Chapter 20
Chapter
Twenty
T he television is as loud as usual, but right now it doesn’t completely drown out the arguing. Even with my eyes glued to it and my knees drawn up to my chest, I can hear Carissa yelling upstairs, probably at Cass.
She’s always yelling at Cass.
This time, instead of ignoring it, I get to my feet quietly, my socks giving me stealth on the carpet as I creep up the stairs. Carissa’s room is the first one at the top of the landing, and her door is half open, which is probably why I can hear her this time.
Though, it’s not the first time I’ve heard her yelling at him.
When I peek around the frame, I see Cass sitting on her bed, his legs hanging off the side and his hands folded in his lap. He’s not speaking, even as she yells at him, and the words reverberate in my ears.
But I can’t understand them. They sound like warbled, muddled garbage to me as I look at Cass, whose eyes are lowered and his chin tucked as if to protect himself. He’s tense all over, looking like a rabbit about to spring up, and I can tell he’s forcing himself to sit there instead of running away.
His face tips upward just a little, and as if drawn there by a magnet, his blue eyes land on mine. He looks tired. Worn out and resigned, even. My fingers tighten on the doorframe as he holds my gaze without saying a word, and my heart races anxiously for him.
When she realizes he isn’t paying attention, Carissa grabs his hair, making him wince, and drags his gaze up to hers. She’s yelling again, getting louder and louder, and her voice seems to shake the whole house.
But he doesn’t look at her.
He’s still looking at me.
Carissa realizes it and turns to glance my way, her eyes widening when she sees me. She drops Cassian and turns to almost run across the room, panic on her face. “I thought you were watching a movie,” she murmurs, yanking the door almost shut behind her, so the only thing I can see is her. I stumble back, clutching onto the railing of the landing, and look away as if I’ve done something bad.
“I’m sorry, Carissa,” I whisper, unable to meet her eyes. “I didn’t mean to ? —”
“No, you’re fine, Winnie.” She smiles, but it’s forced, and when she glances back into the room, I see her worry her bottom lip between her teeth. “Go back downstairs, okay? Finish your movie and I’ll make you a snack.”
“Is…” I grip the edges of my t-shirt, twisting in place. “Did Cassian do something wrong?”
Carissa doesn’t answer. She looks back into the room again, her eyes hardening, before she smiles down at me with insincerity written all over her face. “Not really. He just got in trouble at school and…” she trails off, obviously losing the lie. “Just go back downstairs, okay?”
I don’t argue with her. I was told by my parents to never argue with Carissa when she’s babysitting me, since she’s the almost-adult in charge. So instead of asking about Cass again, I turn and slog down the stairs, finding my way back to the sofa and dragging my knees up to my chest. A few seconds later, I hear the door slam, and her yelling continues, muffled enough I can barely catch any of it.
My eyes open and I stare up at my ceiling, replaying the dream in my head. It’s one I haven’t had before, but now I remember that day after school. It was a few weeks before Cass killed her; if I’m not getting things mixed up in my head. We carved pumpkins earlier that day, while Cass sort of picked and stabbed at his. That had pissed her off, but to this day, I don’t know why.
Still…
Turning my head, I find Cass on his back beside me, still utterly asleep with his lashes fanned out on his cheeks. He’s always had the longest, thickest lashes of any guy I’ve ever met, and it suits him perfectly.
Not giving myself a chance to hesitate, I sit up, turn, and straddle his waist. Settling back on my knees, I rest my weight on his hips, one hand pressed to his bare chest as I study him, the dream still tugging at my consciousness.
I know he’s not asleep. Not anymore, at least. I can’t place it, but there’s a subtle shift in him; one that screams awareness and how prepared he is for anything to happen, even like this.
His sigh is weary and long-suffering, and Cass doesn’t bother opening his eyes before he murmurs, “What do you want, Winnie?”
“That’s a rude way to tell me good morning. Maybe I want you to fuck me again,” I reply offhandedly, stroking my fingers down his stomach and watching his muscles contract from my touch.
“No, you don’t.” It’s not a question. Somehow he just knows. “For some reason, I feel like I’m not going to enjoy what you want right now, am I?”
“Maybe not.” I can admit that much, at least. In his sleep pants and nothing else, he looks divine on my bed, which he’s been sharing with me for the past three nights.
Ever since my mom left.
Ever since he told me I’d be his forever.
“Well then, get it over with. Do I need to open my eyes for whatever it is?” he murmurs, still sweet with sleep. I don’t respond at first, except to scoff lightly and trace the waistband of his pants absently. He really is gorgeous to look at.
I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of it, honestly.
“No, you don’t need to open your eyes or sit up or anything. I actually like you quite a bit where you are. Looks good on you,” I can’t help teasing, digging my nails lightly into his hips.
Cass groans and opens one eye to look at me flatly. “Keep doing that and you’re not going to get the outcome you’re looking for,” he assures me. When I don’t reply, instead just stroking along his hips, Cass sighs and tilts his head back, giving me a full view of the expanse of skin of his neck and shoulders.
“I had a dream,” I say finally, resisting the urge to swoop down and bite to leave my mark on him. I’m sure that I’m sporting a few of his, so it would only be fair.
“Oh yeah? Must’ve been a damn good one for you to be up there. You want to fuck me like this? With me on my back and you?—”
“I had a dream about when we were kids,” I interrupt. The moment he hears me, I feel him tense, before he forces himself to relax. “But it wasn’t just a dream. I’d sort of forgotten about it until now, but I think…I really think it happened. So umm. I wanted to ask you about it.” God, I’m so rambling now. “Since you were there.”
He doesn’t reply with a witty quip or joke. He doesn’t threaten me or tell me he’s going to find a better use for my mouth.
Cass doesn’t even look at me. He just lies on his back, tilts his head still tilted toward my wall, and throws his arm over his eyes.
I almost ask him if I should change the subject. If I should leave this for later. But now that I’ve had the dream, I can’t get the memory out of my head. Even awake, I can’t remember what Carissa was saying. It’s just…garbled and all mushed together. But surely I heard her, didn’t I?
“If you say you don’t remember, I’ll believe you,” I say slowly, knowing I’m giving him an easy out if he doesn’t want to answer. He’s still so fucking quiet, so I keep going, settling a little more comfortably on his hips. “When we were kids, there was this day that I was at your house. It was a few months before…” I trail off, figuring he knows what I mean.
I don’t miss the subtle clench of his fingers, or the way his chin jerks, just a little.
Nor do I miss the fact that he’s now looking at me from under his arm.
“Carissa put a movie on for me and said she needed to go up to her room for a few minutes. Only, the sound wasn’t so loud, and I heard her yelling. I remember going up the stairs and I saw she was yelling at you, but I couldn’t figure out what you’d done. You didn’t tell her I was there, but she saw me and closed the door between us like she didn’t want me looking at you?” I can’t help phrasing it as a question, unsure of my own memories from so long ago. “And told me to go back downstairs. I did, obviously. And I guess little kid me just didn’t think it was that important.” I stop talking, drumming my fingers anxiously on his stomach as I stare down at the hollow of his throat.
“So what are you asking me, Winnie?” Cassian asks when I don’t continue, prompting me to look up at him, yanked out of my own thoughts.
“So it’s something that happened, then? It’s not just some fake memory my brain conjured?” It’s not the question I need to ask, but I stop it from coming out. “That’s not my actual question, by the way.”
He’s quiet again, and I wonder if he knows that just makes him more suspicious. Especially with the way he doesn’t want to look at me. “What’s your actual question?” he replies at last, not giving me a real answer. His tone is carefully guarded, and I figure he’s going to take an easy way out, or just tell me he doesn’t want to answer.
“Why was she yelling at you?” It doesn’t come out as casual or conversational as what I intend it to. No, my words are a whisper, my eyes fixed on his even under his arm. I can barely see the glitter of blue from where I’m sitting, but it’s enough.
“You don’t remember?”
I shake my head at his words. “No, I…no matter what I do, I can’t remember any of what she was saying to you. It just sounds garbled in my head, like she was one of the adults from Charlie Brown . I don’t know why. It’s not like that memory is particularly traumatic…for me, at least.”
Yet again, my words are met with silence. Cassian adjusts his arm so his eyes are completely hidden again, and lets out a breathy sigh as he relaxes into my pillows. I don’t press him for an answer. Not this time. For some reason, this is a bigger deal for him than it is for me, for all that it’s nagging at my brain this morning with a chime of importance that I don’t understand. Trying to be supportive, I stroke my fingers over his hip bones, tracing shapes and loops along his flawless skin.
“Sometimes I’ve wondered if you didn’t hear her,” Cassian says finally, his words quiet and hesitant. “I thought you must have, when I saw you looking at me…but the next day you didn’t act like there was anything out of place.” A smile twitches at the corners of his lips. “Actually, the next day you demanded I help you make a bat costume.”
“I remember that,” I reply softly, finding that it’s true. “I wanted you to be my co-bat. We were going to have long ears and I had all this stupid fur…” trailing off, I bite my lips as I watch him, thinking. “But we didn’t.” God, my memories of this far back are hazy at best. “We didn’t because. Umm…” I sort through the small pieces of memories and conversations in my head. “Carissa said you were too busy with a school project? I think?”
His derisive snort makes me jump, and when I relax again, I find that he’s uncovered his eyes to meet mine. “It was about you,” he tells me, gaze catching my own and pinning me in place. Even without his hands on me, I can’t move. Not when I’m anchored by those four words as I try to figure out what they mean.
Thankfully, he doesn’t leave me in suspense. “There was no project,” Cass sneers, and I’m surprised to find an angry, searing heat in his eyes that I don’t think I’ve ever seen before. “There never was. She didn’t want you spending time with me. Don’t you remember? After you found her yelling at me, she did everything she could to keep us apart.”
My fingers clench against his skin as I press them to his stomach, my attention riveted to him. A ripple of unease travels up my spine, and I suddenly wonder if maybe, just maybe, I should’ve kept my mouth shut.
Maybe this is one question I don’t need answered.
“She found out what you’d become to me. How I felt about you. She found out what I did to the boy who tripped you one day after kindergarten.” He closes his eyes, then adds, “She found out what I was planning to do to your dad.”
I yank my fingers away from his skin, eyes wide. “W-what?” I ask softly. “What do you?—”
“You think I would just continue to let him hurt you? You think I was going to sit there and let your mother bring you back to him, day after day?” He sneers his reply, and yet again his gaze is holding mine, not letting me go. “I’m not much for fire, Winnie, but when I was twelve, that seemed like the easiest way to get rid of them for you. My mom would’ve taken you in; we both know that. You would’ve been safe in my house with me .”
I can’t help the tremors that run from my head to my fingertips when he says that last part, and I’m completely at a loss for words. All I can do is stay trapped by his gaze, my heart racing like a frightened rabbit in my chest, seeking any escape it can from under the cage of my ribs.
“We were kids, though,” I find myself murmuring. “You didn’t—You barely even liked me.”
Cass sits up quickly, catching me before I can fall back. I have to adjust, sitting over his lap with my hands braced on his shoulders. “The first time I saw you cry, I could never look away from you again,” he growls quietly. “You were mine . Back then you were like the little sister I never wanted. The sister I needed to protect. Only I couldn’t, because you didn’t live with me. So I would’ve gotten rid of them. Your dad, your mom…Lou wasn’t on my radar. She couldn’t have taken you in back then.” He reaches up, smoothing his hands down my face as he pulls me in close until our foreheads are pressed together.
“Carissa threatened me. Said I wasn’t allowed to be around you anymore,” Cass croons with his eyes open and so intense that it’s terrifying. “She said if I didn’t leave you alone, she’d tell my mom, your mom… She’d make sure you never got to come over again. For your safety , she said,” he sneers that last part, lips twisted in disgust.
My hands are trembling. I realize it belatedly, with my fingers curled against his shoulders and nowhere to look but his eyes. “Is that…” I trail off, the words dying in my throat.
But Cass only grins, the darkness, the strangeness in his gaze returning. But this time, I know what it is.
He’s a psychopath.
That’s what I’m seeing in his eyes when he looks at me like this. His darkness, his cruelty…his obsession with me that goes past unhealthy.
Cass is crazy. I realize it now as I look into his ice-blue eyes that won’t let mine go.
“Ask me,” he prompts. “Ask me why I killed Carissa. You’re so close. I think you’ve figured it out, but I know you. You’ll make up some other excuse. You’ll give yourself a reason not to believe it, so ask me, Winnie. Let me clear things up for you once and for all.”
I can’t move. His hands on my face hold me in place, but even if they weren’t pressed to my skin, I wouldn’t be able to move anyway. Not with the way he’s looking at me. “Did you kill Carissa because she was trying to protect me from you?” I finally barely manage to ask.
His grin is immediate and twisted; menacing and definitely not pleasant. “Yes, Winnie. I killed Carissa because she wanted to keep you from me. And nothing, nothing was or is going to do that. Not your mom, not Lou”—he presses closer, until his lips brush mine—“and not even my own sister.”