by Skyla Madi
“Come inside?” I tuck my hands under my armpits, desperate to keep them warm, and watch as a tiny flake of snow settles on his wild, blond strands. “I-it’s too much out here.”
Seemingly in a day, New York’s temperature has plummeted, and warm winter clothes are no longer enough to keep the body temperature up. Caleb lifts his cigarette and takes a drag. I watch, frowning, as he holds it in his lungs for a few seconds before blowing it out. “They’ve decided to perform surgery on Agnes in an attempt to clear the infection.” He clears his throat. “It’s risky, but she’s dead if they don’t anyway.”
I nod, shuddering violently. “I’m sure e-everything will be fine.”
My teeth chatter. If I don’t get back inside, and soon, I’m going to freeze to death.
“Bree said Agnes isn’t coping well. They don’t think she has much time left.” Caleb’s tone is detached, as if he’s talking about someone he barely knows and couldn’t really care less about.
I’d be offended for Agnes if I didn’t know Caleb better. This is how he copes, by shutting it all out and pretending it never meant anything to him anyway. I step closer to him, uncaring Nick might be home and could open the blinds at any time and see me standing here with Caleb, dressed in his clothes.
“And you’re l-looking for answers, huh?” I ask, referring to my bible in his hand.
Caleb turns around and leans against the railing, bending his leg at the knee. The almost-full cigarette hangs off his lip and, for the first time in my life, smoking appeals to me.
“Haven’t opened it.”
He catches my gaze lingering on his mouth, where his dry lips touch the butt of his cigarette, and pinches it between his fingers, inhaling deeply. Then he plucks it out and offers it to me. I start to decline, then change my mind and accept it.
“Why not?” I pry, wondering why he even has it. I left that thing on my bed for my parents.
I place the cigarette between my lips and drag on it, gathering the toxic smoke in my lungs. I blow it out quickly and bury my face in the crook of my elbow to cough out the rest. Christ. It’s a hell of a lot stronger than what Fiona smokes. Caleb takes the cigarette back, drops it on the metal at our feet, and stomps it out with his navy, old man slippers I absolutely can’t stand the sight of. My heart thumps painfully in my chest when he lifts his big, dark green puppy dog eyes to mine and folds his arms across his chest, sinking into his black hoodie.
“Because it won’t help, will it? She’s old. When people get old, they die. No amount of modern medicine, or prayers to an invisible man in the sky, can change it.”
If he thinks prayers cure mortal afflictions, then he’s doing it wrong.
“You don’t pray to change it, Caleb. You pray for her passing to be painless, that her friends and family find a way to heal.” I clear my throat. Admittedly, it’s been a while since I’ve prayed…but if it’s something he’s been contemplating, if he feels it’s his last option, then I’ll gladly join him. “Do…do you want to do it together?”
He holds the bible toward me, and the last rays of sun catch on the golden edges. “Nah. Wasted breath anyway, right?”
I shrug, not confirming, nor denying. My relationship with God is my own. How I feel about prayer is irrelevant. “Maybe. Maybe not. Doesn’t hurt to try.”
He takes the bible back and stuffs it into the pocket of his hoodie. I gaze at his face as he turns to watch the last of the sun sink below the horizon through the gaps between buildings. When it’s gone, and the temperature plummets further, he pushes off the railing and slings his arm across my shoulders, guiding me back to the window.
“You’ll do it with me?” he asks, and it’s barely audible.
I smile up at him, hating the way my teeth chatter. “O-of course.”
Inside, Caleb scoops up the blanket I discarded on the floor and wraps it tightly around me. Then he scoops me into his arms and carries me into the living room, sitting me on the big leather couch while he goes into the kitchen to make us hot chocolates. It’s infinitely warmer in the main room than it is in Caleb’s, and it doesn’t take long for my bones to thaw. Once they do, I slip from the blanket and saunter back to his room, which is much colder than the other. Shivering, I rush through the room, looking for my sweater and my phone. I don’t find my clothes, but I do spot my phone on the bedside table. I stroll over to it, sit on the edge of the unmade bed, and unlock the screen. Sure enough, missed calls and text messages from Nick flood my screen. I flick them open one by one.
Nick: Where are you?
Nick: We need to talk.
Nick: I know you’re mad, but at least let me know you’re alive.
Nick: Please, Sia.
Sighing, I quickly type back a response.
Cassia: I’m fine. Slept the day away. I’m staying at a friend’s place tonight, but I’ll see you tomorrow.
I hit send, and heavy stones of guilt settle in my stomach, but sex aside, I can’t let myself feel guilty. Not when Caleb needs me. It’s only for a little while. He’ll go back to Paradise Valley soon, giving me time to focus on safely deconstructing my relationship with Nick without it blowing up in my face. Sighing, I turn off my phone, open the top drawer, and dump it inside.
In the living room, I climb back into the blanket and wrap it tightly around me, not daring to come out until Caleb hands me a white mug that has “don’t stress meowt” written below a cute cat nose and whiskers.
“Wade’s girlfriends have lots of mugs.” I smile and take the steaming mug in my hands, humming when the hot ceramic touches my palms. I press my lips to the rim, blow a little, then take a quick sip as Caleb joins me on the couch, sans a hot chocolate for himself. The hot liquid pours over my tongue, and I swallow it with a sigh.
“I think this is the most delicious hot chocolate I’ve ever had,” I announce, leaning forward to place the mug on the wooden coffee table.
He smiles at me as I turn my body to face him and take his warm hands in mine. He looks incredibly comfortable in his gray sweatpants and a baggy black hoodie, so comfortable my body begs to snuggle into his.
“Do you want to do it?” I ask.
His smile widens into a grin, and he swallows the distance, pressing his lips against mine, and eases me off balance. With a muffled chuckle, I press my hands to his wide chest, purse my lips, and push him off.
“What?” He laughs, not pulling away from me completely. “You asked if I wanted to do it.”
“Not that.” I push him back a little further. “Pray. Say a prayer for Agnes.”
He tilts his head, catching his lower lip between his perfect white teeth in thought. Releasing his lip, he straightens on the couch. “You say it and I’ll listen.”
I glance across the room and think of a prayer I’ve heard my parents say whenever a family member fell ill. When I’m sure I’ve got it, I take Caleb’s hands in mine, swallow my unease, and close my eyes.
*Caleb*
“Think, O God, of our friend who is ill,” she begins, and I’m surprised how easily the words come to her. “Whom we now commend to Your compassionate regard.”
I don’t close my eyes as she recites the prayer I’ve heard a million and one times. Instead, I stare at her. At her long lashes, her cute nose, then her pouty, full lips. I was going to pray for Agnes myself, but…when has God ever listened to me? Why would he help me after everything I’ve done to spite him? Nah. Whatever words leave my mouth will fall on deaf ears and Agnes will suffer because of it. Cassia, on the other hand, is a damn angel. He has to listen to her. Through her kind soul, and pure heart, maybe he’ll spare Agnes some pain.
I glance at our hands. They fit so perfectly together. We fit so perfectly together. I bet Nick has tiny fucking gimp hands.
I spent most of the day spooning Cassia to keep her warm, leaving her side only to take phone calls from Bree and stress smoke cigarettes I can’t stand the taste of. When we were in bed, I was kept from sleep by the sound of her phone buzzing. An
endless amount of calls and texts from Nick, I assume. It took everything I had in me not to answer her phone and tell him to fuck off. I can’t quite describe the pressure in my chest and the prickle along the back of my neck whenever I think about Nick. I spoke to Agnes about it the second time I felt it. She told me it was because I was jealous and angry, found it really amusing too. The only other time I recall feeling the same way was when I saw Cassia with Jeremy Minesota at the back of my father’s church, so maybe Agnes is right. I’m jealous.
And angry.
Before Cassia, I’ve never cared about anything enough to really hate anyone, until I met Nick. I hate him so much I could burst.
I look back to Cassia’s mouth. I take solace in the fact Nick has never had Cassia the way I have, but knowing he’s kissed her lips unsettles me beyond belief. No one deserves her. No one is worthy of her. Not even me…
…but I take from her bountiful body and beautiful soul regardless because I’m selfish. Egotistical. Lawless. Corrupt. Immoral. Narcissistic. Greedy. Fucking chaotic. I’m a bag of bones, a skeleton with no substance, slowly sucking the life out of her. I know it. She does too, but she allows it anyway, and as long as I love her with everything I have, she’s happy to sacrifice all she is for me, to keep me going, to keep me alive. Cassia knows better, but I’m a virus in her blood, untouchable. Unrivaled. Untreatable. Like a fiend, she’s addicted to me, to my sadness, to the thought of being the only one who can help me. She likes it. She likes the effect she has on me. I almost simper. If she knew better, she’d run from me, but I love her too well, touch her too skillfully—her body and her mind—and it’s enough to keep her.
I sweep a lock of Cassia’s hair from her cheek and tuck it behind her ear. Lowering her eyes, she blushes with a gentle smile. My girl. My good girl.
“I love you,” I tell her, and her bright blue eyes meet mine. “I have from the moment I first laid eyes on you.”
I still remember the feeling I felt when I first started talking to her. Though I keep that line to myself. Her blush deepens and my heart thunders in my chest. When she’s looking at me, it’s the only time I’m glad it still works, the only time I care to feel its annoying rhythmic beat.
“I love you too,” she says, smiling sweetly. “I have since before you knew I existed.”
I take her face in my large hands and she looks so damn small, innocent, and defenseless. I graze my thumbs along her cheekbones, then down, toward her lips. I slowly close the distance between our mouths. As they graze, there’s a knock at the door. I frown.
Cassia blinks, her eyes widening. “Is that—”
“Caleb?” Dick shouts. “Are you home?”
I curse, then grit my teeth. There’s that pressure in my chest and the prickle on the back of my neck.
“Shit,” Cassia swears, snapping away from me like I’m a scalding piece of iron.
She goes to leap off the couch, but I snatch her wrists and pull her back down, pinning her hands to my chest.
“Don’t freak out. Don’t freak out,” I urge, pulling her in close, so close our noses touch. I don’t want her to leave. I don’t want her to go. “It’s okay.”
“What do we do?” she whispers, her skin paling.
Knock knock.
Her anxiety pours off her in waves, unsettling me, but it’s okay. I’ll handle it for her. I kiss the tip of her nose.
Knock. Knock. Knock. “Caleb?”
I blow out a gentle exhale and lean back, placing her hands on her thighs. “I’m going to answer the door,” I tell her, and her whole body tightens.
“But—”
I stand up, and she mimics me, tightly clinging to my hoodie. I take her wrists in my hands again and pull my hoodie out of her grasp by dragging my hips back. “Go sit in my room. It’ll only take me a minute to get rid of him.”
Knock. Knock.
I nudge her toward my room, hating the way her shoulders are pulled tight, her spine rigid, and her steps uncertain as she makes her way there and closes the door.
“Coming,” I shout, raking my fingers through my hair.
His sudden presence better not make her want to leave. I need her here more than he needs her next door. I’d ignore him, but he knows I’m home. He offered me a wave from his window when I was outside smoking not forty minutes ago.
I storm to the door and pull it open. I want to be indifferent to his unexpected intrusion, but I can’t keep the bitter scowl from my face. I clench the cold door handle.
“Hey, Cale,” he greets me, looking like a sad, old dog full of regret. His skin is clammy, his dark hair disheveled and irritating. “Have you seen Sia? Cassia?”
I slide my tongue along the roof of my mouth and swallow back my distaste. I want to tell him she’s here, that I have her. That I’ve had her. I want to describe what we did in graphic detail and watch his face twist.
For her, I play nice and shake my head. “She’s not there?”
“No.” He frowns, glancing over my shoulder. “Have you spoken to her since last night? At all?”
I drum my fingers against the door. “No.”
His beady, clouded gaze lingers on something behind me. “Do you have company?”
I peer over my shoulder at Cassia’s mug sitting on the coffee table in the middle of the living room, steam still billowing from the top. On the couch, my navy blanket sits in a bundled heap.
I turn my attention back to Nick and all but roll my eyes. “Why don’t you man up and ask me if Cassia is in my apartment?”
He’s taken aback but gathers his composure quickly, squaring his jaw like he knows for a fact she is. “Is she?”
“No.” The door creaks as I open it up for him and step aside. “But you’re more than welcome to see for yourself.”
He inches forward, his stare not wavering from my face, and my heart thunders against my ribs. If he enters, it won’t take him long to find Cassia in my room. What happens then? He’ll see her in my clothes, her hair wild, the bed a damn mess. He’ll flip out, try and fight me—I’ll win, obviously—and Cassia will have a complete meltdown and probably never speak to me again.
Dick clears his throat, leaning back on his heels. “If you speak to her before I do, can you tell her I need to talk to her?”
I shrug. I can only imagine the conversation he wants to have with her. The begging, the pleading, the touching. I know Cassia is strong enough to stand her ground, but I also know her father and the kind of pressuring, emotional abusing asshole he is—or was. He’s working on it, I’ll admit, but the damage is done. “Don’t plan on leaving my apartment, but sure. If I see her, I’ll tell her.”
He offers me a tight smile, then turns away. I watch him for a little bit, smirking as he rubs the back of his head, tousling his mousy-brown hair.
“She’s hot, but she isn’t worth it,” I call after him, using Wade’s words from this morning. He glances over his shoulder. “They never are.”
It’s the biggest damn lie he’ll ever hear, but I hope he listens. I hope he fucks his way through half of New York tonight trying to forget Cassia. And I hope he does it in her bed, so she can hear it from mine.
With a nod, he saunters to his door and slips inside. I wait a beat before joining Cassia in my room. She sits on the edge of the bed, her head in her hands, her hair out of its messy ponytail. I saunter up to her until the tips of my slippers touch her bare toes.
“He’s gone,” I tell her, and she straightens, pushing her long, blonde hair out of her face, exhaling heavily.
“Where are my clothes?”
Absorbing my flinch, I don’t tell her where her clothes are. Because she’s not going anywhere.
“I have to go, Caleb.” She swallows, lifting her big eyes to mine, as she pushes off the bed to meet me face to face. “This is too soon. I haven’t even spoken to him face to face since—”
“Are you with him?” I ask, tilting my head down to meet her stare. She balks, like the question came from nowhere, and
sharp tendrils of dread burrow through my chest. “Did you end it or not?”
“Yes. We ended it.” She catches her lower lip, and there’s that fucking guilt flashing across her face again. “I’m pretty sure we ended it.”
“Cassia!” I snap, throwing my hands up, taking a large step away from her. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
She closes the distance, her face pale and twisted with panic. With outstretched arms, she grabs my hips and pulls me in close, so close our torsos touch. The fact Nick thinks she’s still his boils my blood and twists my stomach. I grit my teeth against the urge to curl over and puke.
“It was three in the morning and he was drunk,” she tells me. “I haven’t seen him today. I haven’t had a chance to talk it through with him because I’ve been here with you. When I go home I’ll tell—”
I make a tight growling noise in my chest. Home. What if he convinces her to stay with him? What if she decides it’s easier to be with him than with me? He is the reason she’s been able to survive this long in New York, after all.
“I don’t want to share!” I snap, and she flinches, holding me tighter, not allowing me to put an inch of distance between us. “Not you! Not-fucking-ever!”
“Share? Give me some credit,” she bites back, shoving my hips. I barely fall off balance. “I have more respect for myself than that.”
“If you had more respect for yourself, you wouldn’t have dated him in the first place,” I grind out, and she bristles, rearing back like I slapped her in the face. “You’re only with him because he was there. Convenient. You can’t stand your own company.”
“That’s not true.”
“No? When did you start dating him? After Fiona left? When you had nobody?”
Cassia jabs me in the chest with her index finger and bares her perfect teeth. “You are an asshole.”
She tears away from me and storms around my room, looking for something. Her clothes, probably. Anger eats its way through my system as I watch her, her face pinched and irritated, her lips pouted with hurt. I don’t want her to go, but my stubbornness refuses to let the apology out my mouth. My anger dominates any kind of remorse or guilt.