6 Cassius #2
“I’ve been telling you I need you and you still ignore me and spend time with her instead,” she argues, feeling she’s making her point. But she’s not.
“That’s not the same need, Stacey. If you were actually having a hard time, or if you needed a shoulder to lean on, I’d be there. But you just want a boyfriend to look good on Instagram with.”
Stacey’s jaw trembles because apparently I struck a nerve. “You know what? I get it now. I get where I stand.”
“That’s not what I—”
“It’s exactly what you said,” she snaps, color flaring back in her cheeks. “You keep proving it every time this comes up. You’ll always pick her. Over me. Over anyone. And maybe that’s… sweet, or whatever, but it’s not something I can live with.”
Eyeliner Girl mutters, “Told you,” under her breath.
I’m breathing too fast. Every muscle in my body feels coiled and ready to hit something. The cup in my hand is a destroyed, leaking mess.
I push back from the table.
The chair legs screech on the floor, drawing more eyes.
“I need to leave,” I announce, because I know my limits and I’m approaching them fast.
“Cass—” Stacey reaches for my hand, trying to keep me here, but I step back before she can grab my wrist. Right now, with how amped my nervous system is, I don’t trust myself not to jerk away too hard.
“I’m not doing this here. Not like this.”
I drop the ruined cup on the table, coffee dripping off the side, and walk out.
Outside, the sun feels too bright. I stand on the sidewalk with my hands on my hips, trying to remember every grounding technique they drilled into us at group.
Space.
Breathing.
In. One, two, three, four.
Hold. One, two, three, four.
Out. One, two, three, four, five, six.
It helps a little, but definitely not enough.
My phone buzzes in my pocket and my heart squeezes, thinking it might be Zae.
Stacey:
Seriously? You just blew up at my friends and walked out?
Another message lands before I can answer.
Stacey:
You need help, Cass. This anger thing is not cute.
My thumb hovers over the keyboard. Every response I come up with is either an apology I don’t fully mean or a fight I really don’t need. So instead, I lock the screen and shove the phone back in my pocket.
I know my anger can be a lot, but I’m trying.
It used to be so much worse. If this would have happened in high school, I would have caused a scene at the coffee shop.
No one good wanted to be around me back then.
No one but her. She’s always been at my side even when I get scary, and she never seems to mind. Never throws my anger in my face.
Stacey isn’t wrong about the help part, though. I know I still need more of it, but I’m working on it. And the worst part is she knows that.
So I walk away before I punch inanimate objects.
Like right now. The problem is, walking away doesn’t make everything better, doesn’t rid me of the rage.
It just leaves all the noise ricocheting around in my head with nowhere to go.
And when that happens, there’s exactly one person who can pull me back down to earth.
Only she’s exactly the person Stacey doesn’t want me running to.
I stand there for another thirty seconds, arguing with myself.
Don’t dump this on her.
She’s already having a slippery day.
You’re supposed to be the stable one right now.
My feet don’t listen. By the time my brain catches up, I’m already in my car halfway across campus.
No one seems to know how to drive today, which doesn’t help. A girl on a moped almost clips me when she changes lanes, not bothering to look. Like I’m supposed to be watching out for her.
Chill.
You’re not seventeen anymore.
That reminder gets me through parking, out of the car, and up the last flight of stairs to her floor.
I stop in front of her door and take one more breath. My hands are still a little shaky.
This is selfish.
I knock anyway. Three quick raps. The sound echoes down the too-narrow hallway. Then there’s a rustle, some footsteps, and the lock clicks.
The door opens, and there she is.
Zae’s in black leggings and an oversized T-shirt that says Emotionally Unavailable But Still Hot. Her makeup is done, eyeliner, lipstick, the whole damn thing. Her hair’s clipped up with pieces falling everywhere, and there’s a smudge of mascara on her thumb—like she wiped away a mistake.
She was getting ready for the party.
And I’m standing here about to dump all my shit on her because I can’t calm myself down on my own.
I’m such a piece of shit.
Her expression goes from curious to instantly alert.
“Whoa.” She takes a step back as if to better gauge my mood. “You look like someone just told you they closed every skate park on earth.”
I let out a breath through my nose. “I’m fine.”
She squints, not believing me for second, which I should have seen coming. “Lying to my face now? I see.”
Before I can argue, she hooks her fingers in the front of my hoodie and pulls me inside. The door clicks shut, and then her arms are around me. Tight.
My brain stutters. She hugs me like she’s anchoring both of us to the floor. My arms hover before I finally wrap them around her, my heart still kicking hard and my breathing too fast, but the reason changes. It’s less rage and more raw.
Her voice is muffled against my chest. “Did you know octopuses have three hearts and none of them would put up with your ‘I’m fine’ bullshit?”
I blink. “What?”
She pulls back to look up at me, her arms still looped around my waist. “Yeah. Three hearts. More emotional bandwidth than you right now. Just saying.”
A choked sound escapes me—half laugh, half breath. Some of the pressure finally unclenches.
“You’re an idiot,” I mutter.
“I prefer ‘charmingly educational,’” she corrects, brushing lint off my hoodie. “Now sit. Before you spontaneously combust and take my dorm with you.”
She squeezes my sides once before stepping back.
“Okay.” She points at the bed. “Plant it.”
She shoves my shoulder lightly toward the bed. I let myself fall onto the edge of the mattress.
She plants herself in front of me, hands on her hips. “Wanna tell me what triggered you?” she asks, voice a little gentler now.
“Stacey and her friends,” I inform her, rolling my eyes as I do. “They had… opinions.”
Her mouth compresses. “Ah,” she says. “The Greek chorus.”
I huff a laugh despite myself.
“Well,” she continues, “step one is sitting. So, check there. Step two is distraction, octopus hearts was just the beginning. Step three is you telling me in more detail what happened. Well, after you’ve calmed down.”
Something in me goes soft and sore at the same time. Before that can get dangerous, she claps her hands once. “All right, rage monster. You’re just in time for the Zae Tries On Half Her Closet show.”
I blink. “What?”
“I need a Sigma Tu party outfit,” she says, moving toward her closet. This must be the rest of step two for her. “And you have to sit here and give feedback on how much fabric counts as just enough without being trashy.”
“You’re going to that party no matter what I say, aren’t you?” I mutter, dragging my hand down my face.