by Remy Rose
“You need to listen to me, Cassandra—please, let me talk to you.” I take a step forward, placing my hands on her shoulders. She shudders like she can’t stand my touch and shoves me back.
“I don't need to do fucking anything. I played your game, and you may have won your disgusting contest, but you've lost me.” Fresh tears spill out of her eyes. She jabs her hair behind her ears and points toward the door with a shaking arm. “You're not in control of me any more, Carlo. Get...out.”
Her words pelt me like hailstones. As much as I wish it was otherwise, there’s no way I’m getting through to her—at least not tonight. I should have expected this reaction.
But it’s rocked me to my core.
She turns toward the wall, sobbing, her shoulders jerking with each breath she takes. It’s fucking killing me.
“Cassandra...I'm deeply sorry. If you believe nothing else, please believe that.”
She doesn’t respond. I’m torn between wanting to stay and try to help her and knowing she needs me to leave.
God, I hate to leave her.
Walking out of the apartment, I feel almost paralyzed with guilt, regret, self-hatred. But there’s someone else who deserves to share in this, who deserves to feel the extent of my rage.
And I’m going there now.
chapter four ~ Cassandra
Most of the time I handle stress alone, but this feels too big for just me. This pendulum of emotions has been unbelievable—I’ve swung from being so excited to see Carlo to the shock, grief and rage I’m feeling now. There is also a layer of self-directed anger—for ever even thinking I could open myself up to someone dark and enigmatic like Carlo. I should have fucking known better.
My fingers feel thick and clumsy as I pick up my phone. Seeing as it’s Saturday night, Teal is most likely out clubbing—but if she knows I need her, she'll be over in a heartbeat. She is the sweetest that way.
I send a text (Can you come over? I really need you and can't talk about it on the phone), then go into the kitchen and sink into one of the pine chairs, wiping at my eyes. God, I’ve never felt so enraged before. It scares me. And it obviously affected Carlo, from the look on his face. Through my fury, I could see that he was also devastated. His eyes were wide and pleading...I heard desperation in his voice and then a dull resignation when I ordered him to leave.
My phone chimes with a reply text from Teal: Aww, girlfriend!! I'm at Nocturnem but leaving now. Be there in 20. Love you! xoxo
I lean over the kitchen table, crossing my arms and resting my head on them as I try to untangle the clusterfuck that this night—really, my whole life—has become. I can’t figure out if I want to curl up in a weeping ball under the covers or if I want to just bolt—drive somewhere, far away, where no one will find me. Jesus Christ, I need Teal.
I’m coming out of the bathroom when the doorbell rings. I know it’s probably Teal, but the thought that it might be Carlo turns my spine to ice. I stand on my tiptoes to peer through the peephole. Thank God...it’s her.
Just seeing her starts the tears flowing again. She quickly takes off her leather jacket, hangs it on the coat rack and sweeps me into her arms.
“Ohh, sweetie! You look like absolute shit. But you smell good.”
“Thanks,” I sniffle. “Ck one.”
“I know what it is, lover.” She leans back to brush wisps of my hair off my forehead. “I'm the one who started wearing it, remember?”
“I guess. I can't even think right now. I'm really glad you're here.”
“Let's go snuggle and talk. Couch, or bed?”
“Bed.” The living room still feels infiltrated by Carlo being here earlier.
Teal flings her arm around my shoulders and pulls me in close in a half-hug as we walk down the hall to my bedroom. My heart twists, remembering how I thought this night would unfold—making love with Carlo in this room. How fucking wrong I was.
I climb onto the bed and lean back against the headboard. Teal starts to join me and then stops. “Just a sec. We need some stuff before we start.”
“Like what?”
“Like wine, and Kleenex. Got 'em?”
“I have some Borsao Rosé, but no Kleenex—just toilet paper.” My eyes well up with tears. Just the thought of crying is making me cry.
“Okay, nugget. I'll be right back.” She blows me a kiss before leaving while I slather pathetic on top of humiliation. Perfect. But Teal will know how to handle me. She always does.
Grinning, Teal comes back in a couple minutes later with two full wine glasses and a roll of toilet paper wedged under her arm. “Nowww we're prepared.”
I thank her, take my glass and sip as Teal sits down beside me and settles against the pile of pillows with a sigh. She looks, as usual, perky and perfect in a coral-colored top, black yoga pants and a collection of bangles on one arm, her silky blonde hair tucked behind her ears. No doubt she was enjoying herself at Nocturnem till she had to come to her needy friend's rescue. Ugh. I add guilt to my emotional layer cake.
Teal rips off a section of toilet paper. “Here. You look like a football player with eye black. You didn't wear waterproof, did you?”
“Didn't think I'd need to. This was supposed to be a good night.”
“Tell me. I'm guessing it's Carlo.”
“Yes.”
“Is this a continuation of what happened the other night—that you still haven't told me about?”
“Yeah...” I exhale shakily. “I don't want to go into detail, but like I told you, that night was intense—too intense, because I couldn't do everything he wanted me to do. He's...on the dominant side.”
“Cass. That is so not fair. You know I live to hear this shit.”
“And you know I about die to share this shit. I’ll just say it was seriously intimate and intense. He was—giving me a consequence, and I started to cry.”
She gasps. “Cassandra—he didn't hurt you, did he? My fucking word, I'll lose it if he did.”
“No. I mean, yes, but it was the hurts-so-good kind of thing—can we just not talk about this part?” I’m blushing furiously.
“Okay, now I'm liking him again. Continue.”
“He stopped everything right then—he seemed really bothered by my reaction.” I pause. Enter confusion, stage left. Carlo had seemed very upset. Was he thinking at that moment of stopping the contest? Had he realized right then how wrong he was?
“So he's sensitive to your needs.”
“I would have thought so, until I found out something.”
“Oh my God—is he married?”
“No.”
“Bi? Gay?”
“Jesus, no. He couldn't be more hetero.” I hesitate and reach for the toilet paper, my eyes filling up again. “I found out he took a video of that night we were together.”
Shaking her head, Teal grins. “Nugget, that's not so awful! Some people are really into that. I personally think it's sexy as hell.” She takes a sip of her wine and looks away innocently. “Not that I would have any firsthand knowledge or anything.”
“It's not just the video. I found out from his co-worker that they had a contest to see who could get women to—to submit to them.”
“Sub...mit to them?”
It takes a lot to shock Teal, but this apparently did it. “Yes.” More tears, more toilet paper. “I was part of the game.”
“Oh my God! Seriously? He used you for some fucking game?”
I nod.
“Okay, so I hate him again! What the fuck, Cassandra!”
“I know.” I’m crying harder.
“Jesus...you must feel as shattered as Humpty fucking Dumpty!”
“Pretty much, yes.”
Teal is fuming. She gets up from the bed and paces around the room. “This is soo not what you needed. You trusted him, you were finally open to the idea of getting close to someone, and the asshole betrayed you.”
My voice drops to a whisper. “I just...never expected this.” I hate how weak I sound. I fini
sh the rest of my wine, grateful for the buzz that’s beginning to set in.
“Um, I'm sure you didn't! Plus, it's even worse that you found out from someone else. What's up with his co-worker telling you?”
“He must have done it to screw Carlo over. He actually came to Windswept and gave me an envelope with an SD card in it. He acted like it was going to be some big surprise. I always thought he was creepy, but I didn't know he was this much of a prick.”
“So you saw the video?”
“Yes. And I wish I could un-see it.”
“Oh God, honey, I'm so sorry.” Teal envelops me in a tight hug. “You didn't deserve this. Men can be such dicks.”
I'm not like other men. And I think you know that.
I so wanted to believe him.
“He said he was planning to tell me himself,” I say into her hair. “He said he wanted to be honest with me.”
“I'm sorry, nug, but I don't know as I buy that. I'm pissed as hell that he hurt you, but maybe this is for the best. You don't need that kind of crap in your life.” She pulls back to look at me. “And how could you ever believe anything he said, when he lied to you?”
Cassandra—I'm deeply sorry. If you believe nothing else, please believe that.
The way he had looked when he said that, just before he left...like he was the one hurting. He looked like I felt—completely crushed.
“Cass?” Teal’s looking at me, apprehension creasing her forehead. “Listen to me. The sooner you let this go, the better. Fuck him. You'll get back on your feet again, and you'll be stronger than ever. Okay? Believe me?”
I nod, swallowing the thickness in my throat as if I can somehow push down the pain. I know hurt intimately; it’s been an unwelcome but repeated visitor. But this—it feels different this time, like someone squeezed out all the good in my life and left me as a shrunken, empty shell.
“Okay,” I tell Teal, managing a smile. “I believe you.”
The words ring as hollow as I feel.
chapter five ~ Carlo
Jagged. Imposing. Grandiose. The architecture of Brockton Dall's house definitely reflects the persona of its owner. Brock lives in one of the most affluent neighborhoods in Lititz, only ten minutes from me, in a contemporary white house with black shutters, sharp features and too-tall windows that remind me of gaping mouths. There’s nothing to soften its appearance; the cedar hedge and shrubs are pruned into limp submission, and the lawn is cut painfully short. It suits him perfectly.
I didn’t expect to see Brock's bright red BMW in the driveway, especially on a Saturday night. One minor stroke of luck in this night from hell. I’d let my rage bang around inside me on the drive over, even breaking out in a cold sweat, but I made myself calm down before I got here. I need to stay clear-headed. Brock isn’t expecting me, and that will definitely be an advantage.
I ring the doorbell which makes a pretentious series of chimes. I’d expect nothing less from the bastard. Knowing I’m seconds away from seeing my former colleague makes my skin prickle.
The heavy white door swings open.
“Well. If it isn't my boss. Excuse me—former boss.” Brock winks, grinning. “My bad.” He’s wearing navy sweats and has a rocks glass in his hand, swirling the ice and liquid in a slow, circular motion. His blond hair is uncharacteristically rumpled, and there’s stubble on his chin. He motions me inside, sweeping his arm with the polished, theatrical flair of a game show host. “Come in, my friend.”
Smug motherfucker.
Clenching my fists, I steel myself as I walk in. There’s the sound of a football game coming from the TV in the living room.
“I'm watching Penn State chew up the Buckeyes. Care to join me? Perhaps place a bet? You and I have always enjoyed lively competition.” Brock's green eyes flicker with amusement.
“I think you know why I'm here, you traitorous fuck.”
Eyebrows raised, Brock takes a sip of his drink and chuckles. “Yup. Something to do with a video. You know, I considered using it for blackmail so I could stay on at Miller, but I just couldn't stomach the thought of working side by side with you. And Ned will take good care of me—just like I took care of him when I let him in on the little Gatekeeper secret.” He grins. “Gotta tell you, buddy—I had a major hard-on watching your video. Jesus, her ass! Nice tits, too. I don't get why you didn't fuck her lights out, though. Quite disappointing.”
I reach Brock in two quick steps, grabbing fistfuls of his sweatshirt and slamming him against the wall in the foyer. His glass shatters on the tile floor. The alarm in Brock's eyes as he struggles gives me a surge of satisfaction. Dall might be taller, heavier, but my rage gives me an advantage. I tighten my grip on his shirt with my left hand, releasing my right to deliver a powerful punch to his jaw.
The impact knocks him to the floor. There’s a stinging pain in my hand, but I’ll gladly take it. I step back, breathing hard, as Brock staggers to his feet, swinging wildly, striking a glancing blow off the top of my head as I duck. Missed me, you arrogant prick.
Brock is grunting as he swings again. I ram him back against the wall, knocking the wind out of him. One more lame attempt from him to hit me, but I block it, draw back my fist and deck him squarely in the nose.
Crumpling to the floor, Brock moans and covers his face with his hands as blood streams from his nostrils. “You fucking broke my nose! You'd better know a good attorney, because I'm going to have you charged with assault.”
My chest is heaving, adrenaline pumping. “Really, Dall? You may want to rethink that, since I'm planning to sue you for corporate espionage.” I pause to catch my breath. “If anybody asks why your face is fucked up, just tell them you had a disagreement with someone over a woman—which is the truth, isn't it? How's that for a plan...friend?”
No answer from Brock, who’s still hunched over, blood dripping from his nose and falling in small splashes on the beige tile floor.
I put my hand on the doorknob and tell him one more thing before I leave, making my words slow and even. “Dall—if you ever fuck with me again, this little visit will seem like a picnic in the park compared to what will happen to you next time.”
I walk out of the house into the cool night air and get into my car, heart beating in a rapid staccato. The last time I’d gotten in a fist fight was my senior year of high school, also over a girl—and I remember feeling more guilt than anything, especially because my stepfather didn’t approve of violence and was very disappointed in me.
But this time...this time is different. I needed to get justice for me, and especially for Cassandra. No guilt whatsoever for what I did to Brock. Fucking cocksucker deserved that, and more.
I start the car and slide the gear shift into reverse. Glancing down, I notice spatters of blood on my sweater. I’ll put it in the trash as soon as I get home. I don’t need any fucking reminders of this night.
I back out of the driveway with my adrenaline still pumping. I’ll keep that feeling as long as I can to mask the dull, empty ache I know is waiting for me beneath it.
chapter six ~ Cassandra
I find the first note in the refrigerator, a pink post-it stuck to a six-pack of Wild Grape Smirnoff Ice. The note is written in small, neat script: Be healthy...eat more fruit. There’s a tiny heart dotting the i. I can’t help but smile. Definitely, the work of Teal, seeing as she’s the only one besides the apartment complex who has a key to my apartment. She must have snuck in while I was at Windswept.
I have about an hour before going to waitress tonight at Tucker's—just enough time to grab a bite to eat, shower, dress and drive. My appetite has sucked lately, but I make myself eat an apple and the other half of my tuna salad sandwich. And part of a KitKat, to hopefully jumpstart my hunger. I’ll take Teal’s advice and have a Smirnoff after work.
With Sonya gone, I picked up more hours at the stable. Which is a good thing, because wheelbarrows, shovels and even bitchy Ingrid are familiar and concrete and keep me grounded. And I need grounded more t
han ever.
It’s been a week since that fucked-up night when I learned the ugly truth, but it feels more like months. I’ve sat with the truth like it was some homely, smelly houseguest who refuses to leave. The truth has sapped my energy and dulled my senses, and the truth leaks out of my eyes at night and seeps into my pillowcase, only to resurface in dark, troubled dreams featuring Brock laughing at me. Sometimes, it’s even Carlo.
He’s texted me twice—telling me he was sorry, then asking if we could talk—and called once. I ignored his call, and after the second text, I responded with Leave me alone. I haven’t heard from him since.
This. Sucks.
The time of year doesn’t help—the end of October ushers in earlier sunsets, cooler temperatures and hints of winter, adding to my gloomy mood. The fall foliage is now post-glory with the trees trying to hang on to their leaves that were once the colors of fire, now muted as they flutter to the ground.
I find myself fluttering, too, from thought to scattered thought—drifting off into flashbacks, replaying the snippets of conversation that stayed with me:
As fucked-up as it sounds, Cassandra, I've needed this game.
I wanted to prove that I could go through with it. So I could show myself that you were just like all the other women. But I couldn't do it.
Our relationship quickly became much more than a game, in my mind.
When I’m pissed, which is about half the time, it’s easy to tell myself those are just words—empty, meaningless words that float on air and evaporate like mist. It’s actions that anchor, that matter, and Carlo's actions were fucking devastating. I try to cling to this simple truth like it’s a lifeboat in a sea of confusion.
But when I’m aching with hurt...I remember the way his eyes looked that night. He had practically been pleading with me. Carlo Leone—pleading.
When that happens, I yank myself back to reality, calling forth Teal's two simple words: Fuck him. And then I can feel like I’m moving forward—even though a lot of the time, it seems like I’m aimless.
