“Because I don’t know how to show it,” she weeps as she looks up at me.
My heart is hammering hard in my chest. She’s so locked up, and I don’t know how to help her.
“I need you to show it. I need to see it,” I tell her as I kneel down in front of her, gripping her legs.
“Don’t.”
“I wanna see you fighting. I wanna see you doing something since you won’t let me do shit.”
“Why? For what?”
“For you, Candace! It’s for you,” I say in a hard voice. “Show me that you’re mad because my anger is beyond what I think I can handle right now.”
Her breathing picks up as she cries harder.
“Show me,” I push.
“I can’t.”
“You can. Use me,” I urge. “Yell at me. Scream. Hit me. Punch me. Something! Just do something!” I shout as she sobs. “Stop crying and do something! Hit me!”
“Ryan, stop!” she screams, and when she tries to move away from me, I grab on to her wrists and she kneels down next to me, bracing her hands on the floor as she cries.
“I want you to fight. I want you to fight because I’m so f**kin’ mad and you won’t let me fight for you.”
“You wanna fight?” I stand in the doorway and listen to my dad. “Come here,” he says to my mom with a crooked finger, and she steps towards him. “Hit me.”
“No.”
“Hit me, you little bitch!”
She stands there crying when he pulls his clenched fist back and punches her in the stomach, forcing out a gush of air as she heaves and doubles over.
“Daddy, stop!”
He looks at me. “You want me to stop?” he asks before impaling her ribs with his boot.
Her screams are strained as I start to cry.
“Stop!”
He kicks her again as she lies there, lifeless.
“Tell me to stop again, you sack of shit.”
I look at Candace doubled over on the floor—crying—and it hits me.
“God, baby. I’m sorry,” I say, reaching out to touch her, but she coils back from me.
“It wouldn’t even do anything,” she snaps. “You want me to fight? Why? It’s not going to change anything. It’s not going to make it better. It’s not going to take it away.”
Realizing that I pushed her way too far, that I scared her by yelling at her, I reach out, and again, she resists my touch. “I’m sorry.”
She doesn’t hear me, she just continues, “I just wanna forget. I just want it to go away. But me fighting isn’t gonna make that happen. The damage is done, and I can’t go back.”
“Baby,” I say as gently as I can. “You can’t pretend it didn’t happen.”
“Why not?” her voice a mere whimper. So desperate. “What’s so bad about pretending?”
This time when I reach for her, she doesn’t flinch, and I fold her up in my arms. “Because it did happen.”
“Why?” she cries into my chest. “Tell me why this happened. Why me? What did I do to deserve this?”
There are no answers as she completely breaks and continues crying, collapsed in my lap. I feel like absolute shit for pushing her to this point, and all my fears are brought back to the forefront. I can’t deny for one second that I don’t resemble my father in frightening ways. That I could be so selfish to be screaming at my girlfriend as she’s crumpled on the floor crying. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me, but I can’t do that shit to her. Fuck, why did I just do that to her?
“I’m so sorry.” I’m desperate as my voice cracks.
She grips her arms around me while I rest my cheek on top of her head. I can’t believe I let my anger take control of me. Just knowing the thoughts of what I would do to that guy if I ever saw him scares the shit out of me. I can’t let this happen again with her; I just can’t because I know myself well enough to know that I’ll never walk away from her, so I have to get my shit under control.
I rub her back until eventually she quiets down, taking in hiccups of breaths. She has the sleeves of my t-shirt fisted in her hands, and when she lifts her head up, she keeps her eyes closed. I kiss her forehead, and she presses her weight into my lips. She’s exhausted.
“Hey,” I say lightly, and when she hums in response, I encourage, “Can you look at me?”
She does, and when I see how red her eyes are, I feel disgusted with myself.
“I’m so sorry. I should have never raised my voice like that. I just feel so helpless, but how I feel isn’t your fault. I don’t want you to think that it is.”
“You can say that, but the thing is, it’s because of me that you feel this way.”
I don’t know how to respond to her words, but she doesn’t give me time when she says, “I just . . . I don’t want to lose you. I don’t have very many people that . . . I mean . . . I don’t even have a home anymore.”
When she looks up at me and into my eyes I tell her, “You are home.”
“Am I?”
Wiping under her eyes with my thumbs, I ask, “Is this what you want?”
Nodding her head, she whispers, “Yes.”
“Then you’re home,” I give her and wrap her back up in my arms.
Candace wound up getting a bad headache and is sleeping again. Not only is she worn out from what happened earlier, she’s also not feeling well after drinking so much with Jase last night.