“No. I couldn’t even bear to look at another girl. You were all I ever wanted even when I didn’t have you.”

She runs her hands along my jaw before she kisses me with an affection that only she can show. Slipping my hand under her knees, I cradle her in my arms as I carry her upstairs and lay her down in our bed. We move at a leisurely pace as we remove our clothes, feeling the need to connect with each other in this way. She normally keeps herself tucked against me, bodies close, when we make love, but to see her now, completely relaxed underneath me as I move inside of her, it’s stunning. Her hair splayed around her face, her arms draped above her head, she’s completely exposed to me as I move up to my knees and watch her.

Seeing her this comfortable with me, a level of comfort I’d yet to experience with her, is something I wasn’t expecting. She’s beautiful as I reach down and grab on to her hips, lifting them off of the bed and completely flush against me as I move deeper inside of her. She has her whole body bared to me, and I can’t help but stare down at her and admire how perfect we look together like this. It’s overwhelming, and when she grips my wrists and thrusts up to me, I let myself fall on top of her as we both come. Her hands never let go of my wrists, as if she needs them there for support as we both continue to move, greedy to prolong our release.

She holds my hand as we walk into the dimly lit office of her therapist and take a seat on the small leather couch. Pulling her hand onto my lap, I can tell she’s nervous. Shit, I am too. I have no idea what to expect or what this lady plans on talking to us about.

“It’s good to see you again,” Dr. Christman says to Candace and then turns to me to introduce herself before saying, “It’s nice to finally meet you. Candace has filled me in on a lot already about the two of you, but I wanted to take this time to not only talk with you, Ryan, but to hear from both of you together. First, Candace, tell me what happened.”

“With New York?”

“Yes. Last we spoke, you were excited and happy to be moving on and starting something new. What changed?”

Her grip tightens on my hand as she adjusts herself, bringing her legs up onto the couch and folding them in front of her. I watch her as she begins to speak with Dr. Christman.

“I don’t think anything really changed. I was sitting at the gate, about to board the plane, and all I could feel was sadness and regret. I was scared, but I realized that everything I was so scared about wasn’t the fresh start, but what I was leaving behind. It was like I was trying so hard to focus on my dream of New York that I completely shut out my dream of Ryan. Like I was trying to switch one for the other. Somewhere along the way my dream of New York changed, but I never allowed myself to see it until I was about to leave.”

It’s a little strange for me to hear Candace being so open. I’m not used to her speaking so freely, so I’m taken aback by her candidness.

“So what did you do?”

“I left the airport,” she tells her. “I felt like my world was spinning out of control, but in a good way. As soon as I got to his place and saw him, it was like all the happiness I lost when I lost him came rushing back. I just knew this was the choice I was supposed to make.”

Dr. Christman turns to me, and says, “I bet that came as a shock to you.”

“You have no idea,” I tell her with a chuckle.

“So, Ryan, Candace and I have spent a lot of time talking about your relationship and how the two of you came to split. Have you had a chance to explain to her the reasoning behind why you withheld who you were?”

“I feel like I have. I mean, I hope I have. We spent a few hours talking the other day, unraveling all the questions we each had.”

She looks over at Candace and asks, “Do you feel you got everything you needed from that conversation?”

“I think so,” she says in a shaky voice, and when I turn to look at her, she’s wiping her fingers under her eyes.

“Tell me why you’re crying,” she asks Candace.

“Because it was hard to hear. I’ve gone nearly a whole year without having to talk about what happened. And listening to him tell me what he saw that night . . . it’s just hard to hear and to know that he saw me like that.”

“Ryan, I’m curious. When you realized Candace was the girl you had seen that night, how did you deal with that?”

I wrap my arm around Candace while she dries her tears with a tissue and answer, “As soon as I knew, I wanted to tell her, but I didn’t know how. Then I started thinking that if I did tell her, how much it would hurt her. She was in a really dark place at the time, and I was scared she would break. She hid a lot, but I always knew she was barely holding on. But it fucked with my head—a lot. I get these flashbacks. It used to only be of my childhood. I see something or whatever and my mind takes me back. But ever since that night she was attacked . . . it keeps playing back in my head.”

“What do you normally do when that happens?”

“Nothing. I eventually just snap out of it. But it kills me that I have that in my head,” I say before I turn to see Candace staring at me in disbelief with what I just said.

“I’m sorry,” I tell her.

“Were you aware that he has these flashbacks, Candace?”

“No,” she answers and then asks me, “So that’s how you see me?”

“No. I denied you were that girl for so long. I fell in love with everything I had in front of me. But when I found out you were that girl, the visions were just so conflicting because I don’t see you like that at all. I know it’s you, but I still don’t want it to be.”

She’s crying now, and I take her other hand in mine when I affirm, “That is not what I see when I look at you.”

“I don’t want that in your head,” she chokes out.

“I don’t either, babe. But these aren’t our choices, and I’ve told you before that I love you regardless.”

“It makes me feel disgusting.”

She takes a moment to settle her tears and take in a few deep breaths when Dr. Christman asks me, “What’s the biggest thing you feel you struggle with about Candace’s attack?”

Letting out a sigh, I tell her, “That I let her down.”

“How so?”

“I was inside and heard the commotion in the alley. I ignored it, figuring it was just people passing through, which happens occasionally. If I had gone out there, then maybe none of this would have happened.”

She sits back in her seat as she looks at Candace and asks, “Is it okay if I share some of the things we’ve discussed in our previous sessions?”

“Of course.”

Focusing back on me, she says, “One of the issues I’ve been working on with Candace is her feeling of blame. She believes that her behavior led to her attack, and she continues to hold herself responsible.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Do you see the parallel here?”

Looking at Candace, I see what Dr. Christman is trying to point out, something I guess I never really saw before. I’ve always thought it was crazy that she could think she was to blame, but in turn, she probably feels the same way about my thoughts.

“Yeah,” I answer.

“Neither one of you are to blame, yet both of you are holding yourselves responsible,” she says. “Did you know he felt this way?” she asks Candace.

I watch as she nods her head, saying, “Yes.”

“Just as Candace and I have been discussing, there’s no way you could have known what was going to happen that night, so you can’t hold yourself responsible for that.”

She says this, I get it, but I can’t accept it . . . not right now.

“Well, I want to be mindful of our time together, so I’d like to focus on Candace, simply because she’s the one who I have been working with. But going forward in your relationship, it’s important that you’re there to help support her as she continues to process and heal. Being aware of her triggers and knowing ways you can help her cope and push her are key.”