It can’t be her.

Not her.

Not that girl.

Not my girl.

Squeezing my eyes shut, it’s all I see now. Her bloody thighs. Her beaten face. Her shredded nails.

“God, please! Stop!”

I hear it. Her voice. Her shrieking, desperate voice. Opening my eyes, I’m jittery. She has to feel it. Her body is clung tightly to mine, and I realize that I’m not touching her. I feel like I can’t touch her. Like I don’t know how, but I force myself to. And when I cautiously wrap my arms around her, I feel her shaking too. And now everything is clear. I can’t pretend that I don’t know exactly why she’s shaking. I’m such a fuckin’ dick, rubbing up on this girl because I can’t fuckin’ control myself around her.

God, what the hell is wrong with me?

Her body begins to soften into mine, and I don’t know what to say. How do I tell her? Do I tell her? Do I say something?

Say something.

“Candace.”

“Please, don’t say anything.”

Her voice is pleading, so I don’t. And now, I’m scared to take my hands away from her. Like she would break if it weren’t for my arms. I keep her close when I lie us down and pull the sheets over us.

She’s doesn’t say anything else, and the silence rings in my ears. My head is loud. It’s a maniacal filtering of memories, flashes weaving together to form a solid image that’s undeniable. But I denied it. How could I have done that when it all makes sense now? Every panic, every startle, her fear of crowds, her night terrors, her constant hesitation with intimacy. And fuck. That dumpster. How stupid could I be? She stood right there. She panicked . . . in my parking lot. My bar. That’s why she’s never come back.

I can’t be with her.

I have to be with her.

God, I love this girl so much. I can’t let her go even though I know I should. But with me, I have the guarantee that she’s safe. And I need her. Because it’s only with her that I’m finally realizing that I can be the man I never thought I could be, and I don’t think I could be this way with anyone else but her.

Lifting up, I scoot back so that I can lean against the headboard, bringing Candace with me and tucking her head under my chin. I don’t want to lie to her, but do I tell her who I am? Does she even know that someone was there? This girl has been hurt so much, and by too many people, that I can’t have my name added to that list. I can’t do that to her. And for what? What difference would it make, if any at all? For this, I resolve to not say anything. I just can’t do that to her.

This shit hurts. Bad. And now, every time I close my eyes, I see her lying there naked, raped in the alley of my bar. It’s like someone’s slowly gutting me. And for the first time in years, I let myself break. Candace has long fallen asleep in my arms when I feel the first of many tears roll down my cheeks and into her hair.

When I release the pain, I see that I hold so much of the blame. I heard her from inside. I heard the banging around, and I ignored it. If I would have just gone out there, I could have saved her. I could have done so much more than I did because I dismissed the ruckus for a couple of drunken guys. She was being raped when nothing but a brick wall separated us. How could I be so irresponsible?

We’ve taken our slow time getting to know each other, but now I feel like she’s different, and I don’t know what to do with that feeling. I always knew she was hiding something. Jase even told me that she was going through some tough shit, but this? I don’t know what to do with this. I feel like an ass for all the times I’ve tried to touch her in ways that were too much for her and she had to stop me.

I’ll never be able to tell her how sorry I am. There aren’t enough words. There isn’t enough in this world that I could give her to show her how truly fuckin’ sorry I am. So I sit here and cry for her because I don’t know what else to do. I love this girl beyond anything. Love her from a place in my heart I never knew I had.

So now . . . now she sleeps in my arms while I stay up, because sleep isn’t strong enough to take me out of my head tonight. When I close my eyes, it’s August, and I’m hovering over my Jane Doe. The girl I spent weeks wondering about. The girl that kept finding her way back into my head, only to realize that I’ve had her in my arms for months now.

My head is pounding, and I’m tired as hell. Now that she’s awake and moving around my loft, I suddenly don’t know how to act. I don’t know what to say. This realization has flipped a switch for me, and I don’t know how to respond, so I stay quiet.

I’m in the kitchen, fixing her a cup of coffee when she walks over to me and asks, “Did you not sleep last night?”

Screwing on the lid to her mug, I’m evasive when I tell her, “Not much,” before handing her the cup and walking into the other room to grab our coats so that I can take her home. I feel like I can’t touch her. Like I can’t be the same with her. I want to scream and punch my fuckin’ fist through the wall. Why did it have to be her? And what piece of shit would do that to her? She’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever known.

Handing her the coat, I ask, “You ready?”

“Yeah,” she says shyly as she keeps her eyes down.

She slips it on, and I know that my attitude is making her uncomfortable, so I take her hand in mine as we head outside into the bitter cold.

It only takes a couple of minutes to drive to her house, and when I pull up and park the car, she turns to me and says, “I’m sorry about last night, and I get that you’re mad, but—”

“What?” I interrupt, not understanding what she did that she would need to be sorry for. “Why would I be mad?”

She shakes her head, unsure of herself when she tells me, “Because I keep pushing you away. You’ve hardly said two words to me this morning. So, I just figured . . .”

Fuck. I’ve been so wrapped up in myself that I didn’t realize I’ve been a total dick to her this morning. Getting out of the car, I walk over to her side, open her door, and unclick her seatbelt, grabbing on to her hips to face me. I don’t know what I’m doing, but seeing the look on her face snaps me out of my fears immediately. I feel like I can’t be the same with her, but I have to be. I want to be, because I love what we are together.

I’m firm when I declare, “Everything you give me is perfect. You have to stop feeling like this. I’m here with you, and I’m not going anywhere.” Needing her to believe me, I don’t hesitate when I take her lips with mine. It bothers me that she doubts herself so much with me. My thoughts are all over the map, but one thing is certain, as hard as this is, I know I can’t let it change us. I can’t allow it to filter in and affect me because I can’t give her any reasons to doubt that I love her from the purest part of me there is.

When I break our kiss, I softly tell her, “I’m sorry if I’ve been a dick, I just didn’t get much sleep.”

“It’s okay. I overreacted.”

But she isn’t overreacting because her observations are astute and this is my fault. Taking her hand, I help her out of the car and shut the door, leaning her back against it when I take her face in my hands and look into her eyes, trying to connect in a way so that there is no doubt within her when I tell her, “I never thought I needed anything in this life until I met you. Everything you give me is exactly what I have always needed, and you do it perfectly.”

I don’t give her a chance to respond when I pull her into me, pressing my lips into hers. Her hands around my back are firm as she holds me close, and I wish she didn’t have to go to school because I want to keep her wrapped up in me like this all day.

We say goodbye, and when she’s inside, I start driving to work. When I pull into the lot and park, my phone buzzes with a text from Candace.