10 Zara
This Can’t Be Real
“Ooo! I’m on fire tonight!” I claim boldly, because my characters are rolling so well for once.
“Literally,” Cass snorts as Karlach rages in the background. I laugh, feeling at ease.
Things are still a little awkward, mainly because we’ve never fought like that before and then gone silent. It was strange. It was hell.
I never want to do it again.
But right now, this… it feels right. It feels normal. Like the piece of my heart I’ve been missing this whole time has finally returned.
He handed me his heart today.
At least that’s what I think he did. Calcifer is sitting on my lap like a nonexistent third player. For a plushie, it feels as though he weighs a ton with the emotions that came with him.
I swear Cass is trying to kill me.
A lot of my depression manifested not because of Stacey’s words—although it started that way—but because of my love for Cass. Because of the way I wish I could have him. The way I long for him in ways I shouldn’t.
I love him.
I admitted that to myself a few days ago, and after that, I couldn’t bring myself to text him. To act like everything was normal. Because it’s not. It’s far from it.
“So, go ahead. Ask,” I tell him, setting my controller down as the cinematic scene starts up. We’ve seen it too many times now to really care to watch it again.
He looks at me from the corner of his eye, left brow arched. “Ask what?”
“If I’m okay.” I shrug. “I know it’s killing you. I give you a gold star for not having asked already.” I nudge his shoulder, falling into old habits a little too easily.
He sighs, running his fingers through his hair the way he does when he’s been caught. “I thought I was going to choke on it.” He sighs, turning to face me fully. His dark eyes hold mine, searching so deep I think he’s staring at my soul. “Are you okay?”
“No,” I whisper, honestly, because after everything that happened there’s no point in pretending. No point in lying to him or myself for that matter.
He nods, like he figured as much but was hoping for a better answer for my sake. Without a word, he leans forward, pressing his forehead against mine, eyes closed, like he’s focusing on the feel of his skin against mine.
“I got you,” he whispers, his breath fanning across my cheek in a warm embrace. “Want to talk about it?”
I shake my head against him, closing my eyes too. “Not yet.”
I’m honestly not sure how to talk about it without full-out telling him that I love him and that loving him hurts because I can’t have him the way I want.
Yeah. No.
“Okay,” he pulls back, the warmth of his forehead vanishing faster than I’d like. “Then let’s get back to beating some ass. You’re on a roll today.”
“I see what you did there.” I smirk, slapping my knee. “Such a knee slapper.”
He shrugs, grabbing his abandoned controller off the floor. “I do what I can.”
We fall back into the game as if I hadn’t just admitted to him that my depression is trying to swallow me whole.
It’s not that he’s not concerned. I know that much.
It’s that he knows I’m not ready to cry it out, to talk about it and open it up again.
He’s giving me what I need without asking… space and time.
The night dwindles to the wee hours of the morning until I finally start to yawn. Noticing how tired I am, Cass pauses the game, the corner of his lip lifting enough to make me think he’s smiling.
“Ready to call it a night?”
“Never!” I shout, only to have his hand immediately cover my mouth as he shushes me. I lick his palm because I’m a gremlin like that.
“You’re going to wake up my mom,” he scolds, wiping his palm on my shirt. “And you can have this back.”
“Ew!”
“It’s your saliva,” he bites back, his tone playful and light, just the way I like it.
“And? Doesn’t mean I want it outside of my mouth.”
He lets out a low chuckle at that, plopping himself on the edge of the bed. He nudges my shoulder with his knee, patting the bed beside him.
“Get up here.”
I toss Calcifer at his face, saying “catch” only after it’s hit him. He holds the plushie up, studying it for a second, eyebrows knit together.
“I meant it, you know?” he whispers, eyes glued to Calcifer’s smile before they flick to me.
“What?” I tilt my head, climbing onto the bed beside him.
“You carry my heart.”
Pause. I can’t handle hearing that again.
He passes Calcifer back to me, resting him on my chest.
“I think you have for a while now,” he adds, because apparently my catatonic state isn’t enough of a clue for him to realize I’m having an existential crisis.
He pokes Calcifer like the plush might actually be his heart before dropping his hand in the space between us—open, palm up, like he’s offering something I’m not sure I’m brave enough to take.
My throat works, but no sound comes out. Meanwhile, my brain is doing backflips like a drunk gymnast.
“You can… say something now.” His voice is this small, nervous thing I’ve never heard come out of him before. “Or hit me with a pillow. Either one.”
“I’m…” I swallow. “I don’t know what to say.”
He lets out this breath that sounds like he’s bracing himself for disappointment. “That’s fine. I just didn’t want you wondering whether I meant it.”
“You shouldn’t toss your heart at people,” I mumble, staring too hard at Calcifer. “What if they drop it?”
He huffs out something that’s not quite a laugh. “Pretty sure you’re the only person I trust not to.”
Ugh. My lungs forget how to function for a second.
This is too much. Too sweet.
“Cass,” I whisper, because I can’t not say his name. “What… brought all this on? The heart thing.”
He shrugs one shoulder, eyeing me in a way that makes my bones feel too warm. “Almost losing you.”
“I wasn’t going anywhere,” I correct quickly, needing him to know that.
He shakes his head. “You didn’t talk to me for three days.”
I look down, a bit ashamed, because it’s not like I didn’t want to. “I didn’t know how to talk to you.”
“Why?”
Because I love you and it hurts like hell.
Because I wanted you to kiss me that night I tried on outfits.
Because the way you said “put on a jacket” made something in my chest malfunction.
Because I can’t be the girl who wants you and also the girl you fight for at a party and also the girl you tell your mom you’re “just friends” with.
“I don’t know,” I lie, knowing telling the truth would explode both of us.
He doesn’t push. He just stares at me with that quiet patience he keeps locked behind all his anger.
“You scared me,” he says softly.
I blink in surprise, keeping my eyes fixed on my plushie. “Me?”
He nods, laying on his back, staring up at the ceiling. “Yeah. You’re… you. You’re loud and sarcastic, and the brightest thing in every room. But Monday you just—” His jaw flexes, having trouble getting the words to match his feelings. “You disappeared. Even when you were right in front of me.”
I look down hard at Calcifer, picking lint off his felt flame. “Sometimes that happens.”
“I know.” He nudges my knee with his. “I just hate it.”
“I know,” I whisper, because hearing him say it out loud burns in a place that’s both tender and bruised.
We lay there in this quiet that feels heavier than any fight we’ve had.
“So,” he says eventually, voice attempting normalcy, “should we keep playing or…?”
I shake my head. “I’m tired.”
“You’ve been tired all week, haven’t you?”
I don’t answer, not having the energy to get into that right now. Instead, I push Calcifer into his hands again. He blinks down at the plush like it personally startled him.
“You gave me your heart,” I whisper softly. “So now you have to take care of mine too.”
Something raw flickers across his face. Something hungry and terrified and hopeful all mixed together. He holds Calcifer against his chest with this weird reverence, like he’s actually holding something fragile.
“Zae…”
“I know,” I interrupt him before he can try again. “I know you meant it. I just… don’t know where to put that right now.”
“That’s okay,” he murmurs. “I’m not asking you to do anything. I just want you to know.”
I nod, throat tight.
“But,” he adds, lips twitching, “also, you’re not getting out of answering my question.”
“What question?” I deadpan.
He tilts his head. “Are you okay?”
I roll my eyes but it’s half-hearted. “I said no.”
“And I asked why.”
“You didn’t ask why I wasn’t okay.”
He smirks. “I meant to.”
I poke his shoulder lightly. “I don’t want to talk about Stacey.”
“I wasn’t gonna bring her up.”
“Oh.” I blink. “Then I’m confused.”
He sighs, rubbing his hand over his face. “I meant—why’d you say you’re not okay? Not the surface reason. The real reason.”
I look at him. He looks back. And God help me, I can’t tell him the real reason. But I can give him part of it, the start of it.
“It wasn’t just Stacey,” I whisper. “It was… everything. The fight. The way you looked at me after. The silence.” I swallow. “The party.”
His brows pull together. “Zae—”
“No,” I cut him off, shaking my head. “Not just what happened on the dance floor. I mean… before that. I was trying to pretend everything was fine because I needed something—anything—to distract me. And instead it all blew up.”
His shoulders soften a little. “I’m sorry.”
“I know.” I pick at my sleeve. “But also you don’t get to punch a guy and then get mad that I’m mad you punched him.”
He groans. “I know. I know. Trust me, I’ve replayed it a hundred times. I fucked up. I got angry, and then I got angrier, and I stopped thinking. I saw him touching you and I—” He tenses. “I made a stupid choice. I’m not proud of it.”
My heart glitches.
“I didn’t mean to ruin your night,” he adds, quieter. “Or make you feel like you can’t dance with anyone. Or like I get to decide who you’re with. I don’t. I know I don’t.”
My anger melts, slow and reluctant.
“You scared me,” I admit, voice small.
His face falls. “I know.”
“But not like ‘oh no, Cass is dangerous,’” I add quickly, needing him to know that more than anything. “More like… ‘fuck, he cares.’”
He lets out a shaky breath. “I do.”
Too much.
More than he should.
More than he’s allowed to.
“So what do we do now?” I ask.