ONE
CANDACE
All I see is red.Not because I’m sitting at a stop light waiting for it to change colour. But because I’ve been lied to once again, and I’ve had enough. I never wanted to be this girl. The girl who tracks her boyfriend's location or sneaks a peek at his phone as soon as he leaves the room. But over the last couple of months, that’s exactly who I’ve become. It’s exhausting. and completely draining to live a life full of mistrust and paranoia. Tonight, things are going to change, and I’m ready to flip my whole world upside down, as I track Jason’s location to the 6to9 Strip Club.
I’m no prude, but when I got home this evening from a long day of work, the last thing I expected to see was my coffee table littered with bottles of booze and traces of white powder. Jason and his buddies were clearly doing lines. We don’t live together, but he uses my apartment as his own personal party pad, claiming what's mine is his. Enough is enough. I got a text shortly after getting home claiming he was going to be working later into the night. He’s a carpenter, what the fuck could you have to do for work on a Saturday night at 12 a.m.?
A few nights ago, I followed him to a bar where he met up with some of his work friends after telling me he had to price ajob. I didn’t confront him, though. When you’re in a toxic relationship like ours, sometimes choosing flight over fight is the best option for your sanity and your safety. But tonight, I’m standing up for myself. I followed my gut and gave him a call. It went straight to voicemail. An uneasy feeling coiled in my stomach because I knew he was lying to me. I was taught to follow my intuition, especially when it’s telling me something is off. Pulling up Snapchat on my phone, I zeroed in on his location…Bingo!Fucking asshole.
I should have ended it months ago. I’ve been warned about his temper. But my naivety got the best of me. There have been endless rumours about how he treated his ex-girlfriend. Some people believe Jason is to blame for what happened to Ivy. Some insist she’d still be here today had he not stolen her light. But I've always chalked it up to just that–rumours.
Now, I’m not sure what I believe. The only things I know about her are the things I’ve read in news articles. Ivy was beautiful; she was full of life and knew how to light up any room. She was charming and had quick wit. The kind of personality that draws you in, like you just had to know her. It was a shock to everyone to learn that she had taken her own life. Sometimes, the people who look the happiest on the outside are battling the toughest wars deep within.
I think about Ivy often. Wondering how their relationship was. Did they have the same kinds of problems that we have? Did he lie to her? Threaten her? Manipulate her and make her feel like she was two feet tall? Or in her eyes, was he Prince Charming? Did he hang the moon? These questions plague my mind day and night.
I was naive to think he could never hurt someone in that way. But I was quick to learn the man I had fallen for was far more dangerous than I’d realized as he turned into a living nightmare right before my eyes.
What was once stolen kisses and sweet gestures turned into holes punched in the drywall and tear-soaked pillows. I no longer use makeup to cover my bruises; I don’t see a point anymore. It’s almost as if he enjoys the way his hands turn my skin different shades of blue. The way he drags his fingers over the swollen flesh, caressing them like they're his own fucked up work of art.
There was a shift in our relationship the day that I started fighting back. I was tired of the backhanded comments, the lies, him gaslighting me into thinking everything was in my head. I got what Ideservedwhenever I’d stand up to him, but it wouldn't stop me from mouthing off the next time, and the next. I could have just left, but his words echoed in my mind like a warning siren.
“If you leave, I’ll fucking find you. Nobody will want your dusty cunt. You’re an ungrateful bitch. Disrespect me again, and I’ll slit your throat while you sleep.”
When you're told you’re worthless so many times by the person who is supposed to love you, who is supposed to be your protector, you eventually start to believe it.
Now I sit at a red light, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel, my impatience next to zero, waiting for it to turn green. This is the second time he has lied to me this week that I know of. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice? I might hit you with my car. The light turns green, and I slam the gas pedal to the floor, jolting myself back against the seat with the sudden take off. I don’t know what I’m going to do when I get there. All I know is my rose coloured glasses have turned a shade of crimson, and I’m embracing the fuck out of this newfound fury.
TWO
CANDACE
The base is thumping so hardit’s rattling my car windows as I pull up to the front doors of 6to9. Security stands guard just outside the entrance, checking IDs and taking payment. I've never been to a strip club before. Never laid eyes on an exotic dancer, safe for what I've seen on TV. For some reason, my hands are trembling as if the drive took too long and I’ve lost my nerve to confront Jason. Taking a deep breath, I square my shoulders back and lift my chin a little higher, trying to convince myself I am confident enough to face the bastard.
Stepping out of my car into the cold winter air, I see my breath leave my body with each exhale I take. I wrap my arms around myself, trying to find warmth as I lock my doors and head to the dreaded entrance. The security guard gives me a once-over, and I feel the need to wrap my arms tighter around myself.
“You lost, sweetheart?” His voice is rough like gravel. It sends a chill down my spine that isn’t quite from the cold.
His question makes me cower in on myself. Not because of the question itself but because of the genuine concern written across his face.
“I uh, came to see the dancers.” I can barely get the words out.The guy is sexy as sin. Dark brown hair, mid-thirties, with eyes that are such a deep shade of blue he could drown an ocean.
A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, and I can tell by the way he shifts his gaze that he’s trying to suppress a smile.
“Is that so?” He doesn’t believe me in the slightest.
“Here’s my ID. Are you going to let me in or not?” My spark is reignited by the cold making its way to my most intimate of areas.
There’s a sparkle in his eyes at the way my attitude has suddenly escalated. A wide grin stretches across his face as he glances down at my ID and opens the club doors for me.Such a gentleman. He waves me in.
“Have a good time, Sweetness.” He winks, and I try to contain my heart from beating out of my chest. I nod my head in thanks and hurry my way through the doors, eager to get out from under his intense stare.
The music is deafening. 151 Rum by JID blares from the speakers, and the energy radiating off of the women swaying their bodies and grinding against the poles is intoxicating. Neon lights flash around the room, while gorgeous women move their hips in hypnotic rhythms. I find myself distracted from my sole intention of coming here tonight.
“This what you expected, Candy?” I startle as the security guard’s voice creeps up behind me.
“Candy? Because of my hair?” I ask, confused by the name. When you have pastel pink hair, you tend to pick up odd nicknames now and then.
“No, because of your name. Has no one ever called you that? Your name is Candace, is it not?” his brows furrow. Heat rushes to my cheeks as I fumble over my words.
