by Remy Landon
“Ohh, sweetie! You look like absolute shit.” Teal swept her into her arms. “But you smell good.”
“Thanks,” Cassandra sniffled. “Ck one.”
“I know what it is, lover.” Teal leaned back to brush wisps of Cassandra's hair off her forehead, affection twinkling in her blue eyes. “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.” She didn't want to be in the living room; it still felt infiltrated by Carlo's presence.
Teal flung her arm around Cassandra's shoulders and pulled her in close as they walked, half-hugging, down the hall into the bedroom. With a pang, Cassandra remembered how she had envisioned this night would unfold—making love with Carlo in this room. How fucking wrong she had been.
Cassandra climbed onto the bed and leaned back against the headboard. Teal suddenly held up her finger. “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.” Her eyes welled with tears. Just the thought of crying was making her cry.
“Okay, nugget. I'll be right back.” Teal blew her a kiss before leaving.
This sucked, because now she could slather pathetic on top of humiliation. Perfect. But Teal would know how to handle her. She always did.
“Nowww we're prepared.” Smiling brightly, Teal entered Cassandra's bedroom holding two full wine glasses with a roll of toilet paper wedged under her arm.
“Perfect. Thank you.” Cassandra took her glass and sipped as Teal sat down beside her and settled against the pile of pillows with a sigh. She looked, as usual, perky and perfect, wearing a coral-colored top, tight black pants and a collection of Alex & Ani bangles, her silky blonde hair tucked behind her ears. She had undoubtedly been enjoying herself at Nocturnem until she had to come to her needy friend's rescue. Cassandra added guilt to her emotional layer cake.
Teal ripped 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?” Teal narrowed her eyes in disapproval.
“Yeah...” Cassandra exhaled 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 about this shit.”
“And you know I about die to share this shit. But it was really intimate and seriously intense. He was—giving me a consequence, and I started to cry.”
Teal gasped. “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?” Cassandra was blushing furiously.
“Okay, now I'm liking him again. Continue.”
“He stopped everything right then—he seemed really bothered by my reaction.” Cassandra paused. Enter confusion, stage left. Carlo had seemed very upset. Had he been 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.”
“Gay?”
“Jesus, no. He couldn't be more hetero.” Cassandra hesitated and reached for the toilet paper, her eyes welling up again. “I found out he took a video of that night we were together.”
Shaking her head, Teal grinned in relief. “Nugget, that's not so awful! Some people are really into that. I personally think it's sexy as hell.” She took a sip of her wine and looked 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.”
“Whaaat?”
It took a lot to shock Teal, but this had apparently done it. “Yeah.” More tears, more toilet paper. “I was part of the game.”
“Oh my God! Seriously? He used you for some fucking game?”
She nodded.
“Okay, so I hate him again! What the fuck, Cassandra!”
“I know.” She was sniffling.
“Jesus...you must feel as shattered as Humpty fucking Dumpty!”
“Pretty much, yes.”
Teal was fuming. She got up from the bed and paced 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.”
Cassandra's voice dropped to a whimper. “I just never expected this.” Hating how weak she sounded, she finished the rest of her wine, grateful for the buzz that was setting 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?”
Cassandra shuddered involuntarily. “Yeah.”
“Oh God, honey, I'm so sorry.” Teal enveloped her 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.
She had so wanted to believe him.
“He said he was planning to tell me himself,” she whispered into Teal's 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 fuck that he hurt you, but maybe this is for the best. You don't need that kind of crap in your life.” She pulled back to look at Cassandra. “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...as though he was the one hurting. He had looked like she felt—completely crushed.
“Cass?” Teal was looking at her, 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?”
Cassandra nodded, swallowing the thickness in her throat as if she could somehow push down the pain. She knew hurt intimately; it had been an unwelcome but repeated visitor. But this—it felt different this time, as though someone had squeezed out all the good in her life and left her as a shrunken, empty shell.
“Okay,” she said, managing a wan smile. “I believe you.”
The words rang as hollow as she felt.
chapter five ~ Carlo
Jagged, imposing, and grandiose, the architecture of Brockton Dall's house reflected the persona of its owner. Brock lived in one of the most affluent neighborhoods in Lititz, only ten minutes from Carlo, in a modern-style white home with black shutters, sharp features and too-tall windows that reminded Carlo of gaping mouths. There was nothing to soften its appearance; the cedar hedge and shrubs were pruned into limp submission, and the lawn was cut painfully short.
It was unexpected to see Brock's bright red BMW in the driveway, especially on a Saturday night. One minor stroke of luck in these past hellish hours, Carlo thought wryly. He'd let his rage bang around inside him on the drive over, even breaking out into a cold sweat, but he had calmed himself down. He needed to stay clear-h
eaded. Brock wasn't expecting him, and this would be to Carlo's advantage.
He rang the doorbell, rolling his eyes in annoyance at the pretentious series of chimes. Knowing he was seconds away from seeing his former colleague made his skin prickle and his pulse race. Control, he said to himself. You are in control.
The heavy white door swung open.
“Well. If it isn't my boss. Excuse me—former boss.” Brock winked at him, grinning. “My bad.” He was wearing navy sweats and held a rocks glass in his hand, swirling the ice and liquid in a slow, circular motion. His blond hair was uncharacteristically rumpled, and stubble fringed his jaw. He gestured Carlo inside, sweeping his arm with the polished, theatrical flair of a game show host. “Come in, my friend.”
Smug motherfucker.
Clenching his fists, Carlo steeled himself as he entered the house. The sounds of a football game emanated 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 flickered with amusement.
“I think you know why I'm here, you traitorous fuck.”
Eyebrows raised, Brock took a sip of his drink and chuckled. “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 grinned. “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.”
Carlo reached Brock in two quick steps, grabbing fistfuls of his sweatshirt and slamming him against the wall in the foyer, Brock's glass shattering on the tile floor. The alarm in Brock's eyes as he struggled gave Carlo a surge of satisfaction. Dall may have been taller, heavier, but Carlo's fury gave him the advantage. He tightened his grip on Brock's shirt with his left hand, releasing his right to deliver a powerful punch to the jaw.
The impact knocked Brock to the floor. Wincing at the stinging pain in his hand, Carlo stepped back, breathing hard, as Brock staggered to his feet, swinging wildly, striking a glancing blow off the top of Carlo's head as he ducked. Missed me, you arrogant prick.
Brock was grunting as he swung again. With the force of a linebacker, Carlo rammed Brock against the wall again, knocking the wind out of him. One more lame attempt from Dall to hit him, but Carlo blocked it, drew back his fist and punched him squarely in the nose.
Crumpling to the floor, Brock moaned and covered his face with his hands as blood streamed from his nostrils. “You fucking broke my nose!” he snarled. “You'd better know a good attorney, because I'm going to have you charged with assault.”
Carlo's chest was heaving. “Really, Dall? You may want to rethink that, since I'm contemplating suing you for corporate espionage.” He paused to catch his 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 remained hunched over, blood dripping from his nose and falling in small splashes on the beige tile floor.
Carlo put his hand on the doorknob and gave one last statement, in a slow, measured tone. “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.”
He walked out of the house into the cooling night air and got into his car, his heart beating in a rapid staccato. The last time he'd gotten in a physical fight was his senior year of high school, also over a girl—and he remembered feeling more guilt than anything, especially because his stepfather did not approve of violence and had been very disappointed in him.
But this time was different. He'd had a primal need to seek justice on his and Cassandra's behalf, and there was no guilt whatsoever—at least none for what he'd done to Brock. Fucking cocksucker deserved that, and more.
He started the car and slid the gear shift into reverse. As he glanced down, he noticed that there were spatters of blood on his cream-colored sweater. It would go in the trash as soon as he got home. He didn't need any reminders of this night.
Carlo backed out of the driveway, adrenaline still pumping. He would keep that feeling as long as he could to mask the dull, empty ache he knew was waiting for him beneath it.
chapter six ~ Cassandra
Cassandra found the first note in the refrigerator, a pink post-it stuck to a six-pack of Wild Grape Smirnoff Ice. The note was written in small, neat script: Be healthy...eat more fruit. There was a tiny heart dotting the i. She couldn't help but smile. Definitely, the work of Teal, seeing as she was the only one besides the apartment complex who had a key to Cassandra's apartment. She must have snuck in while Cassandra had been at Windswept.
She had about an hour before going to waitress tonight at Tucker's—just enough time to grab a bite to eat, shower, dress and drive. Her appetite had sucked lately, but she made herself eat the other half of her tuna salad sandwich and an apple. And a KitKat, to hopefully jumpstart her hunger. She'd have a Smirnoff (or three) after work.
Since the other barn worker was in school this semester, Cassandra had picked up more hours at the stable. Which was a good thing—especially now—because things like wheelbarrows, shovels and even bitchy Ingrid were familiar and concrete, and kept her grounded. And she needed grounded.
It had been a week since that fucked-up night when she'd learned the ugly truth, but it felt more like months. She had sat with the truth like it was some homely, smelly houseguest who stifled the air with its presence and refused to leave. The truth sapped her energy and dulled her senses, and the truth leaked out of her eyes at night and seeped into her pillowcase, only to resurface in dark, troubled dreams featuring Brock laughing at her. Sometimes, it was even Carlo.
He had texted her twice—telling her he was sorry, then asking if they could talk—and had called once. She ignored his call, and after the second text, she responded with Leave me alone. She hadn't heard from him since.
The end of October brought earlier sunsets, cooler temperatures and hints of winter, adding to her gloomy mood. The fall foliage was now post-glory with the trees trying to clutch their muted leaves, once the colors of fire, as they fluttered to the ground.
Cassandra would find herself fluttering, too, from thought to scattered thought—drifting off into flashbacks, replaying the snippets of conversation that stayed with her:
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 she was pissed, which was about half the time, it was easy to tell herself those were just words—empty, meaningless words that floated on air and evaporated like mist. It was actions that anchored, that mattered, and Carlo's actions had been devastating. She would cling to this simple truth as if it were a lifeboat in a sea of confusion.
And when she was aching with hurt, she'd remember the way his eyes had looked that night. He had practically been pleading with her. Carlo Leone—pleading.
She'd yank herself back to reality, calling forth Teal's two simple words: Fuck him. And then she could feel like she was moving forward—even though much of the time, it seemed as though she was aimless.
Undressing in her bedroom, Cassandra contemplated this. Even before Carlo had entered her life, she had really just been on a treadmill: working at Windswept, waitressing at Tucker's, hanging with Teal once in a while...watching Netflix at night and getting up to do it all over again in an endless string of yesterdays. Going and going, but going nowhere.
Aimless wasn't good. She needed direction, and purpose.
Putting
her hands on her hips, Cassandra studied her naked reflection in the mirror. She had always been toned, but she'd lost weight, a sunken appearance to her usually firm abdomen and her hip bones more prominent. Now that her summer tan had faded, the color of her hair was even more striking against her pale skin. She pulled out her elastic and shook her hair loose, the way Carlo had always—Stop, she told herself harshly.
She walked into the bathroom and yanked open the shower curtain. There was a post-it note on the faucet: U R SEXY. Grinning, she shook her head. Even when Teal wasn't with her, she still could snap Cassandra out of a mood.
Sticking the note on the medicine cabinet, Cassandra turned on the shower and tested the temperature before stepping in the tub. She slicked her hair away from her face, enjoying the feel of the water raining down on her. This was one thing she needed to do: be grateful for small things. Find the positive in the negative—maybe even in this whole mess with Carlo. She supposed if she tried hard enough, she could feel almost grateful that she found out about the game, because if their relationship had gone on any longer, it would have hurt more than it did now. If that was even possible.
Cassandra toweled off and ran a wide-toothed comb through her damp hair before twisting it into a neat, low bun. She really was not wanting to go into work, but hopefully, she'd make some good tips tonight.
As she was pulling on her waitressing shirt in her bedroom, her phone chimed. A text. Carlo? Her heart fluttered, andshe hated that she couldn't tell if it was more from hope, or dread. She drew in her breath as she went to her nightstand to check her message.
I need to see you.
Another heart flutter, which felt more like a backflip. God damn him for still having this kind of hold on her. She gritted her teeth and texted back, her thumbs flying furiously over the keyboard. I don't give a fuck what you need. Stop contacting me, and go to hell.
There. She felt triumphant as she tossed her phone on the bed and pulled on her black pants. Fuck him.
After a few moments had passed, her phone chimed again. Jesus, would he just leave her alone? Sighing with exasperation, she read his text.