by Skyla Madi
“So…you don’t feel neglected?”
Cassia lifts herself onto the tips of her toes and plants a soft, quick kiss at the corner of my mouth. “No. You’ve never made me feel that way. Not even a little bit.”
When she lowers her heels back to the ground, I take her hands in mine, hold them to my wet chest, and gaze into her calming blue irises. Her stare flickers between mine as she tries to read me, tries to understand what I want. It must be hard for her to deal with me some days, but she never shows it outside of the sliver of bewilderment in her eyes. Every morning, Cassia wakes up and tackles my emotional complexities with all the confidence in the world. Sunday was a bad day for me, but her kindness didn’t falter once, not when every word I wanted to say was swallowed up by my foggy brain or simply refused to slip off my tongue. She barely raised an eyebrow, even when I turned down every one of her suggestions to do something other than stay in bed. She’s lost days of her own life, sitting next to me while I wallow in my grief.
I owe her.
I told her parents I’d call after Agnes’s grave is filled and we’d meet them for milkshakes, but I’d rather take Cassia home and run her a hot bath. After, I want to get her in bed and put on a movie. She enjoys action movies.
“I love you,” I utter, releasing her hand to push wet hair off her face. I beam. “Pretty girl.”
Cassia laughs, her cheeks flushing pink. Then she scrunches her face and swipes at her hair, collecting rain on her fingers as they touch her forehead. “Pretty? I bet I look like a drowned rat.”
“Not even close.”
I place her hands on my shoulders, and she smooths them over the damp fabric of my suit to rest behind my neck. I grab her hip and pull her closer with a gentle tug, planting my other hand to the small of her back. Something Agnes said to me hits me in that moment, the thing about God saving her for me, but He needed her to gather the wisdom and life experience to guide me through the hardest parts of my life. Maybe every bad thing that’s ever happened to me was preparing me for Cassia? To show her it’s okay to be your own person, to give in to temptation in hopes it’ll lead you down a path you never expected—a better path. Through my pain, I learned how to appreciate her the way she needs to be appreciated and I showed her there are people who love her for who she is and who she wants to be. Through our separation, I’m able to promise—without a fucking doubt—that I can love her so intensely the warmth of my love will linger in her heart, in every bone, and every fiber of her being long after my death and she’ll never feel lonely without me beside her. My throat thickens at the thought, but I swallow it down and kiss her lower lip, her perfect lower lip. “I’m ready to start the rest of our lives together…”
Her eyes glisten, and in them, I feel at home. We’re going to be fine, she and I. My heart aches with the loss of Agnes, but I understand now that the death of a loved one isn’t the end of the world, but the end of an episode, the end of an era. Aggy helped me through the darkest chapters of my life, allowing me to live out my happily ever after with a big, trusting, and open heart.
I can be happy with Cassia…
I am happy with her…
And I promise to be, forever.
Chapter Twenty-One
C A S S I A
Eight days later
New York City
He peels the soft, white fabric from my eyes, and I squint into the bright, bare apartment. White brick walls, lightly varnished wooden floors, and—oh my God—there are stairs leading up to an exposed platform I assume is the bedroom. I turn on the spot, taking in the beautiful, spacious apartment, and try to envision living here together.
“Well, what do you think?” he asks, nervously threading my blindfold through his long, thick fingers.
“How’d you find this place?” I force myself forward toward the large, closed window showcasing views of the city I’ve never seen before. We’re not up high, not by any means, but a buzz brews in my blood regardless, making me feel like I’ve got this whole city at my fingertips.
“It’s Wade’s.”
I peer over my shoulder at him. “This place? It’s his?”
Caleb nods. “He owns a couple investment properties across the city, apparently. The tenants recently moved out, and he knew I was looking.”
I turn on the spot again, this time facing Caleb as he saunters closer. I helplessly drink in his features, my lips quirking at the corners. His hair is messy, flakes of snow sparkling in its blond strands, and his eyes are a brilliant green. He looks good, and warm, in his zipped-up black bomber jacket, matching black jeans, his feet encased in blindingly white sneakers. Caleb’s bare, ungloved hands are slightly pink around the knuckles, and I bet they feel as cold as ice. I don’t know why he refuses to wear gloves. We’re in New York, not Arizona, and he’s going to have to pick out some gloves to protect his fingers if he doesn’t want me to drive myself insane with worry.
“Do you like it?” he asks, stopping a few inches from me.
There’s a small wrinkle between his brows, not quite a frown, but there’s uncertainty there. I take his hands, pull him closer, and stuff them inside the pockets of my cream coat. His fresh, crisp cologne wafts over me, and I glance around the space, imagining his belongings mixed in with mine, experimenting with the balance between my femininity and his masculinity.
“I love it.”
He exhales, and the kink between his brows disappears. “Good, because I’ve already paid Wade a month’s rent—non-refundable.”
“When?”
“A few days ago.” Turning, he takes my wrist in his hand and leads me toward the front door. “Let’s go get your stuff.”
I protest, but it falls on deaf ears and continues to until I’m standing outside my old building. Nick’s building. My stomach churns violently, and I have to take off my fleece gloves to air out my clammy palms. I’ve contemplated leaving my stuff with Nick and forgetting about it, but I’ve spent a lot of money building up my wardrobe. Spent money aside, the only thing I desperately want is the small pink box on my dresser. In it holds trinkets from every stop Fiona and I made during our road trip here—things like rocks, keyrings, bumper stickers, and feathers. It also contains keepsakes from our New York dates to Central Park, the circus, and the theatre. I don’t know why I began collecting reminders of my adventures…but it makes me feel good, like I have a purpose. It reminds me why I moved out of home to live life the way I want to. It reassures me I made the right choice when I left Paradise Valley. I told Caleb all about it. He wants to see everything I kept and hear the stories that accompany them.
“Do you need me to come up with you?” Caleb asks, smoothing his hand down my back, pulling me from my thoughts.
I shake my head and clear my throat, then turn toward Caleb and the white van he hired. I haven’t spoken to Nick since the night at my parents’ house. Considering how heated things got, taking Caleb along is a recipe for disaster. “No. I can handle it.”
He frowns with concern, his eyes darker in hue, though it could be because the sun has set behind the buildings across the street. “Are you sure?”
I nod. “I’ll call you if he’s being too difficult.”
He rubs at my arms and kisses my lips, cheek, and forehead. It takes everything I have in me to pry myself out of his grip and walk toward the door. I’m on autopilot as I climb the stairs, counting them as I go, and eventually, I’m standing in front of his door. Puckering my lips, I blow out an exhale and adjust my coat. Get it done. Leave.
Get it done.
Leave.
I gather the courage from somewhere deep down in my tumultuous stomach and knock on the door. I wait, patiently, for what feels like a lifetime before the lock clicks and it opens. My arrival shouldn’t be a surprise for him. I texted that I would be coming to get my things and he demanded I wait until he finished work to let me in. I could’ve used my key and let myself in, but it seems highly inappropriate given the state of our relationship. He also wa
rned me against it, told me he would call the police since it was his apartment and there’s no record of me living here.
I swallow hard, desperate to moisten my mouth and throat, but there’s no saliva to help. In the next heartbeat, I’m face to face with my ex-boyfriend. I cringe at the sight of the purple-green-yellowish bruises on his otherwise handsome face and feel my cheeks heat under his dark, chocolate glare.
“Hi,” I say lamely. “I’m here to pick up my things…”
Nick steps to the side, granting me access to his apartment. I glance down at my boots, unsure if I should take them off or just—I frown as I step on a small piece of shredded, purple paper. Beside it, a torn polaroid of me and Fiona that I kept in my pink keepsake box. My face is defiled horribly. Confused, I lift my head, and my heart sinks into my stomach at the sight of all my belongings in a large pile in the middle of the room, broken, sullied, and torn to pieces.
All of it.
Ruined.
“What…” Tears spring to my eyes, and I turn to meet Nick’s smug demeanor. “What did you do?”
He sneers at me, and it’s an ugly look on him. “Christ. You’re not that fucking blonde and dumb, are you?” He gestures toward the mess he’s made of my things with an aggressive swing of his arm and points an angry finger. “It’s pretty damn obvious.”
I follow the length of his large arm until my vision is assaulted with torn paper, photographs and clothing, and every second item is vandalized with paint and burn marks, the heels to most of my favorite stilettos separated from their soles. The vision of my destroyed belongings blur as tears spill over and drip onto my cheeks. I knew Nick would be angry with me. I knew he’d lash out, maybe call me some ugly names, but I never anticipated he would take all the things I owned and ruin them. I worked myself to the bone to be able to afford the nice things I had. I chose each item of my own accord, never considering anyone else, and ignored the incessant berating of my parents’ voices in my head. Every piece was a part of my rebellion’s uniform, a part of the woman I’d become. Nick knew that too, I told him, so for him to do this to me…
To see the embodiment of my freedom in ruins…
…being stabbed in the heart would’ve hurt less.
“How could you?” I whisper, pressing my palm to my stomach.
“What?”
“How.” I seethe and turn to face him. “Could you?”
“How could I what? Give you a bed to sleep in? A roof over your head?” Nick barks out a laugh and throws the door shut with a loud slam. “I’m such a fucking villain, aren’t I?”
It kills me to see him like this—so angry and volatile. “I never meant to hurt you. I tried to do things the right wa—”
“You lied to me!” He jabs a finger into his own chest and takes an angry step forward, planting his bare foot inches from mine. I notice the clammy sweat on his forehead then, the haziness of his eyes. He’s drunk or high. Maybe both. “You made me look like an idiot! You ran off to Arizona with him! How’s that the right way?”
“I’m sorr—”
“Your apologies mean nothing to me. Why the hell are you crying? You did this, Cassia. You made me do this.” Nick points to the mess he made of my things. This time, I don’t look. I can’t bear to see my beloved belongings trashed. “All the things you were able to buy was because of me. Everything you own is mine.”
I push past him to grab the door, but he snatches my bicep and squeezes hard, pinching my skin between his thumb and index finger. I shout and try to yank free, but he tightens his grip. “Where are you going? To him? To fucking Caleb?”
“Let me go!” I demand, struggling against him.
He doesn’t.
I lift my foot and stomp my boot down on his toes. Nick roars and shoves me away from him, pulling his foot out from under mine. Unintelligible, insulting slurs rip from his mouth amongst painful hisses and sharp intakes of air. Serves him right.
My nerves are electrified as I pull the door open, step out, and slam it behind me. I rush down the hall toward the stairs, and my heart rapidly pushes blood around my veins. Two floors down, something surges inside me, and I become dizzy with adrenaline and fear.
I can’t believe he did that…
…I can’t believe he ruined my things.
On the bottom floor, I stop at the base of the stairs, realizing tears are running down my face and dripping off my chin. I can’t go out there to Caleb like this. He’ll lose it.
The front door swings open and I gasp, caught off guard as three women walk in. I tilt my head and use my hair as a curtain between me and step off the last step. I move to the corner of the room, by a wall full of brochures, and burst into silent tears. I shield my face, not wanting to draw attention, and sob into my hands. Tears drip between my fingers and roll down my hands, my forearms.
“Cassia?”
Caleb’s echoing voice jams a pole in my spine, and I suck in a sob. Shit. I don’t know how long I’ve been standing here crying. Long enough for Caleb to come looking for me, I guess. I sniffle and blink, desperate to clear the tears out of my eyes and nose. There’s no way I can hide it. My eyes are swollen, and I can feel red blotchiness in my cheeks. Caleb touches my shoulder, and its gentleness disarms me, relaxing my shoulders from a tight coil I didn’t realize I had them in. He eases me around to face him. I keep my head down, my hair covering most of my face.
“Did he hurt you?” he asks in a quiet voice, as if he’s scared of the answer.
How can I answer it? No, Nick didn’t hurt me, not really, but at the same time, I’m completely crushed. I shake my head and Caleb glides his cold fingers along my jaw, then cups my face and lifts my head. My heart thrums in my ears, causing adrenaline to spike again. When he finds out what Nick did, he’s going to fly up those stairs quicker than I can follow and I don’t have the energy to fight them both.
“No. Not physically,” I tell him, lifting my stare to meet his. He flinches subtly, and my chest squeezes. I must look a hot mess. “Can we go?”
Caleb frowns deeply. “Where are your things?”
“I don’t want them.”
“Bullshit.” He pushes my hair out of my face, his touch harder this time, more frustrated than loving. “Your favorite red-bottoms are up there, not to mention your keepsake box. You wouldn’t leave those behind. Ever. What are you keeping from me?”
His green irises bore into mine, ordering me to spill it all. I purse my lips and sniffle like a child. I open my mouth to tell him, but all that comes out is a pathetic exhale and a succession of stammers as the words fail to make it onto my tongue. Growling impatiently, Caleb rips away from me and surges toward the stairs. My heart leaps into my throat.
“Caleb!” I shout after him, shooting forward. “Don’t!”
He’s fast, bounding up the stairs, leaping two or three at a time. My thighs burn as I chase him and my fingers cramp around the railing I squeeze in my hand. “Caleb, please!”
I’ve recovered space between us by the time I get to the second floor. If I reach out, I’m sure I can snag his jacket. I’m also sure I’ll trip over myself too. Caleb reaches Nick’s landing four steps before I do and is at Nick’s door in less than two heartbeats. He lifts his fist to bang on the door.
“Caleb!” I whisper-shout and dive on his arm like a league player dives at a football, yanking his fist away from the door. “It’s not worth—”
“What happened in there?” he demands. I tighten my hold on his arm, clenching it to my body. “What’d he do?”
I grit my teeth and swipe at my wet eyes, uncaring if I’ve smeared my makeup. “He ruined everything. All of it.”
Caleb’s arm flexes, and his face pinches into a scowl. “Your things? He ruined them?”
His voice is calm but too cold to relax me, and his fair skin flushes with anger he tries to suppress. I nod, then squeak as Caleb pulls his arm free and snatches my wrist. He tugs me in close, grabs my hip in the other hand, and abruptly lifts me, throwin
g me over his shoulder. He grips my thigh in his strong hand, keeping me in place, and marches to Wade’s place. Cursing, I clench his jacket in my hands and hold on for dear life as he knocks on the door.
“What are you doing?” I demand, pushing down on his jacket to straighten my spine.
“Cale—what the hell?” Wade speaks to my backside.
Caleb starts forward, stomping into his old apartment, and somewhere, behind me, Lara and Lauren laugh.
“Keep her here,” Caleb orders, and I’m dropped onto the leather couch with a shout.
“What?” Wade asks, sauntering away from the door in a ridiculous Batman onesie. “Why?”
I scramble to my feet with a huff, only to meet Caleb’s palm with my chest and he pushes me back down. “Don’t listen to him—”
“I need to do something, and she could get hurt.”
I lift myself off the couch as Caleb rushes off in a hurry. I follow him, stubbornly.
“Don’t be stupid,” I protest, only a few strides behind. “Going in there is a bad idea. Let’s go home.”
Wade reaches out to touch me as I walk by, but I scowl and slap his hand away. Blowing air out of his pouted lips, he flashes his palms in surrender. “I tried.”
“Fucking pathetic,” Caleb grumbles over his shoulder, leaving the apartment.
The second I step over the threshold and into the hallways—bang. My blood runs cold, and I still as Caleb kicks Nick’s door with his sneaker.
Bang.
Bang.
He kicks it repeatedly, obnoxiously. Shit. I leap toward him and latch onto his arm and tug on him with everything I have, but he barely budges. Shit. Shit. Nick’s door clanks and I still, my stomach sinking like concrete in water. Caleb pries my hand off him and tucks me safely behind his back. The wooden door creaks, sending chills down my spine. Despite my better judgment, I peek out from behind Caleb at a confused Nicholas. He’s surprised to see Caleb, but the surprise quickly morphs into an ugly, ugly scowl.