Dad asks me questions about Bible study and I answer them on autopilot, making up lies as I go. He takes me for a milkshake, but I’m not mentally present. All I can think about, besides a much-needed shower, is Caleb…and the look on his face when I asked about his dead sister. How could I have been so stupid? All I wanted was to get to know him better, maybe unwrap his personality one question at a time, like a game of pass the parcel. It’s clear his darkness is projected by the pain he harbors from the deaths of his mother and sister.
By the time we make it home, I can barely keep my eyes open. I march upstairs and hide in my room while Mom and Dad watch an episode of Family Feud in the sitting room.
I strip down in the bathroom and turn on the heat, until the room is filled with a thick, dense steam that sits in my lungs. Soaping up my sponge, I clean my body, making a mental note to hand wash my underwear and leggings when I get out. Can’t have Mom finding those on laundry day.
I groan. Unprotected sex…what was I thinking? I was caught up in the feeling of it, too absorbed in his touch, and I made a shitty decision.
Surely Fiona has one of those morning after pills spare. I’ll have to message her and get her to bring one with her to work tomorrow. Ugh. I can imagine her reaction now. The squealing, the one hundred and one questions…just another consequence of my major fuck up, I suppose.
I wash my body with angry strokes, making sure I clean him from every pore and every orifice. I hate that he’s made me so mad when I was expecting it from the beginning. I don’t know why I thought that maybe I’d be different…that maybe, given time, he would see me more than the girl he wanted to screw.
I throw my sponge to the floor and drop my head back.
Fucking. Caleb.
I suspected his Bible study was a ruse from the beginning, but to throw it out the window the second he’s finished with me? That’s the coldest thing I’ve ever seen.
But I get it now…
I know why we shouldn’t have sex out of wedlock. I thought about it on the way home. Marriage protects us. Marriage ensures the person you give your body to respects you and promises to love you forever.
Caleb doesn’t trust me enough to talk to me and I still allowed him to use me for whatever his depraved mind wanted.
I get it now.
I was wrong. My parents were right.
And I am a fucking idiot.
****
Thud.
I shoot up in bed, clenching my blanket to my chest. My hair falls over my face in an unmanageable tangle. I swipe it back, blinking the sleep out of my eyes.
There’s no noise…which is funny because I swear I heard some—
Knock. Knock. Knock.
I gasp as my heart stops and blood drains from my face. You’ve got to be kidding me…
I throw back my blankets and pause, straining my ears to hear for my parent’s footsteps.
Nothing.
Reaching underneath the pillow on the other side of my bed, I retrieve my phone and hit the menu button. The bright light burns my eyes, forcing one of them closed. One a.m.? Is he out of his mind?
Scratch that. I already know the answer.
I place my phone on my bedside table, kick back my blanket, and slip from the bed. Gripping the hem of my sleep shirt in my hands, I pull it down to cover my bare thighs. My heart pounds like a drum as I tiptoe across my lush, carpeted room, stopping when I reach the balcony doors.
Inhaling, I pull back the lace curtain and come face to face with the last person I want to see.
Andrews.
Caleb hits a button on his phone and I squint as he blinds me with the light. Scoffing, I shield my eyes.
“What are you doing?!” I hiss in a harsh whisper. “Are you crazy?!”
His black hoodie is unzipped and it sags over his forehead. A loose white tee with a drawing on the chest of it hangs off his body and his legs are covered by a pair of black sweatpants. Where the hell did he come from? Caleb points at the handle and gestures for me to unlock it.
“No. Go away.”
“Do you want me to start singing?” He warns, his voice threateningly quiet. “Because I’ll do it.”
“You are the last person I’d let into my room” I shift my weight onto my left leg. “I’m not opening this door.”
“Fine.” Caleb sucks in a large breath and my heart explodes in my chest as panic detonates.
I shoot forward, flashing him my palms. “All right. Okay!”
He grins victoriously. I might as well let him in. The consequences are going to be just as bad if my parents catch him on my balcony.
The lock wiggles, groaning and creaking, as I pinch it between my shaky fingers. I know I shouldn’t open it. Opening it is bad news and I can see the outcome of this predicament before it’s even happened. Two words: not good.
“Don’t have all night, Cass.”
I scowl at him as I flick the lock and give him access to my bedroom.
Where my bed is.
Where I am…standing in a pair of cotton panties and a loose, pink tee.
Caleb shuts off his phone’s flashlight and steps into my room, closing the door behind him.
My nerves are in my throat, but I’m nowhere near as worried about my parents finding him here as I am angry about what happened between us.
Caleb feels right at home, slipping out of his jacket and kicking off his shoes like he belongs.
Do I appear that weak? Does he think he can just waltz in here like nothing happened and expect me to forgive him for the way he treated me? I value myself a lot more than that and if he can’t trust me with his secrets, then I can’t trust him with my body.
In the beginning I thought I could…I thought I could do the whole casual sex thing, but tonight has shown me that I can’t. I’m in too deep…I like him too much. I wasn’t expecting to feel like this. With Thomas it never did—it never ate me up inside that I didn’t know what his favorite color was. I never cared to ask, but I want to know Caleb’s—and not just his favorite color, but I want to know why he is the way he is. I want to know why he blames himself for the tragedies in his life. I want to know if he’s ever had a girlfriend and if he prefers apple or cherry in his pie.
I want to know him.
Our bodies react beautifully together, like opposing chemicals…but what about our souls? What about our emotions and our hopes and dreams? If he doesn’t think he’s worth it, why should I?
Running a hand down the back of his neck, Caleb exhales…then sways a little.
I take a step back. “You came here drunk? You are fucking crazy.”
“I’m in your bedroom at two in the morning, dressed like shit—and yes, a little drunk too—for the sole purpose of apologizing. I’d say the crazy shoe fits.”
The energy swirling around him matches his dark and aggressive tone. He’s annoyed? What makes him think he has the right to be? He wasn’t the one who was dismissed like a lowly servant. He wasn’t humiliated like I was.
“You could have apologized through text.” I cross my arms over my chest. “If the real reason you came here is because you think I’m going to have sex with you, you’re out of your mind.” I frown into the darkness, loving and loathing the fact I can’t see his face. “What happened was a mistake and I take full responsibility for it.”
“A mistake?” He laughs under his breath as he pulls his shirt off over his head and tosses it somewhere. “I tripped and fell into your pussy, did I? You gushing all over me, draining me for everything I have wasn’t supposed to happen, huh?”
I hold my hands out, a gesture to prevent him from coming any closer. “Stop it.”
He doesn’t listen. I gasp as my hands slide over his chest and curl round his shoulders. My heart skips a beat as he snakes his hands around my waist and tugs me hard against his body. His skin is a mixture of cold and warm and the mint on his breath hides any trace of the alcohol he was apparently drinking. It takes everything I have not to melt into him, to rest my cheek against his chest and listen to the sound of his heart.
Caleb’s nose brushes mine and my nerves still, calming like the eye of a storm.
“Don’t tell me it was a mistake.” He whispers, cupping the back of my head. “Because I don’t know if I’ll be able to handle that.”
What the hell is happening? Am I still dreaming? He doesn’t really mean what he’s saying, but how can I tell if he’s being sincere if I can’t see his face? Maybe he’s not sincere. Maybe he just doesn’t like the fact I’m not pining over him like I’m sure the other women he tosses to the side do. I know when to cut my losses. I don’t beg for an unstable fixture to remain in my life when I know it will bring me nothing but problems and pain.
“You’re drunk.” I tell him, my fingers twitching against his soft, smooth skin.
Caleb presses his forehead against mine. “And I’m here. Let me stay. I just want snuggle you. That’s all.”
I’ve never shared a bed with anyone before and it can get awfully cold in the mornings…no. This is a bad idea. Caleb is trouble and if my parents find him here, it’s off to Antarctica where they’ll lock me in a tiny, little igloo and sing prayer songs until I bludgeon myself to death on a giant ice cube.
I shake my head. “My parents will murder me.”
“I’ll be gone before they wake.”
The anger and disappointment swirling inside me fades and I grasp for straws as I lose my only defense against him.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea…”
Releasing me, he steps back. “I’ll even keep my hands to myself.”
I wrap my arms around my body, holding myself together as two extremes wage war in my stomach. I shouldn’t let him stay…but I want him to stay. I shouldn’t want to let him stay…but the thought of sending him away makes me ill.
“Why do you want to stay?” I ask. “Snuggling hardly seems like your kind of scene.”
“Do you like to snuggle?”
I shrug. “I’ve never done it, but I like the thought.”
“Then come here.”
I step forward and brush against his hand as he extends it to me. I slip my hand into his and he escorts me over to my bed with cautious footing. His palm is clammy and hot against mine, causing sweat to bubble along the surface. He sways occasionally, but recovers quickly. He’s almost an expert when it comes to concealing the drink, it seems.
“I was an asshole tonight and I want to make it up to you…but if you truly don’t want me to be here, tell me and I’ll leave without a fight.”
I rake my teeth over my bottom lip, ignoring the logical part of my brain that tells me to kick him out and quick.
“And in the morning…when you’re hungover and you realize you’re cuddling with a girl you don’t have any romantic interest in?”
“Who said I don’t have any romantic interest you?” He asks as we reach my bed.
“You can be real with me, Caleb. We both know you’re not a relationship type of guy and that’s okay. I’m not forcing you to do anything.”
He climbs onto my bed, his knees pushing into the mattress. “Maybe I want to be that type of guy…with you.”
Wait…what? He tugs me onto the bed and my knees sink into the mattress. Releasing his hand, I run it over my t-shirt, drying the sweat as he drops against the bed, making me bounce.
Did I hear him correctly? He wants to be in a relationship…with me? Caleb Andrews? In a relationship? With me? I wait, patiently, for a pig to fly through my window. Did the world end while I was sleeping?
“What are you saying?” My tone reflects the skeptically I feel on my face.
He gets back up, shuffling close on his knees and dipping the mattress in front of me. “I’m saying…”
He plants a kiss on my shoulder. “I’ll be exclusive…”
A kiss on my collarbone. “…to you if you’ll be…”
A kiss on my throat. “…exclusive to me…”
I let him kiss his way to the nape of my neck, reveling in the goosebumps that radiate from the gentle touch of his lips.
“Exclusive?” I whisper, closing my eyes.
“I want you all to myself, Cass.” He groans, sliding his hands onto my ass. “I’m not going to lie, I’ll be fucking terrible at it, but what I feel with you is better than what I feel without you.”
A storm swells between my thighs as my nerves ripple.
“Eleven years…” He mutters, slipping his hands up my back and down my arms. He takes my hands in his and places them on his chest. “You make me feel, Cassia. Nervousness…excitement…frustration…happiness…feelings I’ve only been able to find on the sharp edge of a razor blade.”
He pushes his palms down my forearms, around the curve of my elbows, and up my biceps. God. He feels amazing.
My chest balloons with a feeling I can’t find the word for. It’s like here in my room, our personal little bubble, we are invincible.
Untouchable.
But there’s a darkness to it…a warning I can’t quite put my finger on. Don’t get me wrong, everything about this feels right…but it doesn’t feel “right now”.
“No.” I murmur, sliding my hands to his stomach for comfort.
His muscles contract under my palms and his hands fall away from my skin.
“No?”
“I really like you, Caleb, but with my life being the way it is right now…a relationship with you will only make it that much harder.”
He scoffs, but I don’t take my hands off of him.
“What will my parents think? I did Bible study and now we’re dating? It’s too suspicious.”
“Does every decision you make revolve around your fucking parents? Jesus Christ.” He bites out, sitting back on his heels.
I lower my hands to my thighs as I drop to my ass. “I’m sorry if you don’t like my decision, but I’m standing firm.”
Silence wraps around us, threatening to choke us to death. What do I say that hasn’t already been said? I like Caleb. I really, really like him, but I’m not that keen on putting my heart in the line of fire. The list of things that can go wrong is endless…my parents wouldn’t allow it, his father wouldn’t allow it, he’d get bored, I’d get bored. I just don’t see it working beyond sex. At least, not in the way a functional relationship should.
“I’ll respect your decision.” He grumbles, setting down his phone on the mattress beside the pillow. Its glow exposes his furrowed eyebrows and pursed lips. “I don’t like it, but I’ll respect it.”
I swallow as the blue light illumines his chest, allowing shadows to pool in the ridges of the muscles beneath it. Caleb watches me too and, suddenly, air is sucked from the room. I feel underdressed as a warm flush sweeps up my spine and engulfs my neck. Thankfully, the screen shuts itself off before he finishes undressing me with his eyes, drowning us in darkness once more. In the silence, all I can hear is the erratic thrum of my heart.
*Caleb*
Fuck.
Can I be anymore impulsive? One minute I’m locked in my pool house, drinking myself into a stupor in the dark, standing in my bathroom, razor in one hand, her photo in the other and in the next I’ve got my shoes on and I’m jogging down the road.
My chest hurt in a way it hasn’t in a long time. Why? Because tonight Cassia opened up a lethal can of worms I’ve spent years sealing. Though I’ll be the first to admit I’m a little fucked up, I’ve never had a problem with the way I lived my life. It’s depraved and empty. Every aspect of my life since I was eleven has been stark…and emotionless. I couldn’t make it better—no one could. So I learned to live with it as best I could and the only way to make their tragedies bearable was to treat them as though they never existed. I came to realize that was impossible to do at home with all the pictures on the wall and my father, reeking of disappointment and blame. I tried to move out the second I realized Dad saw me as the reason the other half of his family no longer existed, but he broke down. He persuaded me through swollen eyes and relentless tears that we needed each other.
Maybe we did.
After the deaths of my mother and Penelope, I swiftly fell out of love with the church, but I remained a part of it because it made Dad happy. I remained polite, I fake smiled, and I continued to recite the closing prayer despite how dead I felt inside.
I didn’t mind the day. Day brought distractions. It was only when night time fell…when I was alone in my bed…that it all came rushing back. I learned to stop it from happening over the years…I learned to calm the panic attacks and stop the hysterical crying.
I was seventeen when my emotions stopped working. It was like flipping a switch. One night I’m rocking back and forth and the next, I’m staring at the ceiling. I felt…dead and it didn’t scare the hell out of me when I knew it should have. Confused, I climbed out of bed, wondering if I’d unnoticeably slipped into hell. Colors were duller. In the shower, I tried fucking my hand, but even the pleasures I’d overindulged in lost their touch, and as I stood there, the water much too hot for my skin, I realized I’d been broken. By not allowing myself to feel the grief my body wanted me to feel.
Through the fogged glass I saw the razor I use to shave my face sitting next to my gel. As the searing water rained down on me and I stood there without a reaction, I pondered the thought of pushing the sharp slice of metal through my skin. Would it hurt? If it didn’t? What would I feel? Whatever it brought me, couldn’t be worse than what I was feeling.
I shut the shower off and stepped out, not caring that my bare, wet feet left puddles on the slick, gray tiles. At the sink, I reached for the razor and stared at it. It didn’t look intimidating…was it for my mother before she hacked at her wrists with a kitchen knife? Did she feel how I’m feeling now?
Dad flashed through my mind and the guilt that usually accompanied a thought of him was a no show. I was all alone. Just me and this heavy bucket of concrete on my shoulders. The only good that came from the thought of my father was the decision to slice my thigh instead of my wrists. I might not have had anything left to live for, but Dad was trying and I wouldn’t leave him to deal with it on his own.
I didn’t feel nervous as I lowered the sharp end of the razor to my thigh. I didn’t bat an eyelid or hesitate. I just did it.
And the feeling that followed, as blood trickled down my thigh, was intense. Gasping, I tossed the razor into the sink and flinched backwards as all the emotion I thought I lost slammed into me with the weight of a freight train behind it.
My guilt.
My pain.
My anger.
All of it.
I chuckled to myself as these emotions destroyed my body from the inside. I had found my release and that was the only way I knew how to make myself feel…or at least it was until I met Cassia.
She’s different…though I can’t pinpoint why or how. In the beginning, I was drawn to her, like a moth to a flame, the second her father stepped out of the way and introduced her to me. We made eye contact and something fluttered…somewhere. It was the way she stared at me with wide blue eyes, her long, blonde hair framing her beautiful face. She was supposed to be a girl who provided a quick rush of adrenaline—like the others. That’s why I set up Bible study. To fuck with the chance of getting caught. That’s how I like it. On occasion, I facilitate a normal class, but that’s only when Gerard, the usual guy, can’t make it.
Then I met her again…and again…and again…and the initial flutter in my chest grew into genuine interest. Am I interested in her romantically? Possibly. Does the thought of being in a relationship with her suffocate me? Absolutely, but I’m not an idiot. Girls like her don’t come around often. Girls that can make you feel what no one else can are the kind of girls you need.
I need her.
And I’ll be damned if I’m going to let someone else take her from me while I’m still sorting my shit out.
So, tonight, when I was standing in my bathroom, holding my razor in one hand and her photo in the other, I made my choice. I couldn’t help but wonder that, maybe, the Universe was giving me another chance. If Cassia can force me to feel something then maybe there’s hope for me to be human again…and it was with that thought I realized I fucked up tonight.
So I ran to her place, desperate not to lose my last shot at being happy. To be honest, I’m surprised she even opened up the door to me. I wouldn’t have.
“Caleb?”
Her quiet voice drags me back to reality, my thoughts dissipating into nothing, swallowed by the steady pulse of my heart. She blows out a soft rush of air, her chest expanding against mine. Cassia tips her head back, her lips brushing my chin. I don’t recall getting under the blankets with her or pulling her into me.
But here she is.
Her hands on my chest…her hips against mine…my leg between hers.
“Hm?”
“You’re holding me too tight.” She points out and I notice the tension in my biceps.
I relax my arms, unravelling them from her body, and she inches back, giving herself room to breathe. She snatches my wrist in her hand as I pull it back and wraps it around her waist.
“You don’t have to let me go.” She says, chuckling. “Just don’t suffocate me.”
I kiss the tip of her nose and close my eyes. Alcohol swirls in my empty stomach, burning like acid. I can’t remember the last time I drank and didn’t pass out. I usually hit it until I’m curled up by the toilet bowl and don’t resurface for days.
It feels good to reign it in. It feels good to be here…to be wanted.
I don’t know how much time passes before she falls asleep in my arms, her forehead pressing against my chin. Her body is heavy against mine, moving against me with every breath. My eyes are heavy and my head is dizzy. I’m tired, but I can’t sleep because of the ball of anxiety in my chest. This is real.
What I’m feeling right now is real. I was wrong about redemption…maybe it is possible. For the first time ever, I desperately want it to be. Why? I guess I’m still trying to figure that one out.
I read on the internet that it can take as little as four minutes to fall in love. Four. In four minutes a special someone can change the trajectory of your life. Is that what’s happening here? Am I going through some emotional change because of her?
Because my mind and my body thinks I’m in love?
…am I?