Chapter Twelve : Cassie

Three months ago

I watch the blood drip.
It’s bright--too bright. I’ve got low iron, so my blood runs like watered crimson. Funny, isn’t it? How something so terrifying can look so beautiful. Only a few drops fall, as usual. I clean the wound and slap a band-aid over it.
I’m fine now.
I needed that. It’s messed up, I know. But sadism and masochism in the same person? That’s a terrible combo to have. I hurt myself--not others. The sting reminds me I’m alive. It grounds me, keeps the darker urges at bay. Just a shallow cut. Just enough to bleed. No harm, right?

Later, I’ll kiss the fading scar and whisper, “I’m sorry.” But the truth is, I don’t know another way to cope. Therapy’s a luxury I can’t afford. My parents? Out of the picture. And the last time I scraped together the cash for a session, the shrink hit me with “secondary psychopathy.” The treatable kind, apparently. Still not sure what that means for someone like me.

Some days I wish I wasn’t so damn lonely. Today’s one of them. I glance at the wall. There's a scribbled note that says, Hold on. It’ll get better. I roll my eyes. Way to gaslight myself. My stomach growls, loud and angry, breaking the silence. Right. Food.

I lock my door and make my way out of campus toward the Chinese takeout across the road. I’m on a full-ride scholarship, and I work part-time remotely to cover the rest--rent, meals, band-aids.

The place is cheap, decent, always packed with students. I’m staring at a cat in the bushes when I bump into someone outside the shop.

“S**t--sorry,” I say, reaching to help them up.
And then I freeze.
Oh f**k. That’s Rath.
“It’s alright. I’d stare if there was a cat too,” he says casually, brushing himself off.
“Still. Sorry,” I repeat, genuinely mortified.
“You like this place too, huh?” he asks.
“Well, yeah. Pretty sure half the university does,” I mutter. It’s true--the place survives on broke students.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you something. I’ll wait out here for you,” he says.

Panic mode. My brain spins a thousand insane theories. He hates me. He found out something. He’s going to blackmail me. Or--God no--he wants to ask me o--
Nope. Not thinking that.
I order my usual, pay, and step outside. He’s still there, hands in his jacket pockets.

“So, what’s your favorite color?”
…What? Huh?
“That’s what you wanted to ask me?” I blink at him.
“You thought I was gonna ask you out or something?” he smirks.
“No,” I blurt, way too fast.
He grins. “So, what is it?”
“Blue. Yours?”
“Black. I’m more of a simple guy,” he says like he’s proud of it.

There’s something about this b*****d’s face that makes me want to slap it. Even the way he breathes is annoying.

“Well, good chat. I’m gonna go eat and watch Netflix now,” I say, trying to leave.
“Wanna watch together?” he asks.
I blink. Netflix night with Rath?
Okay. No big deal. Totally normal.
“I--I… I don’t know,” I stammer.
“You can leave by ten. I’ll walk you back. Won't try anything funny. I’ve got Reese’s and Sour Patch Kids,” he adds with a shrug.

“Are you seriously trying to bribe me with chocolate?” I ask, despite myself, a smile tugging at my lips.
“Maybe yes. Maybe no.”
“Fine,” I sigh. “Not a minute past ten. And I want a damn pillow between us.”

I mean, come on. He said chocolate. Did I just agree to hang out with a guy because he offered me candy? Yes. Yes, I did. I’d be so easy to kidnap, honestly.
But Rath’s not like that… right?
He steps toward me, offering his arm like he’s escorting me.

I slap it away. “We’re watching in my room. I’m not stepping into some guy’s room. Bring the candy. I’ll be done eating by the time you get there. Room 213, second floor, Aviel Dorms. Don’t be late--and pick something decent to watch.”
“See you soon,” he calls as I walk away.

What the f**k just happened?
Why did I talk to him like I've known him forever? That’s not good. That’s not me.
But maybe… maybe it’s okay not to be alone tonight. Just for a little while. I can do this without any attachments. I totally can. Right?

I head to my room and do a quick sweep--cleaning up anything that might ruin my already-questionable rep. My dinner disappears fast, half out of hunger, half out of nerves. By the time I finish setting up my laptop and fluffing the pillows for movie night, there’s a knock at the door.

I open it, heart stupidly light--only to be hit with disappointment.
“Oh. Hey, Carmen,” I say, blinking. “What’s up?”
She squints at me like I’m a blur. “This… isn’t Elizabeth’s room?”
She’s clearly drunk--barely standing straight. Of course. I do the responsible thing and walk her over to Elizabeth’s room myself. When I get back, my phone lights up.
Rath.
Not that I care. I obviously don't.
His message reads:
“Hey, caught up in something with Taylor. Won’t be able to make it tonight. Let’s do Netflix another day.”

My face falls before I can stop it. Figures. Who’d want to hang out with me anyway?

Another knock at the door. If it’s another drunk f**k, I swear I’m going to start throwing punches.
I open the door--and freeze.
Rath is standing there, grinning like the smug little b*****d he is.
“I was just messing around,” he says, walking right past me. “I wouldn't miss this for the world.”
I close the door behind him, my brain short-circuiting slightly. Glad? Is that what this feeling is? No. Maybe. Shut up.

There’s a strange warmth in the air now, something soft and unfamiliar. Like the room itself feels… less heavy. He tosses me a pack of Reese’s when I crawl into bed. Casual. Like we’ve done this a hundred times. He queues up a movie, something actiony with just enough emotional damage to keep me invested. And I sit there beside him, chewing chocolate, pretending not to notice how much better everything feels.

Tonight didn’t turn out so bad. I could get used to this--this quiet company, this not being alone. And that thought scares me more than anything.