Cassius #3
Yeah, I got more protective of her, possessive even. But that wasn’t her fault. It was me not being able to control myself when someone would mess with her, would say something that hurt her. Even now, I’m struggling not to snap more at Stacey, and she’s my fucking girlfriend.
“I went to anger management because I punch walls and break shit when I’m pissed. That’s my garbage, not yours.”
She shrugs, but it’s more of a flinch. “I still add to it.”
“You add to my life.” It’s a fact, but my voice comes out rougher than I mean it to. “Not my anger. Even when I’m pissed, it’s you that pulls me back. Not the other way around.”
Her eyes shine around the edges as she tips her head back, staring at the ceiling like she can will the tears away.
“Still,” she whispers, “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” I ask, honestly lost.
“For being like this.” She gestures at herself, turning to look at me.
My breath catches for a second when I see the hurt in those dark eyes of hers.
“For being the girl everyone has to worry about. For being the one your girlfriend hates. For taking up so much of your time. For being too sensitive. For making you show up here with snacks instead of doing normal college things.” She swallows.
“I’m always the crisis. I don’t want you to get tired of me and realize everyone else was right. ”
My vision tunnels for a second with the urge to go back and strangle every person who ever put that thought in her head.
“First of all,” I start, trying to get my words just right, “you’re allowed to need things. That’s not a crime. That’s called being human.”
“Not to my extent,” she mutters.
“Second,” I push on, “you’re not a crisis. You’ve had a shitload thrown at you, and you’re still here. You talk about it now. You let me be there. You’re not a burden.”
She swallows again, throat working.
“And third,” I edge closer, “I am not going to get tired of you. Ever. You exhaust me, but I like it.”
A small, startled laugh escapes her.
“There she is,” I say, softer.
Before I can second-guess it, I reach for her wrist and gently tug her hand out of the death grip on her sleeve. She tenses for just a moment.
“Quit apologizing for breathing wrong. You don’t have to say sorry for existing the way you do. Or for needing reassurance. Or for feeling like shit when someone says something shitty.”
“But—”
“Zae.” I squeeze her hand. “You’re not too much. You’re exactly the right amount.”
Her eyes go glassy as her lip wobbles.
“Shut up,” she whispers.
“Make me.”
She huffs out a wet laugh. “Asshole.”
“There we go.”
I lean in and press my mouth to her forehead. It’s quick, a soft, lingering second, but she goes very, very still. And when I pull back, her eyes are wide.
“Cass,” she breathes.
My heart is pounding so loud it’s probably shaking the walls.
“You’re perfect.” I don’t stop to think, just letting the words pour out now. “Just so we’re clear on that.”
“That’s objectively false,” she mutters, voice shaky. “I have medical records that—”
“Shut up,” I cut her off again, quieter this time.
She blinks a few times, then exhales slowly, shoulders lowering a notch.
“Okay.” She finally caves on a long breath. “Okay. I’ll… try to believe you.”
“That’s all I’m asking.”
We sit there like that for a beat, hands still linked.
“Pick a movie,” I say abruptly.
She frowns. “What?”
“Pick a movie,” I repeat, letting go of her hand to grab the remote. “I’m not leaving until you’re at least mildly entertained.”
“You don’t have to babysit me.”
“It’s Saturday,” I point out with a small shrug. “I have nothing better to do than ruin your algorithm.”
She snorts. “You already did. You watched, like, three skate movies on my Netflix.”
“You’re welcome.” I smirk, turning the TV on.
She shifts, sliding her legs down and sitting cross-legged. “Fine. But I’m choosing something that will test your patience.”
“I assumed.”
She scrolls through the options, tongue poking out in concentration.
“Too sad. Too stupid. Too long,” she mutters at her choices until her thumb pauses.
“Howl’s Moving Castle?” I read.
She shrugs, trying for casual. “It’s comfort. Also, Howl’s pretty hot.”
I roll my eyes. “Of course your comfort character is emotionally unstable and too pretty.”
“Bold of you to assume that’s not exactly my type.”
“Yeah,” I mutter. “I’ve noticed.”
“What was that?”
“Nothing. Put your stupid movie on.”
She smirks and hits play.
She settles in, shoulder just barely brushing my arm, eyes glued to the opening scene. The light from the TV washes over her face, soft and blue.
In my head, I make myself a promise.
I’m going to do everything in my power to keep that light in her eyes from going out again. To make sure she never believes obnoxious more than she believes me. Even if it means pissing people off. Even if it means losing them.
Somewhere between helping her move in and watching her fall asleep in my bed, I stopped being able to pretend she was just my friend.
I don’t know what the hell that makes me yet.
I just know one thing for sure.
I’m not going anywhere.