Chapter 34
Candace
“So, tell me, how have things been going since school got out?” Dr. Wilder, my therapist of the last six months, asks.
“Well, for starters, I spend most days in my sister's bedroom with the lights off, crying and singing along to my daughter's Avril Lavigne CD. So, do with that information what you will.” I snap, uninterested in these bullshit questions that lead us nowhere.
“I’m relieved to hear you’ve been crying. Showing any kind of emotion is better than none. Would you like to tell me what you felt that day and how you think you’ve grown since?” she asks, but does she really care? We’ve been at this for months, and it’s just a circle of never-ending questions.
“Betrayed, I guess. I spent most of my life believing men were the problem. They steal, cheat, and in the end, abandon us. They’re supposed to be the bad guys, right?
Wrong. Men may hurt our feelings and stomp on our hearts but women break your soul.
A woman burned down my fucking house. She took everything that was good about me and ripped it to shreds.
No man could ever do half the shit a woman could.
Why aren’t more songs written about that, I wonder? ”
Her expression never changes, no matter the outburst. She remains unmoved, updating my chart like she does every week. Why does she bother asking if I’ve changed or grown? Isn’t that information in her pristine leather binder she’s writing in?
“What are the plans moving forward? School starts next week. Will you continue living with your sister, or have you made other arrangements?” All I hear from her is judgement.
Of course, I’m going to stay with Court.
How could I live alone again after coming home to my house on fire?
You think I could just move my girls into a place while some psychopath roams the earth desperate to uproot us?
“We’re staying with my sister indefinitely. She’s got the room and is rarely home. My girls need a safe place, and she’s one of their comforts, I won’t take that home away from them.” I say sternly, picking at the lint stuck to the bottom of my charcoal pencil skirt.
Shuffling around her folder, she grabs a paper and examines it before handing it to me, essentially punching me right in the face. “Your lawyer and I spoke at length this morning, and he recommended you and I discussed this in our session today in case you needed an outlet.”
“I don’t understand,” I say, looking over it myself. It’s a bunch of legal jargon and I can’t put two and two together. My name and Nat’s are repeated throughout, but other than that, it’s like reading in another language.
“There was no evidence pointing to Miss Reynolds starting the fire, because you didn’t file charges the restraining order will end next week.” Her tone is solemn, and it’s the first time she’s resembled a human instead of this robot mask she parades in.
“Filing charges would have put us in the same room together, and as I've said before, I have no interest in seeing her. The thought of being questioned in front of strangers about our history made my skin itch”. That decision wasn’t made on a whim, at the end of the day, there wasn’t evidence pointing to foul play.
My lawyer spoke to the fire chief extensively and the best they came up with was a pumpkin-scented candle that sparked in the kitchen.
“She’ll also be returning to work. There was a spot open for a long-term sub in the English department.” She adjusts her reading glasses to better observe my jaw hitting the floor.
“No, that's impossible. She can’t step on school grounds.” My head is fuzzy and my vision is going in and out. This has got to be a nightmare, none of this is real. It can’t be.
“Candace, the school did not fire her. Miss Reynolds took a leave of absence for the semester but the Principal has stated she’s welcome to return. Unfortunately, you two will be back together in the same building, if you’re going to continue your duties as PTA president.”
The paper is now crumbled beyond recognition.
I just walked through hell barefoot because of Nat, and now we’ll be face to face again as if nothing’s transpired.
“Isn’t there a way to commit someone? Surely I have enough on her to send her away to some asylum?
She needs to be locked away in a padded cell, far away from anyone she can hurt. Far away from me,” I sob.
My breathing is heavy, and my chest feels like an elephant’s sitting on it. It’s been weeks since a panic attack like this came on—I was doing better. I am doing better. Everything was going okay, and now we’re right back to where we started.
“Candace, I’d like to see you twice next week to get you prepared for the school year, and as always, continue taking your medication.
I encourage you to focus on your own well being and not put any more energy into seeking justice.
It’ll only make this worse. If you ever need someone to talk to, I’m always available to you. ”
Nodding, I grab my things, heading out the door in silence.
Everything from my car keys to my suede belt feels heavy.
The feel of the cement against my shoes hurts and feels like I’m walking on hot coals.
It's like trudging through mud trying to get to my car so I can race back to Court’s house and bury myself under a mountain of blankets.
Seeing her again will be like pouring acid on a wound that hasn’t healed.
My body can’t take that kind of pain again.
It endured enough this summer. Every morning I’d wake up with my head in the toilet, sick that I let someone like that into the lives of my girls, all for her to ruin everything we’ve built during a tantrum.
The drive to Court’s house feels like it takes hours.
I don’t hear the songs on the radio or cars honking as they speed past me.
The sound of the elevator doesn’t even register to me as I make my way up to her penthouse.
I’m completely underwater and unable to hear anything.
How’d I even get back home? I barely remember getting into my car at all, let alone actually driving all the way across town.
My bed in her guest bedroom has never looked so inviting. There’s a few hours before the girls get home from a friend's house, and I’ll milk every one of those seconds alone with my eyes shut. Just as my lashes flutter and sleep threatens to overtake me, a tear slides down my cheek.
Natalie
“Morning,” I mumble to Megan, who’s busy rearranging our living room for the fifth time this summer.
“Mmm.” Is the only rebuttal I get as she pushes the couch back to its original place against the wall and moves towards that heinous armoire still taking up too much space.
Plopping down on the couch and almost spilling my coffee earns me a first-class seat to her award-winning scowl.
“Seriously? You’re worse than a child. If you spill that, I'm not cleaning it up.” Switching gears, she heads into the kitchen to start breakfast, giving up on her project.
“So what’s on the calendar for today? Stealing kittens from children or will we be robbing a food bank? ” she asks sarcastically.
She’s been like this for months. Mocking me till I’m a ball of tears on the bathroom floor.
She knows every sordid detail from that night, including the bits I haven’t shared with my therapist. Thankfully, the police never questioned her, and Candace’s lawyers couldn't make any of their accusations against me stick.
“Dr. Wilder’s digging through my brain this afternoon hoping to discover some raw human emotion she’s assuming I’m hiding and then heading to the school to sign my life away,” I say, sounding detached.
“Ooh, I’d love to sort through that buried treasure. I bet there’s a lot to uncover.” She winks, knowing exactly what’s hidden in there.
“I’m gonna shower and then head out. I saw on the receptionist’s calendar that Candace is coming in today before me,” I cringe, feeling a little guilty.
Her pause speaks volumes, as does her head shake, “I can’t believe neither one of you is committed after this mess, or why you’re both seeing the same damn doctor. I know where your heart’s at, but I’m not so sure Susie Homemaker is gonna come running to you like you think.”
“Love is a cruel mistress who’s out for blood. Sometimes your hands have to get a little dirty for things to work out.”
“My gosh, never become a poet, that’s so disturbing. Good luck on your mission of self-destruction, and always remember only you can prevent suburban house fires.” Her middle finger raises high in the air as I leave her.
“Not funny.” I slam the bathroom door behind me and rest my head on it.
The air is brisk as we transition from the deadly heat into my favorite season.
Honestly, the summer flew by, and even though I wanted to shove my head through a glass door after dealing with lawyers for most of it, there was a lot of time for self-reflection.
I was in denial before Candace and I aren’t done.
We’re on a temporary hiatus at best, and she’ll see that soon enough.
Our bond is stronger than anything I’ve ever felt before.
It’s destiny or some shit pulling the strings now.
Dr. Wilder’s been attempting to get me out of my delusional state, as she calls it, and back to the reality where Candace and I aren’t together.
Here’s the thing, there’s no reality where we’re not together.
Even when we are physically separated, our souls intertwine.
How about that for some mid-level poetry, Megan?
Suck it. I’ve replayed that night repeatedly again all summer.
The smell of smoke still keeps me awake at night, along with the regret.
Even with a semi-guilty conscience, I stand firm in what I did and why.
This was the wake-up call she needed, even if it was an impulsive decision, she’ll see in the long run it was a push in the right direction.
It’s been hell on earth not having contact with her or the girls, though.
I hoped she would be in the waiting room before and after every therapy session so we could hash it out.
Unfortunately, I had to take fate into my own hands this time.
Technically, our court-ordered restraining order is still in place for another week, so there’s a good chance she’ll walk right by me and into the elevator like the bigger person.
I know her, she won't give up the chance to fight me. I molded her into a stronger person, less people-pleasing and more assertive. The feminine urge to extend my claws and dig into my flesh grows stronger everyday we’re apart, she’s got to be craving this just as much as I am.