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Watching her now move across her small apartment, shoving clothes haphazardly into a garbage bag, I couldn’t tear my eyes away.
Because every movement, every turn of her head and flick of her hair, every time the light caught on the scars on her back peeking out from her tank top, it was all painful to me.
Because every movement only made me want to touch her and feel her move under me again.
I knew I hurt her when I rejected her. So I welcomed the pain that flooded me now knowing I could only watch her from a distance.
Penance for my crimes.
Although I shouldn’t be watching at all.
But whatever it was we shared, maybe that’s what made her want better for herself, and if I had to live forever with this stake through my heart, I could do so.
If it meant she was safe and happy.
Maybe one day I’d forget her, and the pain would fade.
I’ll add that to the list of lies I told myself lately.
She went by Candy, but her name was Margaret.
I had seen her around the area for a while now, and it took me longer than I’d like to admit to realize she was homeless. She was neither a dancer nor a prostitute and not under official protection. Although I’m sure she’d have sold favors to get some cash for food.
I had been helping her out with money and food for a few weeks. She moved around a lot, and whenever I saw her, I’d stop and sit with her on the pathway, and we’d talk. She always wanted to talk—I guess she didn’t have anyone else to talk to.
She was looking for her younger brother, Tristan, who had gotten mixed up with the wrong crowd and dropped out of high school. She had left her parents’ place and come to this end of the city—thewrongend—to look for him. Someone had seen her, and whoever they were had told her parents she was hooking and dancing, both lies at the time.
They couldn’t have their daughter ruining their image, so they cut her off, left her here with nothing by the clothes on her back and her phone, which she had traded in for a less expensive model so she could eat.
Candy quickly learned a name like Margaret made her stand out, and people would quickly assume she came from money. Yeah, it was a leap, but that’s the sort of people you found here. She had been kidnapped once, kept for weeks before they realized they could get nothing from her family, and thrown her back out onto the street. Now she had more memories she’d rather forget tucked under her belt.
That was three years ago.
She hadn’t found her brother yet.
I suspected he had either moved on to another city with whatever gang he had been caught up in, or he was dead. But how could I tell her that? She had thrown away everything to find him, and I swear if I ever found him, I’d make sure he understood the pain she had gone through to try to bring him home. I’m sure he had his own tragic tale, but I didn’t know him. He was nothing but a name in a story to me. All I saw was Candy in front of me, a hint of class still evident in the way she sat, her long legs stretched out in front of her and crossed at the ankle. She had been picking up work here and there, small chores and cleaning, anything people were willing to offload for a few dollars. Three nights a week she was able to sleep on William’s couch, a young man who lived around here, when his roommate was on his weekly overnight trips for his job as a truck driver.
I knew all of this about her, and she knew practically nothing about me.
She had tried to ask on more than one occasion and learned I wasn’t going to open up.
But things were different now, and I blamed myself more than I blamed Evie.
But I wouldn’t be thinking this way if it weren’t for Evie.
Because I had never paid attention to Candy’s body before, not the way I saw it now. Previously, I’d have assessed her, noticed she looked hungry and dirty, and offered her what she needed. I’m not blind. I could tell underneath the dirt, she had a beautiful face and beneath the rags, there was a shapely body from years of keeping fit and well but thinner now from a few years more of not always having enough to eat.
But I had never noticed the curve of her breasts, the hint of cleavage visible through the buttons straining to keep together and hide her dignity. The shirt was too small for her, but she took what she could get and often kept a jacket wrapped around herself to cover her body from passersby.
When I was around, she relaxed, and I had never before wished she didn’t.
Because as she leaned back against the wall of the apartment building behind her, one of countless in the area, packing in as many people as possible into cheap living spaces, her neck curved and back arched, pushing her chest out. I noticed the way her feet trembled only slightly as she stretched her legs. I had to turn away when I found myself wondering if they would tremble in the same way if I were between those legs.
Dammit, Evie.
“What’s wrong, Zaqiel?”
I turned back to Candy. She still had her eyes closed, and her face turned toward the sun with her head tilted back against the wall. “Who says something is wrong?”
