Chapter 6: Candy's Ascension
The shatter of Stacey’s margarita glass hung in the air, a punctuation mark to Jimmy’s cheerful question. The remaining women—Stacey, a Latina beauty named Lena, and Candy’s quiet coworker Beth—froze. Their earlier curiosity had curdled into pure, animal fear. They were statues of tan skin and brightly colored fabric, their eyes darting from the moaning heap that was Roxy to the titanic, grinning man now turning his attention their way.
“Who’s next?”
His voice wasn’t a threat. It was worse. It was an assumption, as innocent and inevitable as the sun setting. He took another step, his bare foot coming down on a discarded potato chip bag with a loud crinkle. The deck boards groaned.
It was the sound that broke the spell.
Stacey scrambled backwards, her hands slipping on a damp pool towel. Lena turned to run, her wide hips bumping painfully into the glass patio table. Beth just stood there, paralyzed, her hands clenched in front of her modest (by today’s standards) bikini top.
But before Jimmy could reach any of them, a shadow fell across his path.
“That’s enough, baby.”
Candy’s voice was different. The bubbly, exasperated tone was gone, replaced by a low, honeyed smoothness that carried an edge of finality. She didn’t shout. She didn’t need to.
Jimmy stopped, blinking, as if noticing her for the first time since he’d begun his… demonstrations. His vacant blue eyes traveled down, then slowly back up.
Candy had changed. While he’d been occupied, the magic swirling in the backyard hadn't paused. It had concentrated on her. She was now a vision of impossible proportions, a caricature of fertility and power made flesh. She stood nearly seven feet tall, her head level with his collarbone. Her platinum hair fell in a thick sheet over shoulders that were broad and smooth. Her waist was still cinched, but it served only to emphasize the outrageous, gravity-defying swell of her hips and the monumental shelf of her backside. Her breasts were colossal, full and heavy, their deep cleavage shadowed and mysterious. Her skin gleamed with a light sheen of sweat and sunscreen, golden and perfect.
She wasn’t just big. She was scaled to him.
“Candy?” Jimmy said, his grin softening into something like confused admiration. “Look at you.”
“I know,” she said, a small, possessive smile touching her pouty lips. She placed a hand on the vast curve of her hip, the gesture effortless, owning the space she occupied. “You’ve been playing with my toys, Jimmy. Making a mess.”
She gestured with her chin towards the casualties of the afternoon. Kim and Maya were slowly untangling themselves, moving with the dazed lethargy of deep shock. Chloe was sitting up now, holding her head. Tiffany was crying softly, fat tears cutting through her smeared makeup. Roxy just breathed in ragged, wet hitches on the concrete.
“They’re all broken now,” Candy observed, not with malice, but with a chilling practicality. “You didn’t know how to handle them.”
Jimmy’s brow furrowed, a monumental effort of thought. “They seemed to like it,” he offered, his voice a defensive rumble.
Candy laughed, a sound like wind chimes and velvet. “They didn’t have a choice. You’re a force of nature, dummy. A hurricane doesn’t ask if the trees like getting blown over.” She took a step toward him, her movements unnervingly graceful for her size. The ground didn’t shake; she was too balanced, too complete. “But a hurricane needs an eye. A center. Something that can stand in the middle of it and not get torn apart.”
She was now directly in front of him. The sheer presence of her, the palpable heat radiating from her lush body, seemed to finally push the other women from his mind. He stared, mesmerized. This was what he’d always craved, what his dumb, single-minded lust had been chasing: absolute, unbelievable abundance. And it was looking him right in the eye.
“You’re the eye?” he asked, his hand lifting almost involuntarily. His fingers, thick as sausages, brushed against the incredible softness of her stomach. The touch sizzled.
“I’m the only thing that fits you,” Candy corrected him, her voice dropping to a whisper that somehow carried across the silent yard. She reached down, her own hand—large, elegant, with perfectly manicured nails—closing around him. He was still enormous, a frightening testament to the magic, but in her grasp, he seemed… proportionate. Meant for her. He throbbed, a hot, heavy weight against her palm.
A collective, shallow gasp went up from the watching women. This was different. This wasn’t an assault. This was a claiming.
Candy turned, her movements deliberate, and with a simple, powerful sway of her hips, she cleared the nearest lounge chair of towels and empty cups with a sweep of her arm. They clattered to the deck. She then sat on the edge of it, the cheap plastic frame protesting with a sharp squeak but holding. The position was regal. She looked up at Jimmy, who stood over her, his expression one of dumbstruck awe.
“Come here,” she said, not asking.
He moved like a man in a dream, his earlier swagger replaced by a strange, clumsy reverence. He knelt before the lounger, his knees cracking against the concrete, putting his face level with the incredible panorama of her body. The scent of her—coconut, chlorine, and something deeply, primally female—filled his head.
The scent of her—coconut, chlorine, and something deeply, primally female—filled his head. For a long moment, he just breathed it in, his big hands resting on his thighs, utterly still. The chaos of the last hour—the screams, the splashes, the wet, messy sounds of his own gratification—seemed to recede into a distant buzz. Here, in this space between her knees, there was only her.
“Jimmy,” Candy said, her voice a low murmur that vibrated through him.
He looked up, his expression unguarded for once. The vanity, the obnoxious confidence, had all been stripped away by her sheer magnitude. He looked like what he was: a very large, very simple creature presented with a miracle he couldn’t quite comprehend.
“Yeah, Candy?”
She smiled, and it wasn’t her old, bubbly smile. This was slower, richer, a knowing curl of her pink lips. She reached out and ran her fingers through his sun-bleached hair, not gently, but with a firm, possessive grip. “You made a mess of my party.”
“I just wanted to have some fun,” he said, the words stumbling out like a child’s excuse. His eyes were locked on the incredible valley of cleavage presented just above him.
“I know you did.” Her grip tightened slightly, guiding his head forward an inch. “But your fun is destructive, baby. Look at them.”
She didn’t need to gesture. The evidence was all around them, breathing softly in the afternoon heat. Kim was helping a sniffling Tiffany to her feet. Maya was kneeling by Roxy, whispering something, but Roxy just stared at the sky, her eyes blank. Chloe had found a towel and was wrapped in it like a shroud, rocking slightly.
“You break things,” Candy continued, her tone matter-of-fact, almost pedagogical. “You see something shiny and pretty and you grab it without thinking. You don’t consider the consequences. You don’t consider me.”
A flicker of something like shame passed over Jimmy’s face. It was unfamiliar terrain. “You’re my girl.”
“I am,” she affirmed, her voice gaining a steely edge. “Which means what’s yours is also mine. Your attention. Your… gifts.” Her eyes flicked down meaningfully. “All of it. You don’t get to spray it around the backyard like a hose. You save it. For me.”
She released his hair and let her hands settle on her own magnificent thighs. The flesh was pillowy and warm under her palms, a landscape of pure, decadent softness. She took a slow, deep breath, and the action made her colossal breasts rise, the bikini top straining at its few remaining threads.
“Now,” she said, the word final and heavy. “You’ve been a very bad boy, crashing my party, getting your dirt on all my friends. But I’m willing to forgive you.” She leaned back slightly on her arms, the posture opening, presenting. “If you apologize properly.”
Jimmy’s vacant blue eyes widened. He understood the implication. He’d always been a creature of direct physical cues. The sight of her, presented like this, short-circuited the last of his confused thoughts. A slow, eager grin spread across his chiseled face. The dopey arrogance began to seep back in, but it was different now. It was focused. It had a target.
“Properly?” he rumbled, his voice thick.
“You know how,” Candy whispered, her gaze holding his. “You look hungry. I’m your dinner. So eat.”
She opened her legs.
It wasn’t a hesitant or seductive motion. It was an announcement. A royal decree. The fabric of her tiny bikini bottom, already defeated by the expansion of her hips and backside, stretched further and then simply surrendered, offering him a view that made the air leave his lungs in a soft, stunned whistle.
He didn’t need another invitation.
With a grunt of pure, uncomplicated desire, he surged forward. His large hands clamped onto the outsides of her thighs, his fingers sinking deep into the yielding flesh. He buried his face between her legs with the single-minded enthusiasm of a starving man at a feast.
Candy’s head fell back, a sharp, guttural “Ah!” tearing from her throat. Her eyes screwed shut. One hand fisted in his hair again, not to guide, but to anchor herself. The other pressed flat against the sweating plastic of the lounge chair, her nails digging in.
The watching women, who had been a frozen audience, stirred. This was a different kind of spectacle. It was raw, but it was private. It was terrifying in its intimacy. Lena looked away, her cheeks burning. Stacey watched, her mouth slightly agape, a complex mix of horror and fascination in her eyes. Beth had finally moved, shuffling backward until her shoulders hit the stucco wall of the house, as if trying to physically disappear.
But Candy was unaware of them. The universe had narrowed to the hot, wet pressure of Jimmy’s mouth and tongue, to the incredible, singing sensitivity of her own transformed body. The magic, which had been a constant, low-grade hum in the backyard, seemed to pulse in time with her heartbeat. It was concentrating, funneling into the connection between them.
“Yeah,” she groaned, the word long and drawn out. “Just like that, you big idiot. That’s it.”
He was, if nothing else, enthusiastic. He lapped and suckled with a clumsy, overwhelming vigor that would have been too much for anyone else. For her, in this state, it was perfect. Each broad stroke of his tongue sent shockwaves through her system. She could feel the tension of the day—the irritation of his crashing, the jealousy watching him with the others, the shock of her own changes—coiling tight in her core, waiting to snap.
And her body continued to change.
It was subtle at first. A deep, warm swelling in her breasts, a feeling of increased heaviness, of density. The striped bikini top, which had been hanging on for dear life, gave a definitive ping as one strap snapped. The fabric slid down, but her breasts didn’t fall. They swelled upward and outward, becoming even fuller, rounder, the areolas darkening and widening against the pale, gleaming skin. They were like overripe fruit, heavy with nectar, trembling with every gasp she took and every movement of Jimmy’s head.
Her thighs, already monumental pillars of flesh pressed against the sides of Jimmy’s head, began to thicken further. The soft flesh firmed, not with muscle, but with a profound, lush abundance. It pushed against his ears, muffling the world for him, enclosing him in a warm, perfumed universe of her. The lounger beneath her creaked ominously, the plastic frame bowing under the increasing, concentrated weight.
“Don’t you stop,” she commanded, her voice husky and ragged. She tightened her grip in his hair, pushing his face harder against her. “You don’t get to stop. This is my party now. You work for me.”
Jimmy groaned in response, a muffled, happy sound of agreement. He was in his element. He was serving his purpose. His hands slid from her thighs around to her backside, his palms covering acres of plush, warm skin, kneading greedily. He was utterly consumed, a willing slave to the sensory overload.
Candy’s breaths came in short, sharp pants. The pleasure was building to a terrifying peak. It wasn’t just physical. It was a wave of power, of validation. She had watched him reduce every other woman here to a broken, sobbing mess. But she? She was taking the very same force that broke them and bending it to her will. She was making him worship her. She was growing stronger, more immense, more real with each passing second, fueled by his desperate attention.
The magic wasn’t just happening to her. She was drawing it in, consuming it through him.
“I’m… I’m gonna…” she choked out, the sentence unfinished. Her whole body went rigid. The hand on the chair clawed at it, finding no purchase. Her back arched spectacularly, lifting her shoulders off the lounger, presenting her swollen, trembling breasts to the sky. A powerful, convulsive shudder wracked her from head to toe.
Her thighs, now thicker than his torso, clamped instinctively around his head, a vise of soft, powerful flesh. A raw, broken cry tore from her throat, a sound that had nothing light-hearted or bubbly in it. It was pure, unadulterated release.
She climaxed on his face.
It wasn’t a delicate shiver. It was an event. A tidal wave of sensation that made her see white flashes behind her closed eyelids. Her hips bucked against his stationary mouth, riding out the relentless pulses. The magic surged one final, spectacular time. Her breasts swelled one last increment, becoming truly cartoonish in their proportion, full and aching and gloriously heavy. Her thighs settled into their final, immense thickness, pinning Jimmy in place as she shuddered and shook.
For a long, endless moment, the backyard was silent except for Candy’s ragged, slowing breaths and the wet, soft sounds Jimmy made as he continued to gently lap at her, drawing out the last echoes of her orgasm with a dim, devoted persistence.
Slowly, bonelessly, Candy’s body relaxed. Her hand fell away from his hair. Her thighs released their grip, sliding off his head to rest, massive and spent, on the creaking lounger. She opened her eyes, blinking slowly up at the bleached-blue sky. A profound, deep warmth spread through her, a contentment so absolute it felt like a new state of being.
She looked down.
Jimmy pulled back, his face glistening. He was beaming, a look of utter, simple triumph on his features. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his chest swelling with pride.
“Did I do good?” he asked, his voice hopeful.
Candy looked at him—at this ridiculous, enormous, destructive man, now kneeling before her like a faithful hound, his expression eager for praise. She looked past him at the shattered remains of her party, at her friends who were now just frightened, broken witnesses to her ascension. She felt the incredible weight of her new body, the powerful thrum of vitality in her veins, the sweet, satisfied ache between her legs.
A slow, lazy smile spread across her face. She reached out and patted his cheek, a gesture both affectionate and proprietary.
“You did perfect, baby,” she said, her voice a low, satisfied purr. “You finally learned who you belong to.”
The pat on his cheek was a dismissal. Jimmy sat back on his heels, breathing hard, his expression one of dazed accomplishment. Candy inhaled, the air tasting of chlorine, spilled tequila, and her own salt. The profound warmth in her core was shifting, morphing from the boneless aftermath of release into something more deliberate, more hungry. The view from the lounger was one of wreckage and awe, but it was a distant concern. A more immediate priority presented itself, jutting insistently from between Jimmy’s legs. He was still enormous, a testament to the chaotic magic, but the sight of it now stirred a different feeling. Not exasperation. Not jealousy. Ownership.
“My turn,” she said, the words not loud but carrying.
She placed her hands on the creaking arms of the lounger. The movement was deliberate, a gathering of immense potential. Her muscles, layered deep under softness, coiled. With a grunt that was more effort than she’d exerted all day, she pushed herself up.
It was not a graceful ascent. It was a seismic event. Her new weight, distributed across the cheap aluminum frame, made the whole structure shriek in protest. The plastic webbing bulged downward, threatening to snap. As she rose, her body seemed to unfurl, a mountain range settling into a new configuration. Freed from the confines of the chair, her full scale was breathtaking. She towered, a colossus of curved flesh, blotting out the sun for Jimmy who gazed up, his mouth slightly open.
She took a single step toward him. The deck board groaned a long, fibrous complaint under her bare foot. She felt the solidness of the wood, the gritty texture of spilled salt from a margarita rim. It grounded her. She looked down at Jimmy, who was still on his knees, a giant rendered supplicant.
“You don’t get to just eat and run, big guy,” she said, a familiar, bubbly lilt returning to her voice, though it was now underpinned by that iron certainty. “You made the mess. Now you’re going to help me enjoy it.”
She reached out, not with a hesitant touch, but with a commanding grasp. Her hands, large and strong, closed around his biceps. His muscles were like sculpted stone, but she didn’t strain. She guided. “Up. On the chair.”
“The… the chair?” Jimmy mumbled, blinking. He glanced at the devastated lounger, its frame twisted.
“It’ll hold,” Candy said, and it wasn’t a hope; it was a decree.
He moved, clumsily getting to his feet and then lowering himself onto the ruined chaise. It buckled further, the legs splaying outward, but it accepted his weight with a final, resigned creak. He sat, his back against the angled plastic, his monstrous legs stretched out before him. He looked absurd and magnificent, a ruined god on a plastic throne. He fit the space perfectly, his shoulders spilling over the sides.
Candy stood before him, admiring the view. Her Jimmy. Her ridiculous, perfect monster. The afternoon heat baked her skin. A drop of sweat traced a slow path from her temple, down the slope of her jaw, to vanish between her breasts. She hooked her thumbs into the remaining shreds of her bikini bottoms and pushed them down. The ruined fabric slid over the vast curves of her hips and thighs, catching for a moment at her knees before she stepped free. She kicked the scrap of neon fabric aside. It landed near the deflated flamingo, a sad little flag of a former reality.
She was naked now, save for the single broken strap of her top dangling uselessly. She made no move to remove it. It was part of the story. A trophy.
“You see this?” she asked, her voice conversational as she ran her hands over the incredible swell of her stomach, the dizzying flare of her hips. “This is what you wanted, right? When you’d stare at those magazines with your mouth hanging open. When you’d crash my party just to gawk.”
Jimmy’s head bobbed, a frantic nod. His eyes were wide, devouring her. “Yeah. God, Candy. You’re… you’re everything.”
“I know,” she said softly. Then her tone sharpened, playful but firm. “So stop just looking. Get ready.”
She placed one knee on the lounger, to the outside of his thigh. The entire structure shifted, tilting. Jimmy grabbed the armrests, holding on. The plastic cracked but held. She brought her other knee up, settling into a straddle over his lap. She didn’t lower herself yet. She paused, suspended above him, a universe of soft, warm flesh poised over the hard, urgent reality of him.
The difference in their scale was still there, but it had transformed. She wasn't small beneath him anymore. She was a matching force. Her thighs, thicker than his waist, framed him. The sheer abundance of her backside rested heavily against his shins. Her breasts, monstrous and full, hung above his face, swaying slightly with her minute movements, casting him in a perfumed shadow.
From the periphery, the other women watched, silenced. The crying had stopped. The frantic whispers had died. This was no longer an assault they feared being dragged into. This was a coronation they were forced to witness. Stacey’s hand was clamped over her own mouth. Lena had turned back around, her eyes dark and unreadable. Beth peeked from behind the patio column.
Candy looked down into Jimmy’s face. His expression was pure, uncomplicated worship. All the dumb vanity, the obnoxious swagger, had been burned away, leaving only this raw, needy devotion. It was better than any apology. It was fuel.
“You’re mine,” she whispered, not a question.
“Yours,” he breathed, the word a vow.
She reached a hand between them. Her fingers, slick with her own arousal, found him. He was hot, a thickness like polished oak, pulsing with a frantic heartbeat. She guided him, not fumbling, not hesitating. She knew her body, his body, the impossible geometry they now shared. She positioned him with an expertise that was instinctual, a knowledge written in her new bones and sinew.
Then, with a slow, controlled, and powerful roll of her hips, she began to lower herself.
It was not a plunge. It was a conquest. An claiming of territory. She took him inch by staggering inch, her body opening, stretching, accommodating him with a depth that seemed to surprise even her. A sharp, hissing breath escaped her clenched teeth. Her eyes fluttered shut for a second, then opened, blazing with focused intensity.
She felt full. Impossibly, profoundly full. A completeness that vibrated through every swollen cell. The lingering buzz of magic in the air seemed to crystallize, to focus into the point where they were joined. It was a circuit closing. The chaotic, scatter-shot energy that had been inflating everyone indiscriminately now had a conduit, a closed loop between the two of them.
She settled until she was fully seated, her immense backside resting on his thighs, her body sheathing him completely. A low, ragged groan was torn from Jimmy’s chest. His hands came up, hovering near her hips, afraid to touch without permission.
“You can hold on, dummy,” Candy gasped, a laugh caught in the gasp. “Just don’t get in my way.”
His hands clamped onto her hips, his fingers sinking deep into the softness there. It was like gripping warm, living dough. He held on as if for salvation.
And then she began to move.
SHE GETS ON TOP OF HIM AND EXPERTLY RIDES HIS GIANT COCK. There was no awkwardness, no trial and error. It was as if her body had been designed for this single purpose. She started a slow, grinding rhythm, a deep roll of her pelvis that emphasized the profound penetration. Her motions were not frantic; they were deliberate, luxurious, an exploitation of every nerve ending. She used the incredible leverage of her thighs and the heavy, powerful swing of her hips to establish a pace that was both punishing and exquisitely slow.
Her head fell back, her platinum hair brushing the top of her ridiculous backside. The remaining bikini strap finally gave way, and her breasts spilled free entirely, bouncing heavily with each measured rise and fall. She didn't try to control it. The jiggling, trembling weight of them was part of the rhythm, a visual counterpoint to the deep, wet sounds of their joining.
“Oh, god, Candy,” Jimmy moaned, his voice strangled. His head lolled back against the lounger, his eyes seeing nothing but the blue sky and the underside of her jaw. “You’re… you’re crushing me.”
“Am I?” she purred, looking down at him through heavy-lidded eyes. She increased the pressure, grinding down in a slow, circular motion that made his toes curl. “Good. You deserve to be crushed. You deserve to be swallowed whole.”
She picked up the pace. The lazy grinding shifted into powerful, piston-like strokes. She rose up, almost letting him slip free, then slammed back down, taking him deep with a force that shook the entire lounger and rattled the bottles on the nearby table. Each impact was a thunderclap of flesh, a percussive beat that drowned out the distant hum of suburbia.
Her expertise was terrifying. She angled herself, finding spots that made his eyes roll back and his grip turn desperate. She varied her rhythm, drawing out moments of agonizing slowness before crashing into a frenzy of motion. She was in utter control, a master pilot steering a chaotic vessel. The magic thrummed in time with their coupling, a feedback loop of escalating sensation. With each deep stroke, Candy felt a subtle, thrilling reinforcement of her own form. The fullness in her breasts became a pleasant, aching weight. The powerful swell of her hips felt more solid, more anchored. She wasn’t growing anymore; she was becoming more real, more defined, her impossible proportions hardening from fantastical inflation into permanent, potent fact.
Jimmy was babbling. A stream of broken, worshipful nonsense. “So big… you’re so… it’s so deep… Candy, I can’t… I’m gonna…”
“You’re not going to do anything,” she panted, sweat sheening her golden skin, dripping between her breasts onto his chest. “Until I say you can.” She leaned forward, bracing her hands on his shoulders, using the new leverage to drive down even harder. Her breasts pressed against his face, smothering him in their heat and softness. “This is my show. You’re just the guest star. You cum when I tell you to.”
He nodded frantically, his movements jerky. The vacant blue of his eyes had clouded over with pure, overwhelmed sensation. He was a instrument, and she was playing him with ruthless perfection.
The other women were forgotten ghosts. The pool, the snacks, the planned games of volleyball—all were relics of a vanished, trivial past. The only things that existed were the sun, the cracking plastic, the smell of sex and sunscreen, and the two colossal beings locked in their primal circuit.
Candy felt the tension coiling again, tighter and hotter than before. It was deeper, rooted in the very core of her transformation. This wasn’t just an orgasm building. It was an culmination. Her breath hitched. Her perfect rhythm faltered for a second, replaced by a more frantic, urgent need. The power was tipping, the control she wielded so expertly threatening to melt under the sheer volcanic pressure of what was coming.
“Jimmy,” she snarled, her voice guttural.
“Yeah, baby?” he grunted, his body tensing beneath her like a drawn bow.
“Now,” she commanded. “Look at me and do it now.”
Her order broke the last of his resistance. His back arched violently, lifting her whole weight off the lounger for a second. A raw, animal roar tore from his throat, nothing human in it. His hands, gripped on her hips, pulled her down onto him with final, crushing force as he erupted inside her.
The feeling of it, the hot, pulsating flood deep within, was the trigger. Candy’s vision whited out. A scream was ripped from her lungs, a sound of pure, unchained triumph that echoed off the stucco walls of the house. Her body convulsed around him, a series of powerful, clenching waves that milked him dry. The magic, which had been circling them, slammed into her. It didn’t make her bigger. It made her more. It solidified the changes, etching them into permanence. The curves of her body sang with a final, thrilling note of completion.
She collapsed forward onto his chest, a landslide of spent, glorious flesh. The ruined lounger, pushed beyond all endurance, gave one last splintering crack and collapsed flat beneath them. They settled into the wreckage of plastic and aluminum, a tangled, breathing heap. Jimmy’s arms came around her, holding her with a strength that was now tender, post-worship.
For long minutes, there was only the sound of their ragged, slowing breaths mingling. The world seeped back in slowly. The buzz of a lawnmower a few yards over. The faint smell of charcoal from a neighbor’s grill.
Candy finally stirred, pushing herself up on her elbows. She looked down at Jimmy’s face. He was smiling, a stupid, blissful, utterly satiated smile. He looked peace for the first time all day.
“Wow,” he said, his voice hoarse.
“Yeah,” Candy agreed, a slow, satisfied smile spreading on her lips. She shifted, feeling the delicious ache, the profound sense of ownership that was now a physical truth inside her. She glanced around the yard.
The other women were still there, but the scene had changed again. The fear was gone from their faces, replaced by a shell-shocked emptiness. They looked at Candy and Jimmy not as monsters, but as a fact of nature. A tsunami that had passed, leaving them stranded on unfamiliar ground. Kim and Tiffany were helping Roxy to her feet. Roxy moved stiffly, her earlier bravado utterly extinguished. Her body was still heavy, widened, a permanent testament to her foolishness. She wouldn’t meet Candy’s gaze.
Stacey, Lena, and Beth simply stood together, a small huddle of normalcy in a backyard that had been forever altered.
Candy pushed herself up to a sitting position amidst the wreckage of the chair. Jimmy sat up too, wincing as he pulled a piece of aluminum tubing from under his thigh.