs. “Explain this to me because I’m dying to know.”
She rips the plastic from the roll and sets it on the counter before defending, “I swear it works. I’ve been doing it for years.”
“Wrapping yourself up like leftovers?” I tease.
“No,” she drags out. “You see, I use Tiger Balm,” she says as she hands me a tiny brown jar that can’t hold any more than an ounce. “Then, I seal it in with plastic wrap. It traps in the vapors, which allows for maximum absorption, bringing more relief to my muscles.”
Setting the jar down, I say, “Are you not worried about a chemical burn or some shit like that?”
“It’s never happened before,” she says as she walks out of the kitchen and into the living room.
Watching her, I laugh at the image . . . and the sound.
“Candace, this is some crazy shit you do, you know that right?”
She takes a seat on the couch as I move to join her.
“Yes, I know, but I swear it helps. Look, I have my audition in two days, and I’m freaking out because I keep getting these cramps in my legs. I’ve upped my calcium and potassium, but it’s still bothering me.”
“Give me your legs,” I tell her and she shifts to lie on her back, kicking her feet onto my lap.
“What are you doing?” she asks when I turn to the side to face her.
“I’m gonna give your calves a solid rubdown.”
She smiles as I start to knead my fingers into her muscles. I can’t get enough of her legs, even wrapped up like she has them. They are solid and sexy, and I take my time, thoroughly enjoying myself, as I give her calves a deep massage. She closes her eyes and relaxes while I make good use of the next thirty minutes.
When I’m done, I take her up to my bathroom where she begins to unwrap her legs.
“God, that shit stinks,” I complain as she wads up the wrap and tosses it to me.
“Be nice,” she scolds playfully. “I’m gonna take a quick shower. I’ll come to bed in a few minutes.”
“Okay,” I say when I lean down to peck her lips before I leave and close the door behind me.
I run downstairs to plug my cell into its charger in my office before locking up. Candace has her dance bag by the front door with her toe shoes lying on top of a towel. Walking over, I kneel down and run my finger over the dirty, torn pink satin. You can see the burn marks on the ribbon where I can tell she has used a lighter to stop them from fraying.
It’s ironic how these shoes mirror Candace. On the verge of falling apart. Barely holding together. Yet they do. She’s strong even though she’s breaking. I don’t see her doing anything to heal; she’s hiding and masking what I know is eating away at her. And these shoes, as worn as they are, they’re still strong and beautiful.
Turning off the lights, I head back upstairs and lie down. When Candace is done drying her hair, she crawls in next me, and I curl myself around her. We don’t talk as we both drift off to sleep.
When I stir awake, I’m alone in bed. Sitting up, I lean over to her nightstand to check the time on her phone. It’s after two in the morning. I roll out of bed and walk out to the top of the stairs and see her. She’s downstairs, sitting on the couch in the dark, watching the rain fall. The past couple nights since she’s been staying here, she hasn’t slept well. I haven’t said anything to her, but she spends most of her nights in a fit of restless sleep, keeping me awake while I hold her and just watch.
Quietly, I walk down the stairs and across the room. As I round the couch, I see her wrapped up in a blanket, and she’s crying. My heart is so heavy, and I don’t know what to do. All I want is to take it all away, but I don’t know how to do that.
She senses me and turns to look. I see it all over her face—the pain. She’s so tired. Without any words spoken, I sit down next to her and wipe the tears that stain her cheeks.
“I can’t sleep,” she whispers to me.
I look over her face, searching for words, but my own sadness wells up inside of my chest, and I can see the pleading in her eyes. She doesn’t want me to question why she’s crying, so I don’t. I already know. Pulling her closer to me, I hold on to her as she draws her legs up to her chest, cuddling into me. She turns her head and continues to watch the rain while I sit here in a painful silence. All that fills my head is the sound of her shrieking cries from that night, and I do everything I can to keep my emotions intact. Eventually, she dozes off and I scoop her up, carrying her back to bed.
I’ve been sitting here, anxiously waiting for Candace to get back. She left a couple hours ago for her audition at Meany Theater. I wanted to go with her, but she made me stay, saying that she didn’t want anything to distract her. I wouldn’t have been able to go into the theater to watch, but I wanted to at least be there to support her, but I understand.
She was a jittery mess all morning, and I did what I could to relax her, but she was too distracted to focus on anything, including me. Her determination and the neurotic behavior that comes along with it make me smile. She even broke out the Saran Wrap again when she woke up.