33. Cassidy #2
I stand, still gripping her wrists, and push forward.
She topples onto the mattress again with a soft thump, and I follow, one knee on the bed between her legs, pinning her down with my weight.
I’m careful not to crush her, but I hold her arms on either side of her head, fingers wrapped around her slender wrists. Her pulse thrums wildly under my thumb.
Her breath hitches and she stares up at me, chest rising and falling rapidly. In the lamplight, her green eyes look like dark—wide pools shimmering with angry tears. Her lips are parted, and I feel her warm breath against my cheek as I hover over her.
My blood is on fire, every nerve ending aware of how close we are. This is all wrong, yet some sick part of me savors that she’s beneath me, that I have her full attention at last.
“Cassidy—”
I ease my grip slightly, realizing with horror that I’m probably scaring her.
The last thing I ever want is for her to be afraid of me.
My eyes sting with sudden, hot tears of my own.
I blink them back fiercely. “Why? Why won’t you let me in?
I would never hurt you, Bindi. Never. I just want to protect you—be with you.
Isn’t that what you want, too? We promised to stick together.
We promised, and now you’re acting like I’m the enemy. ”
Her face crumples. A tear finally escapes the corner of her eye and slips down into her hair.
I ache to kiss it away, to taste her tears and make them my own pain instead.
She swallows hard. “You’re not my enemy,” she whispers.
“You’re my . . . you’re Cass. But you’re suffocating me.
I feel like I can’t breathe sometimes. Like I can’t think because you’re always there, hovering, worrying, expecting something from me that I don’t know if I can give. ”
I flinch, loosening my hold on her wrists.
She could probably pull free now if she wanted, but she doesn’t move.
“I’m sorry,” I breathe, my forehead coming to rest against hers.
I’m breaking. I can feel it—the crack in my chest where my heart splinters at her words.
My tears escape despite myself, one dropping onto her cheek.
“I’m so sorry, I just . . . I don’t know how else to be.
I’m scared, Bindi. Every damn day I’m scared someone will take you or you’ll wake up and realize you don’t need me at all and you’ll leave. And then I’ll be alone. I can’t?—”
Gently, she frees her right wrist from my limp grasp and brings her hand to my face. Her fingers brush my cheek, wiping at tears. The gesture is tender, unexpected. I lift my head a fraction to look at her.
She’s crying silently. “Cass,” she whispers, and there’s such sadness in her tone, it hurts to hear. She strokes her thumb under my eye, catching the next tear. “I’m not going to leave you. Don’t you get it? You’re all I have, too.”
I let out a shuddering breath. Her words are like balm on a wound. My vision blurs as more tears well up, but I manage a weak, desperate smile. “Really?” I croak.
“Really,” she says. Her lips tremble as she speaks. “But I can’t be everything you need. I’m messed up, too. I don’t know how to . . . to deal with all this either. I need you, but I need you to give me room to breathe, Cass. You have to trust me—trust that I’m not going anywhere.”
I realize I’ve shifted my grip entirely to lace my fingers through hers now, instead of pinning them to the bed. We’re holding hands above her head, a strangely gentle echo of the forceful pose moments before. I nod slowly, my hair falling around my face. “Okay.”
Finally, I release her and push myself off, rolling to sit on the edge of her bed. I feel drained, emptied out like a wrung sponge. My hands shake as I wipe my face, embarrassed for breaking down.
“Cass, look at me. ”
I do, reluctantly. Her eyes are puffy, and there’s a red mark on her wrist where I held her. Seeing that red mark twists my gut with guilt.
“I’m sorry.”
“I know,” she replies softly. “Me too.”
“I’m gonna go have a smoke,” I mutter, rising to my feet abruptly. The urge to flee my own swirling emotions is strong.
Bindi nods, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “Okay.” She watches as I move to the window. We’ve done this a hundred times—popping out the screen and slipping onto the roof of the porch below. It’s our secret escape when the walls of this house feel too close.
I push up the window as quietly as possible.
A cool rush of night air floods in, carrying the chirp of crickets and the distant whoosh of a car on the main road.
Swinging one leg over the sill, I glance back at her.
She’s still hugging her knees, eyes huge and shiny in the low light, her face is drawn with worry.
I hesitate, half of me still inside, half out. “You gonna be okay?”
She nods, managing a tiny sad smile. “Yeah. Go clear your head.”
Reluctantly, I slip out onto the porch roof. I replace the screen loosely behind me, enough so bugs won’t get in, but not so much that Bindi can’t open it again.
The moon is just a sliver, hiding most of its light.
It’s dark out here, but I know the way by heart.
Carefully, I shuffle up the slope of the roof to the flat part where we often sit.
The chimney provides a little backrest, and from here you can see over the scraggly oak in the yard to the neighboring rooftops, and a slice of night sky.
I sink down with my back against the chimney and pull out a crushed half-pack of cigarettes from the pocket of my hoodie.
My hands are still trembling as I put one between my lips and light it with a lighter I stole from one of my buddies.
The first drag burns my lungs in that familiar, calming way.
I exhale a long plume of smoke toward the stars.
I tilt my head back against the brick and close my eyes for a moment, letting the nicotine do its work. The guilt and adrenaline crash over me in alternating waves.
I can’t believe I hurt some kid for nothing.
What if he tells someone?
I might get suspended, or worse, they might call the cops. My social worker would flip—another violent incident, another black mark on my file.
I smoke the cigarette down to the filter until the ember singes dangerously close to my fingers. I’m about to stub it out on the brick when I hear the window creak open behind me.
She carefully lowers the window back down and then makes her way over.
I reach out instinctively as she navigates the slope, ready to grab her if she slips.
But she’s sure-footed; we’ve done this dance plenty of times.
She crosses the remaining distance and sinks down next to me, drawing her knees up to her chest again.
We sit side by side, backs against the chimney, not quite touching.
For a minute, neither of us speaks. We just look out at the patchwork of rooftops and the stars beyond. A dog barks somewhere in the distance.
I break the silence first, holding up the cigarette pack. “Want one?”
“Yeah, sure.”
I tap out a cigarette and pass it to her.
Our fingers brush as she takes it, then I light it for her, cupping my hand around the flame in the dark.
She inhales and coughs a little. She doesn’t smoke as often as I do, but I guess tonight warrants it.
Neither one of us are of smoking age, but the guy at the corner store sells me these without batting an eye.
“I’m sorry,” Bindi murmurs, not looking at me. She fiddles with the hem of her shorts, plucking at a loose thread. “I should have just told you the truth. ”
I glance at her profile . . . the gentle slope of her nose, the way her lashes cast shadows on her cheeks. She exhales a stream of smoke and bites her lip, waiting for me to respond.
“It’s okay, Binx.”
She nods, relief in the slant of her shoulders. “And I’m sorry about Caleb. I should’ve been more upfront that we were just talking about class stuff. Or at least told you I’m not interested in him like that. I didn’t realize you were . . .”
“Jealous,” I finish for her. No point denying it now.
She looks at me then, her eyes reflecting the distant streetlights.
“Cass . . . we’re in a weird situation. You know that, right?
I mean, I don’t exactly know how to define us.
” She gestures vaguely between us with the hand holding her cigarette.
“Sometimes I feel like you’re all I have—like, more than a brother or a friend. But at the same time, it’s confusing.”
My throat tightens and I nod, slowly.
“But I do love you,” she says, and my heart skips. She rushes on. “Not like—I mean, I don’t know what I mean. I just know I care about you more than anyone. You’re home to me, Cass.”
Her words make my eyes sting all over again. Home. I’ve never had a real home, not until she came into my life. I blink rapidly. “You’re home to me, too.”
A tiny shiver runs through her; the night air is a little chilly.
Without thinking, I drape my arm around her shoulders and pull her in.
She doesn’t resist. Instead, she nestles against my side, resting her head on my shoulder.
A content sigh escapes her, and it’s like I can finally breathe deeply for the first time all day.
We sit like that, pressed together for warmth and comfort, until she finishes her cigarette. She flicks the butt away and I rub my hand up and down her arm gently to keep her warm. I feel the steady cadence of her breathing.
After a stretch of quiet, I reach into my hoodie pocket and pull out the folded note. Bindi notices it and tenses slightly against me.
Wordlessly, I flick the lighter and hold the flame to the corner of the paper. It catches after a moment, fire curling the edge black. I drop it to the shingled roof in front of us and watch it burn—the paper flaring orange then shrinking to ashy scrap.
Bindi watches too, eyes reflecting the tiny bonfire of her own note. When it’s nearly gone, she murmurs, “I get that it’s symbolic and shit, but you know he’s going to need that for our project, don’t you?”
I shake my head. “I’m sure you can fill him in another time.”
She cuddles closer, and I turn my face into her hair, pressing a light, trembling kiss to the top of her head. She doesn’t pull away. Instead, she snuggles into me more, wrapping her arm around my middle. We stay like that, entwined under the vast sky.
In that silence, I make a silent promise: I will get better for her. I will control my anger, and give her the space she needs. Because at the end of the day, she’s right here in my arms, and there’s nowhere in the world I’d rather she be.
In the distance, a lone star shoots across the sky, disappearing into the horizon. I tighten my arm around Bindi, holding her a little closer, and close my eyes, making a wish that this moment could last just a little longer.