I am in love.
Maybe.
At least, I’m pretty sure I am. I mean, I googled it and it told me that when you feel it, you really feel it. I don’t know what that means, but if it’s talking about a heavy punch to the gut that doesn’t go away then…yeah. I’m in love.
But I’m also in fear. If that makes any sense.
Since the morning I was humiliated by my parents in Bismarck, I’ve spent a good portion of my time building walls and protecting myself from further embarrassment. It’s no secret that Mom and Dad go out of their way to hurt my feelings and put me down constantly, but I’ve somewhat built up a tolerance to it. Their disdain is something I expect now. A normality I’ve grown accustom to.
They’re the reason I’ve distanced myself from a relationship with Caleb. I came up with excuses instead of facing the reality. I don’t want to date Caleb because I’m jealous of him—jealous of the way he lives his life. No one is watching him like a hawk, waiting for him to screw up. He drives his own car, has his own phone, and socializes at parties. I can’t date him because my parents hold him above me. They’ve put him on the very same pretty pedestal I fell from. He is the good, incorruptible Caleb and I’m the slut daughter who apparently stuffs cock into every hole the second she gets the chance.
It’s bad.
It’s so bad Mom doesn’t let me help her peel the penis shaped vegetables. I offer to peel the zucchini and she hands me a round potato with a suspicious glint in her eye. Messed up, right?
You know the saying no man is good enough for your daughter? Well, according to my parents, I’m not good enough for Caleb. He is the son of Father Andrews and will go on to be an important figure of the faith. Meanwhile, it’s assumed I’ll be whoring it out in a dirty back alley somewhere, spreading nothing but herpes.
I also said no to Caleb not because I’m worried about how my parents will see me or what they’re going to say, but because I know they’ll lose all respect they have for him. They’re going to pick him apart. They’ll take one look at us and know we were involved from the very beginning. Then they’ll see it as betrayal, like I’ve been telling lies this whole time. It’ll be one huge cluster fuck—one I don’t think I have the strength to endure.
But I miss him…
It has been a week and a half since I saw him, since he bared his soul in the confession box. He didn’t show up on church this Sunday, he hasn’t texted me, and I wait up, expecting him to come to my balcony…he doesn’t.
“Cassia?” Mom calls from the stairs.
Groaning, I roll onto my belly and stuff my phone underneath my pillow. I bush my hair out of my face and drop my head against the soft mattress. I haven’t brushed my hair in two days. It feels gross.
I feel gross.
“Cassia?” She calls again and I don’t budge.
If she wants to talk she can come to me. Sure enough, impatient stomps vibrate the walls and she shoves my door open. I don’t bother lifting my head. Maybe if I lie here long enough I’ll suffocate and don’t have to deal with my shitty existence. Hell has got to be better than being locked inside this freaking house. I’m going stir-crazy.
“Did you hear me?” She orders, her purse jingling with random items.
Yes. I fucking heard you. The whole damn neighborhood heard you. I shake my head.
“I was calling your name.”
“I didn’t hear you.” I snap.
It was meant to be fierce. Instead, it came out as a pathetic muffle. Ugh. I don’t have the energy to deal right now.
“We’re leaving and we’ll be home in a couple of hours.” Her purse jingles again. “There’s a pot of spaghetti Bolognese in the oven. Will you please eat tonight? You can’t afford to lose another pound. It’s delicious and should stay warm for a while.”
Food? Who wants to eat food when they’re contemplating their existence? When they’re seriously considering going on a rampage and smashing everything they own? I don’t want food. I want to see Caleb. I want to apologize and maybe have decent make up sex. Is that so bad?
“I’m not hungry.”
“I can’t hear you when you talk into the blanket.”
I whip my head up, uncaring that a ball of frizz falls into my face. “I’m not hungry.”
Mom looks beautiful in her sleek plum dress and matching heels. She’s cut her hair. It now sits in a pretty little bob around her chin. Of course she looks nice. She’s has everything she wants. It seems, in this never-ending, soul sucking, familial relationship I’m the only one who goes without. I’m the only one who has to suffer in order to appease everyone else.
I don’t want to do that anymore.
I spoke to Fiona on the phone this morning. She’s moving to New York soon and she invited me to come with her. Maybe I will. Maybe I’ll finally make something of myself…maybe I’ll finally start a career in something. I don’t even know what I’m good at…
“You haven’t eaten in days.” Mom points out, adjusting her small hoop earring.
“Sure I have.” I stuff my hand underneath my blanket and pull out three empty chip packets.
Chicken, cheese and onion, and salt and vinegar. All of them tasted like failure and gave me a serious case of heartburn.
“That’s not food.”
Tastes like it. I drop the rubbish.
“Your stomach must be empty.”
Good. Now it correlates with my hopes and dreams.
Mom huffs, blowing agitation out of her cheeks. “Eat the spaghetti in the oven. We’re locking the front door from the outside, all right?”
I roll my eyes. “And what if there’s a fire?”
“Don’t be so dramatic, Cassia.” She orders, pulling her violet handbag higher up her arm. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you since last Sunday, but you need to sort it out. Your father is getting particularly agitated with your laziness and your attitude.”
Is she kidding?
“My laziness?” I push myself up onto my knees, uncaring that I’m not wearing a bra underneath my lacey tank top while sporting a pair of black short shorts. “I’m not allowed to go to the damn gym because you think I’ll trip and bang every dude in the building. You treat me like a bitch in heat. I’m not even allowed to run the block! And Dad is sick of my attitude, huh? I live in a fucking cage so forgive me if that makes me irritated!”
Mom gapes at me, her dark, painted lips curving into a perfect circle. Shaking, she presses her palm to her chest. Great. Now I’m the bad guy.
“Linda? Everything all right?”
Mom startles and glances over her shoulder. “Everything is fine.”
Everything is fine. Of course it is.
I sink into myself and lower my head. What’s the point in this? What’s the point in anything?
“Don’t worry.” I tell her. “I won’t answer the door to strangers, answer the telephone, or touch the chemicals you leave in the cupboard underneath the sink.”
Despite how badly I want to. I wonder if she can sense my sarcasm. She must because her shocked little face pinches into a scowl. Without a goodbye, she grips the door handle in her hand, steps out into the hall, and closes the door behind her. I exhale. Surely shit has to get better?
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I jump and whip around. Was that a knock at my balcony door? I wait, my heart in my throat, excitement leaking from my pores. Caleb?
Caleb.
Blood drains from my face. I look like shit, my room is a mess, and I’m in need of a shower. I rake my fingers through my hair and clench my teeth. This is the worst!
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I leap off the bed and pace the floor. My fingers twitch with the urge to open the door, grab his face, and suck his mouth until his lips are permanently swollen.
“Sia?”
I pause at the feminine tone in the voice. Slowly, my heart begins to deflate.
Oh.
Fiona.
In that case…I drag my disappointed feet over to the balcony and pull the doors open. Fiona’s mouth pulls into a smirk. “Boo.”
I sag my shoulders and I can’t tell if it’s due to sadness or relief. Fiona looks immaculate in a cherry red dress and a pair of heels to match. Her long, auburn hair is swept back into a loose ponytail and purposely pinned to make it look ‘messy’. If I didn’t know any better I’d assume she was going to the same charity gala as my parents. According to Dad, Father Andrews hosts a charity gala every year before he makes his trip to South Carolina. Starting tonight, Caleb will have the house to himself for six days…
The damage we could do in six days…
“Why aren’t you using the front door?” I ask, tipping my head to the side.
She looks so nice I want to drown myself in a barrel of donuts and icing.
“It’s good to see you too. Please, contain your excitement. It’s all too much.” Fiona pushes past me and groans at the state of my room. “Jesus Christ. What happened in here?”
“I didn’t tidy up today.”
Fiona shakes her head, her face scrunched in disgust as she glances around my room.
“This isn’t a lazy pajama day kind of mess, Sia. This is some real I haven’t changed my underwear since last Tuesday kind of shit.” Her pretty, dark eyes meet mine. “Who died?”
My fucking soul. “Nobody died. I’ve just been a little tired lately.”
Fiona’s concerned expression stretches into amusement.
“So I didn’t clean my room.” I shrug. “Sue me.”
“Funnily enough, that’s almost exactly what Caleb told Drew when we went to his house to see how he was.” She taps her chin, feigning thought. “Maybe it’s a coincidence that Caleb has locked himself inside his ostentatious little pool house for as long as you’ve holed up in this…whatever the fuck this is.”
My traitorous heart beats in my chest, but I manage a nod. “Yeah. A coincidence.”
“Oh, cut the bullshit.” She laughs, turning her back on me. “I know you two have something going on—something more than casual sex.”
Fiona starts gathering loose pieces of clothing and rogue snack wrappers.
“Is that so?”
“Yep.” She scoops up his t-shirt and tosses it on top of the pile in her hands without a second glance. “He was pretty good at hiding whatever it was he was feeling, but his indifference is no match for my instincts. I thought it was weird that he had junk food wrappers scattered everywhere and an open Bible on his bedside table, sitting next to a very thick romance novel, but what I found most peculiar were the four little photographs he had of you in his bathroom lined up along the mirror.”
Four?! How does he have four? I distinctly remember him taking two and two only.
I grimace. “I bet they’ve seen better days.”
“No, actually. They were in perfect condition. As if they were plucked straight from a frame.”
My insides skink. I’m a terrible person. If I’m being honest, I knew Caleb cared, but I didn’t know he cared that much. I expected him to go back to old habits, to sweep me under the rug and write it off as a fling. Somewhere along our timeline, we slipped under each other’s skin and festered until the infection was too far along to ignore. I cling to him because he makes me feel normal. He exudes the certain kind of normalcy that I need in my life. Instead of fearing my desires he allows me to revel in them—to understand them and to explore them. In return I breathe life into him. I make him feel. That’s what he wants more than sex—more than anything.
“Why didn’t you tell me, Cassia?” Fiona asks, pulling me from my thoughts.
She closes the bathroom door after throwing all the rubbish and clothes inside.
“Tell you what?”
She plants a hand on her hip and narrow her eyes. “You and Caleb. That’s what.”
“We had sex. Twice. That’s it.”
“That’s it?”
I nod.
“I don’t believe you for a second.”
I wish I could tell her that she was right this whole time, but I can’t. I’m humiliated to admit that she was right. My parents do smother me and I do have daddy issues. What was I thinking trying to convince them that I’m not the succubus they think I am? It has opened up a rabbit hole.
Church.
Praying.
Celibacy ceremonies.
They’re never happy and I’m done with it all. I don’t want to be their puppet anymore. I’m not perfect, but show me someone who is? Even Father Andrews has his hang ups when it comes to his son and the guy is a priest.
She sighs. “Have a shower and get dressed, traitor. We can talk more on the way.”
I frown. “On the way? I can’t leave—”
“Don’t give me that shit, Sia. You’ve had a boy in your room. You don’t get to use your parents as an excuse anymore.”
I cross my arms as she saunters toward my wardrobe.
“And if I get into trouble?”
Fiona chuckles. “Trust me, they can’t possibly punish you more than they already have.”
I guess that’s true. What’s the worst they can do besides cry at me? I swallow hard, desperate to quench the uneasiness growing in the pit of my stomach.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
And I already know the answer, but I still wait on pins and needles. Fiona makes me simmer in anticipation while she ravages my wardrobe, tossing dresses of all varieties onto my bed.
“Caleb is throwing a party. It’s a small get together, nothing crazy. Drew thinks your presence might pull Caleb out of his slump.”
“Or make it worse.” I point out. “What if he doesn’t want to see me?”
Pausing in her ransacking, she gives me a condescending smirk. “Honey, unless you blew his brother, his best friend, or his cousin, I think you’re going to be okay. Now, go and wash all of that pathetic sadness off of you. You’re making me sick.”
I snort. Right. Fiona isn’t the kind of girl that mixes emotion and sex. Some days I wonder if she can feel anything at all. I clench my jaw at yet another attribute that makes Caleb and Fiona a perfect match.
I hate it.
The thought of sharing Caleb with anyone doesn’t sit well with me. Imagining his body against someone else’s…his fingers in her hair…his lips on her skin…it fills me with white hot rage. What if we get to the party and he’s there with another girl? Caleb is wired by sex. There’s no way he’s gone without it this whole time. I’ve never felt the need to use this term before, but if there’s a girl on his arm when I get there, I swear to God I will cut a bitch.