by Emjay Soren
I pretty much needed a bigger rug because I was constantly brushing shit under my current one. It was this cycle of constant worry, anger, guilt and pain. I was so used to putting on a show and keeping my mask in place that there were times you would think it was Cory I was dealing with. The guilt of that comparison alone was pulling me under.
“So, what about you? How was your day?” I can hear the tightness of his voice as he asks. It’s like he is waiting for me to snap at him and it hits me then and there. Shamus is acting as I had so many times before… he was walking on eggshells.
Times of self-loathing commence!
“Dress shopping.” I say robotically as all our other conversations run through my mind. How many times had he tried to compliment me or ask me questions about my day while he had been gone? There wasn’t a single conversation I could think of that hasn’t resulted in me snapping at him.
“You look heaven sent baby.” He had said once a few weeks ago. I had been in jeans and my TOOL t shirt. The shirt was old and faded from a concert years ago. Tool was Shames favorite band and initially it was why I had chosen the shirt. But hearing the sweet endearment set me off. I loved knowing he thought so highly of me, he always had, but hearing it, then made missing him all the worse. I didn’t want those memories when he left me again.
“It’s a fucking t shirt Shamus not an evening gown.” I snapped back.
“You could wear the ugliest thing baby and still look amazing.”
That had set me off entirely. We ended up fighting over Skype and I slammed my laptop closed on him. The next night he had shown up unannounced and I fell apart. I told him I would try to not be so insecure and I would never treat him that way again. We spent the entire night making up and when he left I swore we were stronger than ever. As I watched his plane take off, I felt that plummeting feeling in my stomach, convinced yet again that he wasn’t coming home.
I saw the defeat on his face and knew I was the one who was pushing him away this time. If he left it would be because I forced it. Even though I could see reason I knew that the minute he spoke I would drop reason and snap at him.
I hated myself for how I was treating him. I felt weak and needy. I knew if he was here I would feel that security, that safety that had become a drug to me. Then he would leave, and the withdrawals would start right alongside of my agitation.
He sighs audibly, and I know he is going to ask me if I am okay. I keep my head down as I roll my eyes. I don’t even want to look at him and see the sadness, see what I am doing to him. So, I continue painting my nails and wait for him to change the subject.
“Cassa?” He says my name as a question and the tone of his voice stops my painting. He may be asking for my attention, but the demand of respect in his tone sends a familiar shiver down my spine. I am taken back to when Cory would use that same tone and am reminded of the name calling, the slapping and kicking; the feel of bones crunching and the burn of freshly beaten skin. I look up immediately, but I show no emotion and make no argument. “What the fuck is your deal?”
Though he is mad I relax because this is Shame and I am safe with him. My ire rockets through me that I fell back into the abused woman roll at just the tone of his voice. “Can we not play the ‘Cass you okay baby?’ card tonight?”
“I didn’t ask if you were okay. I asked what the fuck your problem is? If you don’t want this,” he motions between his chest and the computer screen and I know he is motioning me, “then say the word. I can’t keep kissing your ass hoping for the Cassa I love to come through.”
Shame has never hit me, but that was a very harsh and very deserved verbal slap. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I know damn well you haven’t been kissing my ass you’ve been up it every night asking if I’m okay and telling me how pretty I am. Jesus Shame you get old after a while. I keep waiting for you to talk to me about something other than how bad you miss fucking me and can’t wait until you do!”
That was the most irrational, I had ever been. Sure, he told me every night how he missed me, how he couldn’t wait to be inside of me again, but he also asked about my day and how the girls were. I swear to God, he was a perfect boyfriend and I love him so much I can’t rationalize anymore why I keep doing this. Even though I deserve more anger than he is giving me now I still defend myself and an argument that’s futile at best. I shake my head no and roll my eyes. “I’ll talk to you when I see you tomorrow. I don’t have it in me tonight to make you feel secure.”
Feeling lower than any other time in my life, and I have been low, I go to close my laptop before I completely lose it on him with more insane garbage that he doesn’t deserve.
“Close it and I give up on us.” His voice is dead calm, and I halt. No way is he threatening me now, with what I have feared all along? How dare he use that as a weapon?
Completely furious and shaking with anger and a lot of fear I look at him. He is stone cold and not threatening. I see it clear as I see his face through my screen. He is dead fucking serious.
It was anger now that pushed me to do what I do next. Pure, undiluted anger old and boiling from the morning I found he had left without a word. My life unfolds in a series of events as I stay locked on his face. Every slap, every kick, every bloody nose and black eye. I realize then and there I blame Shamus.
I gasp at my own inner thinking’s and I hate myself… despise that truth of myself. Tears fill my eyes because I know without a doubt that this anger stems from my irrational accusations that he is to blame for it all. He broke my heart, shattered it, but what I did after he left, he can’t be held accountable for… but I blame him all the same. “At least you gave me a heads up this time.”
My voice is just loud enough, I know he heard me because he gasps as I slam my laptop shut.
We are over…so, very, fucking over. I think of Carrie Bradshaw standing in an amazing set of wedge heels and a cropped denim jacket in the ER where she ends things with Mr. Big. “We are so over, we need a new word for over.”
Sums it up I think!
Fuck my life.
*
Shamus
I’m exhausted as I make my way out of the taxi cab that brought me to the airport. We are flying home for a four-day break and then two more weeks until the end of the PR bullshit. Usually on home days I can’t get from the cab fast enough, let alone the entire flight I bounce my knee in the excitement of seeing Cassa. That’s not happening this time, though.
I’m trying to make sense of what happened last night, and I can’t. I saw the pain on her face, saw the shock and the sadness before she slammed shut on me. I wish I could say I didn’t mean to threaten her, to say I would never leave her but I did mean it.
I don’t know what happens when I’m not home. I know that when we are together we are perfect and there are no complaints, but apart, she is frigid and cold and honestly, she’s a bitch… and Cass just ain't a bitch. She has never been able to pull it off, she’s to caring and full of life and love to be outright rude.
How the transformation happens though is a mystery. The minute I leave she becomes this person I don’t know, I can’t reach, and it kills me that I can’t reassure her that she can talk to me.
I had hoped that without the physical attraction when we are together taking all thought from us that we would be forced to talk about the last few years and what went on and why we did what we did. I never could get her to even acknowledge we had a past because I was too busy watching my future change from love to hate in front of my eyes.
The guys are waiting for me at the terminal after I make my way through security and I can see the questions in their eyes. We always ride to the airport in a limo together but today I told them I needed to think. We were seriously like chicks at times, the way we were always in each other’s business. But that’s what family does; we carry our broken until they can stand again. Right now, my family was pissed they weren’t carrying me and more pissed they didn’t know what was broken.
<
br /> Chad and Noah were both on their phones, black duffle bags at their feet and sunglasses still on as they waited by Cal who was still half asleep and dressed in his workout clothes. They must have had a late night… it hits me then just how deep I’m in for it. We were supposed to hit Demon’s Pit last night as a final stop in Dallas. The DJ we interviewed with yesterday invited us to a party at the local rocker haven. I was supposed to meet up after talking to Cass but forgot after we broke up… if that’s what we were… fuck I didn’t even know.
I sling my duffle over one shoulder and my backpack over the other and make my way toward them. “Wow, nice to see you buddy.” I say to Cal with laughter because I know they are all hung over. I wish I was nursing a hangover and not my anger and pain cocktail.
“Fuck off douche.” He says, squinting his eyes like it hurt to talk, making me laugh even more.
“I take it the Demons Pit was fun?” I look to Noah and Chad who are both looking at me with a mixture of shock and condolence.
Ah, so news traveled fast.
Should have figured.
“Blast dude. Fuck it was packed with hot chicks in cowboy boots and short skirts. Damn, Texas knows how to breed em’ sexy.”
I laugh, but it’s not heartfelt because I hear Noah say I just got there and that I look like shit. He says this looking at me and loud enough for me to hear, but Noah is anything but gentle.
I roll my eyes and take a seat beside Cal. “Where were your bro?” He asks and shifts to face me.
“Me and Sass got into it last night.” I rub my hand over my chin and along my cheek scratching against a day's worth of growth. “Didn’t feel up to it.”
Cal is the only one who knows about the nonstop fights with Cass and though I’ll be forced to talk about it when the ‘sisters’ are off the phone, I decide to play it off.
“You ask her what her deal is yet?” He asks but his head is rolled back, eyes closed.
“Yeah, that’s what the fight was about.”
“More than a fight. You guys broke up, really?” This is Chad piping in and Noah is beside him. They both lift their sunglasses simultaneously and I can see the red eyes of a bad hangover on them both. Fuck how wild was it last night?
Now Cal is sitting up and looking at me with the same sad half-drunk eyes as Noah and Chad. “What? You broke up?”
“I guess so since that’s what you girls heard, and you probably know more than me.” I say this jokingly to Noah and Chad.
“Dude, I knew shit was bad, but I never thought you would break up.”
“Shit was bad?” Noah asks, and I want to punch Cal right now.
I sigh and cup my hands over my face because emotion is bad enough when I’m alone in it… worse when these fuckers feel the need to talk it out. Give me other people’s emotions and I can deal, but when it’s me, I’m no Bueno. “It’s been strained.” I say pointedly and look for Cal who nods rolling his eyes. “But last night things kind of came to a head and… I didn’t know if it was a straight up break up… but now… I guess so… yeah.”
Luckily for me the announcer came over the speakers telling us our flight was now boarding. I only had maybe ten minutes before all the sisters started in on me. We were booked first class on this flight and we were booked in a four seated alcove in the front of the plane.
Family time was happening if I liked it or not.
By the time we took off and were relaxed, I gave a whole five minutes for the sisters to start asking questions. The anxiety of talking this shit through was driving me crazy and no way was I about to talk about it first. So, there we sat looking at each other waiting for someone to start asking questions. An hour and a half into the flight Cal finally sighs. “What the fuck dude?”
We all start laughing because at least he broke the tension. After laughing, I sigh and shake my head no even though I don’t have an answer. “She’s just been so cold every time we talk. Finally, last night I told her if she slammed the laptop instead of answering my questions that we were done.” I lean back and again I’m shaking my head like that would fix this nightmare. “When she slammed it shut, she told me thanks for giving her a heads up this time or some shit like that.”
I know it was shitty what I did when I left, but I did it swearing to come back! I didn’t get married, I didn’t touch another woman. I focused on the job, practiced until I would pass out and stayed patient waiting for the day I came back to her. She got married not me. It didn’t matter that the marriage was an awful nightmare; she still moved on and did so quickly.
“That was a low blow. Have you guys talked about the first break up?” Chad asked.
“No. Every time I try to broach the subject she gets even colder. I was planning on making us sit and talk this trip home… but now?” I’m looking at Noah because he and Cassa had been close friends since Cory attempted to kill her. I never thought I would need to come to anyone for advice on Cassa, but this proves how distant we truly are.
“I don’t have any answers.” Noah states, but continues to look at me like I know the answer. I don’t know the answer so all I can do is stare back. Finally, he cracks though, and rolls his eyes. “Okay, so look. I don’t know if anything I say is even worth a shit, but I’ll try. I’m basing this off what I told Carrie when she started dating GQ. We aren’t pimps, but we are in the pussy business. We sing about sex, drugs and rock and roll. We used to throw parties to get laid now we just tell them C’mon if we want them. This life isn’t for the weak and that includes the women we love. Candy without a doubt keeps my bed warm and knows that this is business and I am working when I’m away. Carrie has Noelle to worry over these days, but she was always freaking out about the shit we did and the shit we saw. You and Cass were the strong ones back then… maybe now she’s insecure. Your famous dude, recognizable anywhere. Cass is all about the private and stepping away from the spotlight. She isn’t the same wild and free girl as she was back then.”
I cup my hands over my face and groan into them. “I hate not knowing what happened. I feel like if I knew her situation, why she did what she did… I don’t know. I’m looking for reason and logic through the mind of a psychopath. I can’t figure out why Cory hurt her so bad and I can’t help but feel responsible. I feel like she blames me for it too.”
“I asked Carrie for the details once. I am so glad that she never told me in length of what her life had been like.” Chad looks to Noah, whose eyes go dark, and looks to the ground shying from memories he would kill to forget. “Maybe you’re wanting something from her, she may never be able to give you.”
“Maybe.” I say and lean back to stare out the window. Cal is watching me, reminding me of the night he told me of how bad of shape Cassa was in after the attack. None of it matters though. She’s gone again, and I can’t reason anymore.
Chapter Twenty
Cassa
“So, I can't help but think you have a serious misconception of the color pink.” This was Candy who was standing in front of three mirrors and on a platform at Extrav-a-gownza. The store was commissioned to make one of a kind dresses for all of us girls in Carrie’s bridal line. She had wanted us all in different shades of pink as well as different designed gowns. Candy was in a very dark pink. The chest was dazzled in jewels and sleeveless and short, flowing in sheer. She looked breathtaking, but the color was too far off the other three dresses that Roni, Tayla and me were wearing. This was an obvious Carrie moment. Though she loved fashion and all things girly, she had no direction in the matter and the almost red colored gown Candy was donning showed Carrie was in over her head.
“I told you to come with me when I looked at fabric samples. You were busy with my brother doing things I pray you never tell me about. I had to order that day. My wedding is in three weeks and with the guys and Tayla in and out of Washington so much right now, I was left to my own devices.” Carrie was obviously stressed, but I couldn’t help but laugh at her reasoning. The dress was a shade of red when all the others w
ere obvious shades of bright pink. This was what we girls called a ‘Carrie.’
She turned her dagger eyes on me for laughing and shockingly so did Candy. “Don’t laugh little miss ‘my shoes match my belt; my belt matches my purse.’ Candy said, and all eyes turned on me.
With a laugh, I can't hide I shake my head. “How the hell is this my fault? You’re the maid of honor. I’m a lowly bridesmaid here for abuse and to do her bidding when you can't be found.”
“Exactly.” Candy said and stepped off the podium, unable to look at the dress anymore. “I was busy. There were things going on that day that required all my attention.”
Candy had started explaining her and Noah’s sexcapades like this because Carrie was constantly begging them to keep things private. This was Candey's way of saying that she and Noah and the nonstop mattress mambo were the things going on that day. “Why didn’t you call me then?” I ask Carrie, who rolls her eyes as she fingers the sheer fabric of the dress like she is trying to convince herself it’s the right shade of pink.
“Stop looking at it like it suddenly makes sense. It’s red baby cakes and red isn’t pink.” I say this while grabbing her by the shoulders because she looks like she is about to cry. “We can find another dress Carrie. This store has an amazing selection and it’s not like Candy can't wear this dress some other time. It’s beautiful and totally her style. This isn’t a crisis, it just means we need to go shopping.” I smile at this because I am a pro at shopping… and fashion. I may feel a hint of guilt for knowing she was stressed and clearly doing a lot of the wedding plans alone.
“I wanted the dresses to be in your personal styles. I wanted them to be special.” Carrie said and bit her lip, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.
