11 Cassius #2
“She was in the tub with water up to her chest. The faucet was still running, and there was blood everywhere. On the tiles. In the water. On the walls a little, where it splashed. It looked like… like a horror movie.”
My fingers curl at the back of her neck, bracing both of us for what she’s about to relive.
“She had these cuts on her arms,” Zae whispers.
“Deep ones. Like she didn’t want there to be a chance it wouldn’t work this time.
The water made it look worse, but—I don’t know.
There was so much red. I couldn’t tell how bad it was.
Her eyes were closed. Her head was leaning back against the tiles.
For a second, I thought she was already gone. ”
Her voice thins on that last word and something inside me just… tears.
“I slipped,” she goes on, almost like she doesn’t hear the break in my breathing.
“When I tried to get to her. My shoes slid on the tiles and I went down on my knees in all of it. The water. The blood. It got on my hands. My jeans. Everywhere. The whole time I was thinking, ‘Don’t fall. Don’t fall. Don’t waste time,’ and then I did.”
She stares at her palms now like they’re covered in it again.
“Everything was so slippery. I kept trying to grab her and my hands just… slid. I couldn’t get a good hold.
She felt heavy. Dead weight. I finally got my arms under her and pulled, and she kind of…
flopped out of the tub onto the floor. She hit her head on the tile because I wasn’t strong enough to control it.
There was this awful sound, and I thought—I thought I killed her.
Like, whatever chance she had, I ruined it. ”
My throat burns as I drag her closer, until her forehead is pressed to my chest again.
“I checked if she was breathing,” she says into my shirt.
“Like they taught us in health class. It was faint, but it was there. So I… just did whatever I could remember from those stupid first aid videos. I tried to stop the bleeding. I grabbed every towel I could see and wrapped them around her arms and tied them as tight as I could. They got soaked so fast.”
She takes a shaky breath.
“My phone kept slipping when I tried to call 911,” she says.
“My fingers were wet. The screen wouldn’t read them right.
I was sobbing, yelling at it like that was going to change anything.
Finally, I got through. The lady on the phone kept telling me to stay calm, keep pressure on the wounds, keep her talking if she woke up. ” She laughs weakly.
I swallow hard, imagining fifteen-year-old her kneeling on that bathroom floor, hands shaking, phone half-covered in blood, and her being scared, alone.
“And then it was just… sirens, and strangers in our hallway. They pulled me away from her and took over, and I just sat there on the floor, my clothes soaked, my hands stained, thinking, ‘I’m going to lose her. I’m going to lose her and it’s my fault because I didn’t get here sooner.’”
Her voice cracks, holding back tears so she can finish her story. I close my eyes for a second, biting down on the inside of my cheek so hard it hurts.
“She didn’t wake up until the next day,” she continues. “I stayed at the hospital overnight. They stuck me in this chair in the corner of the room and gave me a blanket, but I couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes I saw… you know. The tub, the water, the blood. The way her head hit the tile.”
Her fingers curl tighter in my shirt.
“When she finally woke up, I was right there, holding her hand. I thought she’d be… grateful? Or at least relieved. I thought she’d say something like, ‘Thank you,’ or ‘I’m sorry I put you through that.’ You know what she said?”
I already know I’m not going to like this.
“What?” I ask anyway.
“She looked at me,” Zae says, voice small, “and she said, ‘Why didn’t you just let me go?’”
My stomach flips.
“She told me I ruined it. That she finally worked up the nerve and I had to come home and mess it up. That if I really loved her, I would’ve just… left her there. That she’d be free by now. Happy somewhere else.” Her voice shakes harder. “She called me selfish. For not letting her die.”
I feel something hot prick at the back of my eyes as I let those nasty words settle. My hand slides up, fingers threading gently into the hair at the nape of her neck.
“She said if I hadn’t been born, she wouldn’t be this miserable.” Zae’s voice is barely audible now. “That she could’ve had a better life. She said I was the reason she wanted to die in the first place.”
Fuck.
Nope. Fuck that.
I take a slow breath and force myself not to explode, because this is not about my anger right now. This is her moment. Her hurt. I can rage about her mom later, when she’s asleep again and can’t hear it.
“She said all that while you were sitting there, after you literally saved her life?” I ask quietly.
“Yeah.” Zae lets out a shaky laugh that sounds nothing like her. “Fun, right? That’s why I… disappeared that week. I couldn’t handle seeing anyone. Couldn’t handle you looking at me like I was still Zae when I felt so permanently changed.”
My grip on her tightens a fraction before I force it to loosen so I don’t crush her.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask, needing to know, breaking inside because I wasn’t there for her.
She always complained about her mom to me, about how narcissistic she could be.
But now that I think about it, she did stop talking to me about her shortly after that week.
“I would’ve—I don’t know. I would’ve come over.
Sat outside. Bought you stupid snacks. Anything. ”
“Exactly,” she mutters. “That’s why I didn’t. You already had your own shit, Cass. Your own mess. I didn’t want to pile on. Didn’t want to be the reason you snapped and punched a locker or something. So I texted you that I would be out for a week and not to worry.”
I remember it. Every night, staring at my phone, wondering if I was supposed to push or back off. I chose backing off because she asked me to. Because she never asks. I thought I was giving her what she needed. Turns out what she needed was… this. Me here, right now, listening.
“I’m sorry.” My voice comes out rougher than I want it to. “I should’ve done more. I should’ve shown up anyway. I shouldn’t have just—” I break off, shaking my head. “I’m sorry I left you alone with that.”
She lifts her head to look at me through messy lashes.
“You didn’t know.” Somehow she sounds like she’s trying to comfort me. “I didn’t tell you. That’s on me. You did what I asked.”
“Yeah, well.” I swallow. “What you asked sucked.”
A real laugh escapes her this time, small, but real. Her fingers relax in my shirt, flattening against my chest like she needs the touch to breathe, to remember she’s here and not back in that bathroom.
“For the record…” I force myself to meet her eyes dead-on so she sees I mean it. “She was wrong.”
Zae’s brow furrows. “About what?”
“About all of it.” The words come easier now that they’ve started. “About you being the reason she wanted to die. About you ruining her life. About you being selfish. That’s all bullshit. She was sick. She was hurting. And yeah, that sucks. But none of that makes what she said true.”
Her throat works as she swallows.
“You didn’t ruin anything,” I go on. “You saved her. You walked home in the heat, found her, dragged her out of that tub, called for help, did what you could with what they taught us in some dumb health video, and you saved her life. At fifteen. Most adults would’ve frozen. You didn’t.”
“I slipped in her blood. I almost dropped her. I wasn’t strong enough—”
“You were strong enough to try,” I cut in, more sharply than I should.
“You were strong enough to keep going while your brain was screaming. You were strong enough to stay at that hospital all night. You were strong enough to keep living in a house with someone who blamed you for saving them. You hear me?”
Her eyes shine again.
“And if she couldn’t see that?” I add, softer now. “That’s on her. Not you.”
She blinks fast, trying to keep the tears contained and failing.
“You were just a kid. None of her choices were your responsibility. Not a single one. The only reason she even got another chance to yell at you was because you didn’t walk past that door and pretend you didn’t see the water. If anything, she owes you everything.”
A tear slips down her cheek, catching on the corner of her mouth.
I wipe it away with my thumb. “That doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt. I know it did. I know it still does. But I need you to know that what she said about you? I don’t believe any of it. Not even a little bit. And I will spend the rest of my fucking life proving it to you if I have to.”
Her breath catches.
“Cass,” she whispers. My name sounds like it’s been dragged over gravel and still somehow manages to be the prettiest thing I’ve heard all night.
I tilt her chin up gently with my fingers.
“I’m sorry you were alone when that happened. I’m sorry I didn’t get to you sooner. Sorry I wasn’t there to stand between you and that bathroom or between you and her when she said all that shit. But you’re not alone now. You hear me?”