Devour Page 11

  He looks shocked to see me as he stares at me with his clear-blue eyes. He doesn’t say anything to me, so I decide to speak up. “You again.”

  “You two know each other?” Mark asks.

  “Not really,” he responds as he blinks his gaze away from me.

  I look at Mark and add, “He’s come into Common Grounds a couple times to get coffee. How do you guys know each other?”

  “He owns Blur, where the band has been playing lately,” Mark says.

  “And the guy who gave me the tickets,” Jase says to me before turning his attention to the guy, whose name I still don’t know, and adds, “Thanks, man.”

  “No problem at all.”

  I stand there awkwardly as the guys continue to talk, so I turn my back to them and focus in on the band as they begin to play ‘Missing.’ I haven’t heard this song in months, and it begins to affect me. What I used to consider a desperate love song now breathes new meaning when I hear the words about how the heart beats. Sadness creeps through me, and my body tenses up as I try desperately not to cry.

  “Hey, let’s go sit down,” Jase whispers in my ear, and I am snapped out of my tormenting thoughts.

  Looking at him over my shoulder, I nod, not sure if I am able to speak just yet. He lowers his head and looks me in the eyes. I know he sees it—the hurt—so I quickly shake my head and give him a reassuring grin that I’ve got this under control. He takes my hand and leads me to a table where Mark and his friend are already sitting.

  Taking a seat and setting my beer down, I say, “I’m sorry, but I never caught your name.”

  Giving me a half smirk, he says, “Ryan. Ryan Campbell.”

  I give him a slight nod and introduce myself. “I’m Candace.” Eying his cup of coffee, I add, “Ever drink anything besides coffee?”

  “I work a lot of late nights,” is his vague response to my question.

  “So, Ryan,” Jase says, “Candace will be graduating this year as well. She’s a dance major.”

  What the hell is Jase doing? I look over at him and give him a snide look, but he just grins at me.

  “Dance. What kind?” Ryan asks.

  “Ballet,” I say and then take another sip of my beer.

  “Can’t say I know anything about that,” he responds with an honest chuckle.

  “It’s okay. Nobody ever does.”

  “So, I take it you’re the best friend who loves this band,” he says as he nods his head towards the stage.

  Feeling odd about this interaction, I reply with a simple, “Yeah.” I start to feel the need to close myself off. It feels weird talking to someone new. My life is very secluded, and I like it that way. It’s safe. So being here, out, listening to music, talking to a new person, suddenly makes me want to run back home.

  I know I can do this. I have to do this. I reach under the table and rest my hand on top of Jase’s leg, in a way, using him as my anchor while I try to pull my thoughts together. He looks over at me as he lays his hand over mine and gives me a reassuring squeeze. I keep repeating in my head: Get it together, Candace. Just function. I say it over and over in a desperate attempt to will it to happen. I tell myself to act normal, but I’m not even sure I know what that is. I push the uncomfortable feeling aside, knowing that nothing will happen because Jase and Mark are both here with me. Everything is fine.

  I’m peeling the label off my beer bottle, when Ryan starts to talk. “So, Candace, what do you plan on doing when you finish school?”

  I look up at him and take a deep breath before answering. “I hope to dance professionally while time allows. Not sure where that will happen. New York was always the plan, but I’m not so sure now.” Why did I just tell him that? Please don’t ask why.

  Looking over at Jase, he and Mark are lost in their own conversation, not paying any attention to Ryan and me.

  “I love New York. You ever been?” Ryan asks.

  “Yeah, several times. It’s a great city. I actually lived there the summer before my senior year of high school. I had a scholarship to one of the conservatories in the city.”

  “So, your parents just let you live there alone for the summer?” he asks with a hint of concern in his eyes.

  “Umm, yeah. My parents are . . . well, not your typical involved parents,” I say.

  “Sorry.”

  I shrug it off, and we continue to talk about our love of New York City. I’m surprised with how easy it is to talk to this new person. He’s laidback and makes me feel comfortable.

  Time continues to pass pretty effortlessly as we talk. Mark and Jase are engrossed in their own private conversation about who knows what.

  “What are you two talking about?” Mark asks, when his conversation with Jase has died down.

  “New York City,” Ryan answers.

  When I hear the band begin the intro to another one of my favorite songs, I excuse myself to walk over to the bookcase where we were standing earlier so that I can listen and enjoy the song. A few moments later, Jase, Mark, and Ryan join me. Jase is on one side of me and Ryan stands opposite. Leaning forward, resting my elbows on the bookcase, Ryan lowers himself next to me, and I instantly feel Jase’s protective hand on my back.

  I shift my eyes slightly to look at Ryan, and he is watching the band. I know I shouldn’t be looking at him like this, but I find it intriguing that he doesn’t make me feel scared. He turns his head and catches me staring at him. Cringing inside, I try and play it off by giving him a slight grin and refocusing my attention back to the band. When they announce their last song for the evening, Jase leans into my ear and whispers, “Mark and I will be right back.”

  Looking at him curiously, I ask, “Where are you going?”

  “Don’t worry about it. We’ll be back in a second.” He kisses me on the temple, and gives me a reassuring nod before he turns and walks off with Mark.

  Standing here alone, next to Ryan, we listen to The xx play an extended version of ‘Intro.’ The languid plucks of the guitar are soon interlaced with the ever thumping of the bass drum. The song begins to intensify into a fusion of haunting and seductive sounds. I push back off the bookcase while Ryan remains leaning on his elbows. I watch him. I shouldn’t be, but I am. His hair is a rich dark brown that falls slightly over his ears. He has a strong, well-defined jaw and a muscular frame that is evident through his dark grey shirt. Looking back at me over his shoulder, a small lock of his hair falls over his forehead. What am I doing? I take a step back as he pushes himself off the bookcase and looks at me. Turning around quickly to walk away, I run smack into Mark’s chest.

  Tripping over my own feet, he catches me and asks, “Whoa, everything okay?”

  “I wanna go,” I say softly so that no one can hear me but him.

  Clutching both of my arms, he looks back at Jase and gives him a nod. When Jase walks over he asks, “You ready to go?”

  “Hey, man. It was good seeing ya. We’ll catch up later this week,” Mark says to Ryan.

  I turn around as Ryan approaches Mark and they give each other a tight handshake as Mark slaps Ryan on the side of his shoulder. “Catch you later,” Ryan says before holding his hand out to me. “I’m glad I ran into you again,” he says.

  Sliding my hand into his, I say with a slight hesitation, “Yeah, it was nice.”

  As Jase and Ryan say their goodbyes, I walk out into the drizzly, cold night and take a deep breath. Jase walks out, hands me my coat, and I shrug it on before getting into the car.

  “What was that all about?” Jase asks me.

  Leaning my head against the window, I quip, “You tell me. Where the hell did you two run off to?”

  Turning around in his seat, he adds, “Just thought you two should talk without Mark and I around.”

  “Why?”

  “Just got that feeling. You two kept staring at each other with that look.”

  Sitting up, I ask, “And what look would that be?”

  “Candace, the guy is hot. You know what look he�
��s talking about,” Mark adds as he drives back to my house.

  “Doesn’t matter,” I say as I lie back against the seat.

  “What do you mean it doesn’t matter?” Jase asks.

  I shake my head and stare out the rain-covered window.

  “Candace?”

  “It just doesn’t matter, Jase. It’s wrong.”

  “It’s not wrong for you to find someone attractive.”

  Turning my head to look at him, I say, “Yes, it is.”

  I feel the car slow down and can see that Mark is pulling into a random parking lot. He turns the car off, steps out, and opens my door. Sliding in next to me, he shuts the door behind him. “Stop punishing yourself.”

  I open my mouth to speak, but he immediately cuts me off and repeats slowly, “Stop punishing yourself.”

  Facing me, Jase adds, “Nobody says that you can’t enjoy life. You can. You should. You just won’t allow yourself.”

  “How can I feel like that after what happened? It feels wrong.”

  “It’s not wrong,” Mark says. “You need to let yourself feel happiness and not run away from every good feeling that comes over you.”

  “It doesn’t feel right.”

  “Why?” Jase asks.

  “Because . . . it makes me feel cheap—dirty.” My stomach is in knots talking about this. I don’t want to be talking about this. I never want to talk about this.

  Mark places his hands on my shoulders and looks me straight in the eyes. “You aren’t either of those things, not even close. What happened doesn’t make you cheap or dirty or whatever else you’re thinking. It happened, and you have been punishing yourself ever since.”

  “Candace,” Jase adds, “He’s right. You can’t keep doing this to yourself. You can’t keep taking this wound and ripping it further open beyond repair. You have to try and leave it be, and allow it to heal.”

  “I don’t know.” I say.

  “I’m proud of you,” Jase says. “I honestly didn’t think you would come out with us tonight. Thought you might back out.” He smiles at me, and I lean forward between the seats to hug him.

  “I’m glad I came,” I say as I sit back.

  Mark takes my hand, kisses it, and says, “Think about what we said.”

  Nodding my head, I say, “Okay.”

  Mark hops out, gets back behind the wheel, and drives me home. When he pulls up to the front of my house, Jase asks, “You want us to stay over?”

  “I’m fine, Jase. Thanks again, guys.” I give them both a kiss and step out of the car. When I walk inside, Kimber is gone. I go to my room, strip off my clothes, throw on a pair of pajama pants and a cami, and take a sleeping pill before climbing into bed.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “I hate you!” Roxy shouts, a few octaves above normal, while she teasingly shoves my shoulder. “I love that band! How did you even get tickets?”

  “Jase got the tickets from one of his friends,” I say as I shrug my shoulders as if it was no big deal that I got to see The xx in a private concert last weekend.

  “Man, I need to meet this friend so that I can score some tickets too.”

  Looking up at her while I’m refilling the coffee beans in the grinder, I say, “You have met him. Well, you’ve seen him.”

  “Who?”

  Securing the burlap bag with the remaining beans, I tell her, “That guy that came in the other day, the one you said was hot.”

  Giving my shoulder another playful shove, she says, “You’re kidding?!”

  “Nope,” I huff out as I carry the heavy bag into the back stockroom. When I walk back out, Roxy is standing there staring at me with her hands on her hips and an evil grin on her face. I roll my eyes when I walk past her and continue cleaning up before my shift ends in a few minutes. I can feel her stare when I finally turn around and snap, “What?”

  “That’s it?”

  “Yes, that’s it.” I turn back around and continue wiping down the machines.

  Roxy sidles up next to me, leaning her hip against the counter with her arms crossed in front of her. “Was he there?”

  “Yes, Rox, he was there,” I say as I continue to busy myself with cleaning.

  “You’re driving me crazy here. Talk to me, girl.”

  Turning around, I say matter-of-factly, “There is nothing to tell. We went out, ran into him at Spines, had a drink. There is no crazy story to tell.”

  I start untying my apron when I notice Roxy eying me with a strange look on her face. “Really? No story to tell,” she says as she tilts her head toward the entrance.

  I look up to see Ryan walking through the shop, heading to the counter. What is he doing here? Looking at Roxy, I shake my head at her as I make my way over to him.

  “You’re gonna get an ulcer,” I jokingly say, even though I’m a ball of nerves on the inside.

  He lets out a soft chuckle as he says, “I didn’t come for coffee.”

  I look at him with slight confusion when he lifts his hand, which is holding my leopard scarf. The scarf I was wearing last weekend that I thought I’d lost.

  “Oh,” I say as I reach out and take it. “I thought I had lost this. Thank you.”

  “No, you left it on the table, but you rushed out so fast, I didn’t have a chance to catch you.”

  Looking down, embarrassed about my sudden exit that night, I quietly say, “Sorry.”

  “No need to apologize.”

  With my apron still clutched in my one hand, I lay it on the counter and start backing away when he asks, “Are you taking a break?”

  “Um, no. My shift is over.”

  “Perfect timing,” he says with a grin. “Want to have a quick drink?”

  Before I can decline, Roxy butts in and answers for me. “She’d love to.”

  “Actually, I . . .” I don’t finished my sentence because I can’t think of an excuse fast enough, and I am totally busted. Letting a slow breath out of my nose, I reluctantly agree. “Sure. Let me go grab my bag.”

  When I walk into the back room to get my purse, I’m feeling very uneasy. Heading back out, Ryan is sitting down at one of the tables by the front window. I walk over and sit down. He already has a drink for me, and as I eye it he says, “Your co-worker said you like hot tea.”

  Sitting down in front of him, I say, “Oh, thanks. She’s actually my boss. Roxy.” I sound like an idiot with my voice slightly trembling. I pick up the tea and take a long drink, focusing on the hot, floral infused liquid as it slowly heats my chest. The rain is pouring down outside, and I watch the raindrops as they trickle and twitch down the foggy glass window.

  “Did Mark tell you we are heading down to Mount Rainier on Saturday?”

  I look up at him and reply, “Yeah, Jase mentioned something like that to me.”

  “You should come with us.”

  The nerves I thought I had just gotten under control return. Why is he inviting me to go hiking with him?

  “I don’t know,” I say. “I have a lot of studying I need to get done.” This is my go-to excuse when I want to back out of something. But I notice him staring at me with a look that screams I know you’re lying.

  “Well, if you change your mind, we are heading out in the morning around eight.”

  Nodding my head, I take another sip of my tea.

  “How did you know I would be here today?” I ask.

  He grins at me before replying, “I didn’t. I just thought I would stop by, and if you weren’t here, I was just going to leave your scarf with whomever was working.”

  “I didn’t mean for that to come out rude,” I apologize.

  “It didn’t.”

  As we sit there in awkward silence sipping our hot drinks, he finally speaks and asks, “So, what are your plans for the rest of the day?”

  “I have class in a couple hours, then I go to studio until five o’clock.”

  “Studio?”

  “It’s dance class,” I explain.

  Nodding his head, h
e asks, “You do that every day?”

  “Yep. Two hours a day except for Tuesdays and Thursdays, which are three hours. But I tend to go in on the weekends as well for extra practice.”

  “That’s a lot. When do you have time for anything else?”

  Pressing my lips together and shaking my head, I say, “I don’t”

  “That bother you?”

  “No . . . Why?” I ask.

  “I don’t know. When do you ever get down time?”

  Down time isn’t an option for me. The more occupied my time is, the less my mind tends to drift. “I don’t. But I love dance, so I consider that my down time. It relaxes me.”

  Ryan continues to ask questions about dance and school as time begins to pass gently by. When I finish my tea, he notices and offers to get me another. I decline, knowing that I need to head home and clean up before going back to campus. He walks me out to where my car is parked and reminds me to think about the hiking trip the guys have planned. I tell him I will before getting into my car.

  

  Storming out of the double doors of the studio, I head straight to my car, slide in, and slam the door shut. Frustrated, I grab the steering wheel and lay my head against my hands. My heart pounds fast, and I can still here the echoing of Ms. Emerson’s hasty remarks in my head: Get it together, Candace! Where is your head at? CLAP! CLAP! Feel it! Come on!

  I am so humiliated. I have never been yelled at like that in class before, but I feel like what she is asking for is outside of my control. My feet are flawless, I have no doubts about that, but I know what she’s wanting, and I just can’t give it to her. Inside that studio is the one place, the only place, where my head is free—where I am free. I don’t want to lose that, lose the escape, the freedom, the nothingness.

  She hammered me for nearly the entire two hours. I kept my eyes focused, but I could hear the sneers from a few of the other girls.

  As I’m driving home, my phone rings from inside my dance bag. Digging through it, I grab my cell and look at the screen that reads: MOM CALLING. Ugh! I decline the call and let it go to voicemail then toss it back into my bag. That woman is the last person I want to talk to right now. Who am I kidding? She is the last person I want to talk to most of the time.