by Jo Raven
That I’d abandoned him. As if I ever would.
Cassie is shooting me sideways glances, sitting stiffly, probably trying not to touch me and at the same time figure out what the hell is going on with me. With her blond hair in a long ponytail, her blue eyes outlined in black, and those soft lips, her white sweater hanging off one rounded shoulder, she’s…
Too beautiful for the likes of me.
Also too perfect, too popular, too out of my league in each and every fucking way.
My head’s killing me, and I press my forehead to the cold glass, closing my eyes. God, I can’t wait for this day from hell to be over.
***
The slam of a car door closing drags me back from a pit of writhing faces and arms, open mouths dripping blood.
Taking a second to compose my face and catch my breath, I unglue my cheek from the car window and take stock of the situation.
We’re parked outside my building. The neon sign of D’Angelo’s pizzeria is burning a brand in my retinas. Blinded, I look away only to find Cassie climbing out of the car. Seth and Manon are already out.
Where’s everyone going?
Wincing, I straighten in the car seat, and right on time, too, as my door is wrenched open and cold air hits me.
Can’t hide a flinch, but it’s Seth standing there, so it’s okay. He leans inside, tugs on my arm.
“Come on, buddy. Let’s get you upstairs.”
I want to tell him to go suck it, to leave me the hell alone. It’s warm and cozy inside the car, and the bruised muscles in my back complain with every movement.
But instead I take his hand and let him haul me out into the night and the bitter wind blowing down the avenue. Pain hits as I straighten, radiating down my back. Tomorrow I’ll be black and blue from my encounter with the hard, iced-over ground. The blanket still wrapped around me is drenched and heavy, and I think I’ll shiver my skin off as Seth drags me toward the entrance.
He pats my pockets for the keys, and I let him, concentrating on containing the pain slicing through me, made worse by the cold.
Seth throws the keys to Manon who unlocks the door. Cassie holds it open for us while Manon gets the lights, and Seth hauls me inside.
You’d think I broke my fucking legs. I’m shivering so hard I can hardly walk. But Seth isn’t fazed. He’s seen me worse. He pulls me along with an arm around my shoulders, up the stairs, the girls preceding us.
“Manon’s ordering some pizza for us,” Seth’s saying as we get up the steps, one by one. “From D’Angelo’s downstairs. That one you like, with anchovies and extra chilies. And garlic bread.”
I let him talk, barely paying attention, his familiar voice soothing.
It’s like going back in time to when we were kids. Seth always was the older brother, the one taking care of me, although we were born just a few days apart. I was the loud and chatty one, and he was always serious. He was the one who was careful and took care of me when I fell and busted my knees or fought with other kids.
He was the quiet and cautious one—and with good reason. With how his mom was, always stoned out of her fucking mind, he had to grow up fast, be the adult in the household.
Now I let him talk and talk, filling the silence, smoothing over the sharp edges of my memories, and can’t think of a single thing to say back.
***
It’s really weird to have people in my apartment—even weirder and cringe-worthy to have Seth helping me shed my wet clothes. No choice, though. My back hurts too fucking much to bend over and undo the laces of my boots or to lift my arms to take off my sweater, so he rolls it up and we manage to get it off with the minimum amount of movement.
“Shower?” Seth asks, and I shake my head. “It’ll help warm you up.”
“No.”
“Suit yourself.” He turns around to grab me some dry clothes from the closet, and I slowly, carefully pull off my wet T-shirt, my teeth grinding against the pain. “Let me have a look at your back.”
“I’m okay. Just gimme the shirt.”
He scowls at me, his eyes calculating. Wondering what the hell is wrong this time. “Sure.” He tosses me the shirt, and I curse as I manage to grab it. “Painkillers?”
“Bathroom.”
He gives me one last long look, and leaves, muttering to himself, as I drag on the fucking T-shirt, then the dry pants, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from whimpering.
Fuck.
In the car I’d wanted a moment to gather my scattered wits, but now… Now not anymore. Truth is, I don’t wanna be alone. And I don’t wanna admit to Seth that the thought of being under the shower scares the shit out of me. Too scared it will trigger another flashback.
Tomorrow I’ll have to get over it, but tonight’s too soon, the memories too raw.
Seth doesn’t know, all right? Doesn’t know what happened to me in prison. He thinks I only took beatings like him, and I never opened up. Let sleeping dogs lie, I say. He feels guilty enough for not saving me as it is.
He returns with some Ibuprofen and a glass of water, and I gulp the pills down just as the doorbell rings. I almost choke.
“I guess pizza’s here.” Seth grins. “Hungry?”
He heads out of my bedroom without waiting for a reply, and I push to my feet to follow him into the living room, staggering like a drunk.
Manon is there, sitting on the rug, opening a box of pizza, Seth perched on the armrest of the sofa, saying something that makes her giggle.
And Cassie. Cassie is here, sitting on the rug beside Manon.
She’s back in my apartment.
No fucking idea why that makes me wanna smile, despite this fucking bad day I’ve had. I glare at the back of Seth’s head instead and make my slow way over to the sofa, grabbing my drawing pad on the way.
Quiet falls as I sink down on the hard cushions, wincing. I push my wet hair out of my face, tucking the long strands behind my ear, and scowl at Manon who’s staring at me like I’m the Christmas fairy.
“What?” I growl, my defenses coming up fast.
“Pizza?” She quickly pulls a slice and waves it at me, her eyes wide.
Great, I scared Seth’s favorite girl.
“Not hungry,” I mutter and open my drawing pad. “You guys go ahead.”
“Want us to go?” Seth looks torn between attacking the pizza and doing what I want. “Just say it, man.”
“No. Stay. Just…” I stare down at the empty page of my pad, reach for my pencils. Again struggling to explain without explaining. Need to get things out of my head, and drawing is the only way I know how. “Just eat, okay?”
Cassie makes a strange sound in the back of her throat, and I frown. It sounded like laughter. Unless it was a cough?
She gets up and plops herself beside me on the sofa. “Do you mind?”
I shake my head, staring a bit too long at her mouth and the curve of her tits before I manage to look away. “Suit yourself.”
“You should eat something,” Seth says as I jot the date at the top corner of the paper and start sketching. “You look like shit. Have you eaten anything today? Or yesterday?”
“Sure I did.”
“Yeah, and what was it?”
“Doritos.” I’m hatching and crosshatching, turning the white paper dark. Faces emerge from the black, white, with bulging eyes and open mouths.
Cassie laughs outright, and I stop for a second, look up. God, she’s beautiful, her head thrown back, her blue eyes glittering.
I smile a little as I return to my drawing, but soon the smile slips as I sink into the image. Into the memory. My pencil digs into the paper, leaving deep grooves, outlining a figure lying on the floor, long hair spread like the rays of a dark star.
He will get up and save himself, I chant to myself. He will get up.
Get up, Shane.
Get up.
Flames, fangs, poison, flashes of light, hands, blades, screams—
Something warm presses on my arm, a light
weight, bringing me back. Grounding me, tethering me. What…?
I blink, and it’s a small hand. A woman’s hand.
Cassie leans in and stares at my drawing. Then she says quietly, “Oh my frigging God. Is this hell?”
Chapter Four
Cassie
Demons with claws and gaping maws with long teeth, and darkness and pain. The lines are hard, the outlines harsh and jagged.
There’s a figure at the center of this swirling eddy of chaos. A man, naked, spread-eagled, his long hair spreading around him like a blanket.
The force of the image strikes me like a physical blow. I want to touch it. To touch the artist who’s sitting hunched over it as if in pain, long wet hair trailing on the paper, smudging the lines.
What does it mean? It’s like a riddle. A puzzle. Where does all that pain come from?
“It’s you,” I whisper. “The man in the middle.”
He frowns, those exotic dark eyes searching my face for something. Then he leans back and snaps the pad shut, hiding the drawing, his gaze turning hard and flat.
I pull my hand back, unsure of what to do.
“I think we should be going,” Manon says, and Seth starts gathering the dirty napkins from the table.
“We should.”
Something like panic flashes over Shane’s face, there and gone so fast I think I imagined it. He clutches his drawing pad until his knuckles turn white.
So strange. I mean, he wants us to go, right? He’s made it pretty clear, both this time and last time I was here.
“I’ll put the pizza in the fridge,” Seth says, carrying the two boxes into the kitchen. “You really should eat something, cuz.”
Shane doesn’t seem to hear him. He’s busy opening his drawing pad again, turning a new page.
“Hey, you sure your back is okay?” Manon comes to stand in front of him, smoothing her hands over her old-fashioned black dress. “Will you be all right?”
He nods, a sharp dip of his head. He glances up quickly, mouth tipping up in a faint smile. “Thanks.”
Manon beams as if he’s done something extraordinary. She’s so cute.
Then again, come to think of it, Shane’s smiles are a rare sight.
And it’s gone just as quickly. He frowns as he drags the pencil over the paper, about to dive into another creative trance and get lost in his world. His nightmare.
What is it about this boy? Why don’t I want to leave him?
Okay, that’s a no-brainer, Cass. He’s smoking hot. Of course you want to stay right here with him and pet him until he pets you back.
Yeah.
But I feel as if he needs us here, and what does that mean? I watch him draw, those dark brows drawn together, that full mouth pressed into a line, long hair falling in his face in shiny sheets.
What if deep inside he wants us to stay, but won’t say it? What if his pride, his stubbornness won’t let him?
It doesn’t matter, though, I think as I uncurl from his sofa and grab my coat. I’m no expert in what people need and want. See what happened last time I thought I knew better and decided to give it to them without heeding their refusal. See what happened with Jesse Lee.
Yes, I’m the last person on earth to force my company on Shane if he says he doesn’t want it.
***
After Shane’s, I ask Seth and Manon to drive me home. Normally I’d have them drop me off at one of my favorite bars and spend the night dancing and drinking—or following a hunk home for some fun times.
But I don’t feel like it lately, even less tonight after leaving Shane’s apartment.
Making myself a cup of hot cocoa, I sprawl on my couch and turn on the TV. Guess I’ll veg out in front of the set instead. I don’t even want to watch anything, just need some background noise. I hate being alone. The quiet makes my thoughts too loud.
I wonder if it’s the same for Shane.
God, Cass. I put down my cocoa and change the channel to yet another boring show. Stop thinking about Shane.
Hard to do, though, when I was right beside him, touching him and talking to him not half an hour ago. Can’t forget how worried I was when Seth paled after answering his phone and parked the car haphazardly by the side of the road to focus on the call. When he said there had been an accident at the construction site where Shane works. That Shane was hurt.
How relieved I was later when I saw Shane beside Seth as they returned to the car, upright and moving under his own steam. So freaking glad he was okay.
This is dangerous territory. Unstable ground. I’ve never worried so much about someone except my brother, Angel, and since then I’d promised to myself to keep my distance, keep my heart safe.
How is Shane doing that, getting through all my defenses? While he sat there, sketching, the others eating pizza and talking about Zane and Dakota’s upcoming wedding, I was dying to put my arms around him, rest my head on that broad chest.
God, he’s beautiful. And he’s in pain. Not just from his fall today, though from the way he held himself I could tell his back hurt, but from all that anger he’s desperately trying to keep in check.
Why? What happened to him? What isn’t Seth telling me about his half-brother? Every time I’ve asked him about Shane, needing to know about his past, anything about me, he’s refused to talk.
And here I go again, thinking I can tell how Shane feels, believing I somehow see more than others can.
Jesus, Cass. Haven’t you learned anything these past months? Talk about arrogance.
Grabbing my cell phone from my purse, I toy with it, the need to talk to someone about Shane so strong I don’t know what to do with myself. Who, though? Manon and Seth are out of the question, and I’m not that close to the others.
Ev? We used to be close, and she was nice to me the other day at Halo, but still not sure she’d appreciate me calling to ask questions and confide my doubts to her right now. Besides, she’s probably out with Micah, having fun. It is Saturday evening.
Why didn’t I go out, too? I’m starting to regret it now, alone with the voices in my head, with the insecurity, the loneliness, the void trying to swallow me. Telling me I’m not good enough for anyone, not interesting, not lovable, that I’ll end up living my days in a dark room, with myself as the only company.
Getting up, I pour myself a shot of tequila, down it. Pour another.
I have to resist the urge to take the tequila bottle to the sofa with me. Drinking home alone is a sure sign I’m turning into my mother, and no. No way. I’m not her.
I take the bottle with me anyway.
***
“’M, h’llo?” No sound comes from my cell, so I pull it away and stare at it uncomprehendingly. Then I remember to thumb the “connect call” icon and put it back to my ear as I roll onto my back on the bed. “Who is it?”
“Morning, baby. Don’t you know your mom’s voice anymore?”
Crap. “Hi, Mom.”
It’s only been, like, two months since last time we talked. My head thumps in time to my heartbeat and my stomach churns.
Tequila hangover sucks.
“You sound rough. Long night out?” She’s way too chipper for this early in the morning. Then I see the time on my nightstand clock and hiss.
Yeah, not so early after all. Midday.
“Nah, I stayed in.”
“You sick, Cassie?”
“No.” I lick my dry lips. My mouth tastes awful. “Just stupid.”
“Tell me what happened.”
And I shouldn’t. Not only because she won’t get it, and I don’t even know how to put it into words, but mostly because I don’t trust her to understand. Not anymore.
But last night I felt alone in the world, and she’s my mom, and she’s asking how I am. Plus, I’m hungover to hell, and my eyes burn.
“It’s this boy, and he doesn’t want me,” I say, my voice catching, and dear God, am I going to cry like a two-year-old because I can’t have what I want? A guy, at that. “I mean
, he’s nice to me, and I really, really like him so much, but he keeps me at a distance, and I’ve never…”
Never wanted to be close to anyone so badly before.
Christ.
“He’s distant with you? Giving you the cold shoulder?”
“No. I mean yes, but he’s like that with everyone.” It’s just that I hoped with me he’d be different. “We’re friends.” Of sorts. “We go out sometimes for drinks with his friends, but never alone, and I think… I think he’s not okay.”
“Not okay in the head,” she huffs. “Why are you hanging around a man who doesn’t make the effort to conquer you? I don’t understand. You’re not the brightest bulb on the porch, but I thought I taught you at least this much.”
Oh God. My stomach twists. I knew this was a mistake. “Mom…”
“No, listen to me. Men are freaking stupid. They don’t know what they want. You got to go out there and show them what they’re missing. Show this boy how good you can make him feel, and he’ll come around.”
Yeah. See where I get my love life advice and my fake confidence from?
“Don’t think that’s a good idea with Shane.”
“Shane, huh? Maybe he’s just shy. Doesn’t he look at you? Stare when he thinks you’re not paying attention?”
He does. I think. Maybe.
“I don’t know, Mom.”
“Oh, honey, don’t wait for good things to come to you. Go out there and get them. Grab the man by the horns, yeah?”
“That’s the bull, Mom.”
“Both are males,” Mom says, unruffled.
Sounds like good advice, until I remember Mom has stopped thinking of men as members of the human race since Dad left her. Us. I’m not sure if she’s taking revenge on all of male mankind through sex, or on herself, and me—not the brightest bulb on the porch, and her only daughter and friend.
Still, the doubts have been successfully planted.
What if she’s right? What if Shane is shy, if the subtle signs he’s giving me mean he wants me? After all, like I told Mom, he’s quite closed off and cold with everyone, including his half-brother Seth, so…
But what if I’m making a mistake—another one? A second mistake of this sort in the space of half a year would be a first, even for me, and what’s more...
