13 Cassius
It’s Done
I don’t think I’ve ever short-circuited this hard in my life.
Zae’s sitting there on my bed, hair a mess, cheeks flushed, looking at me like she wishes she could drag the words back into her mouth as soon as they’re out.
“This is bad. Because if you’re single, not telling you I love you is going to be a lot harder.”
For a second, I honestly think I misheard her. Sleep deprivation, wishful thinking, the way my brain’s been wishing for more for so long.
Then it hits.
Nope. She said it. She said I love you.
Maybe not outright. But it’s there.
Every muscle in my body goes tight.
“Say it again.”
My voice doesn’t sound like mine. It comes out low, rough, too sharp at the edges, like it scraped over gravel on its way up. She blinks like I just slapped her with a wet fish.
“Cass—”
“Zara.” I don’t even try to soften it. I lean in, caging her without meaning to. “Say it again.”
Her throat works as she swallows. She stares at my mouth, then my eyes, then somewhere over my shoulder like she’s trying to find an escape hatch and can’t.
“I…” Her fingers bunch in the blanket between us. “I love you.”
Something in my chest snaps.
I don’t think. I just move.
One second, I’m beside her. The next, my mouth is on hers, and every ounce of restraint I’ve been white-knuckling for the last four years goes up in flames.
It’s not a careful kiss. It’s hungry and desperate and stupidly honest. I’ve imagined this so many times that my brain doesn’t need instructions.
My hand slides along her jaw, my fingers curl behind her neck, my other hand finds her hip and grips, pulling her closer like I can fuse us together if I just try hard enough.
She gasps against my mouth, surprise shooting through her body—and then she’s kissing me back.
Hard.
Her hands are in my hair, nails scraping my scalp as she tugs me closer. Her lips part under mine, letting me in. Our noses bump, our teeth knock, we both make these undignified little sounds that would haunt me if I wasn’t busy losing my mind.
This is what every almost-kiss has been leading to. Every look. Every we’re just friends lie I’ve told myself to sleep at night. It’s all here, hot and real and messy.
She shifts under me, and suddenly I’m half on top of her, braced on my forearm as her leg slides between mine. Heat punches low in my stomach. I deepen the kiss without meaning to, thumb brushing her cheekbone, my heart doing double-time like it’s auditioning for a metal band.
She’s the one who stops us.
She plants both hands on my chest and gives a small push, enough that my mouth loses hers. I chase her for half a second before my brain registers that she’s trying to pull back.
My lungs burn as I pull away an inch, then two, breathing like I just sprinted a mile. Her lips are swollen, and there’s this faint, dazed look in her eyes that does not help my self-control.
“Not yet,” she whispers, voice wrecked. “Cass… not when you’re still with her.”
Right.
Right, right, right.
Stacey. Reality.
“Fuck,” I mutter, dragging a hand over my face as I sit back a little, putting actual space between us. Guilt slams into the euphoria like a truck. “You’re right. Shit. Zae, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“Stop.” She grabs my wrist before I can finish. “Don’t you dare apologize for that. I wanted it.”
Her cheeks go even pinker on that last part, but she keeps going anyway.
“I wanted it,” she repeats. “Have wanted it. But I can’t…” She looks down at my chest, then back up. “I can’t do this while you still technically belong to someone else. I won’t be the girl you cheat with. I won’t be the reason you feel guilty.”
I stare at her. Because that’s the thing—she could’ve just let it happen.
Could’ve let me keep going. Could’ve taken the kiss and shoved the rest into denial land.
Instead, she’s sitting here, drawing a line in the sand when it’s clearly killing her.
Something inside me decides, once and for all, that she’s it.
I catch her face in my hands, careful this time. My thumbs trace the curve of her jaw, the little dip near her chin. Her eyes flick up to mine, wide and bracing like she’s expecting me to argue.
“I love you,” I say.
Her breath stutters. “Cass—”
“No, I need to say this.” The words come easier than I expect.
Maybe because they’ve been building for so long they’ve carved their own path.
“I love you, Zara. This isn’t a joke. It’s not ‘you’re my best friend, love you dude.
’ I’m in love with you. With your loud mouth and your stupid octopus facts and the way you always lick my palm when I try to shush you. ”
She lets out a shaky laugh that sounds dangerously like a sob.
“I don’t know when it started,” I go on, because now that I’ve opened the dam there’s no closing it.
“Sometime between freshman year and that night you made me watch Howl’s Moving Castle fifteen times in a row.
But I know that it’s real. I know that the idea of you with some random frat guy makes me want to put my fist through drywall. ”
“Um, his face actually,” she cuts in, because she can’t help herself.
I huff a small laugh but continue like she didn't say anything. “I know that I’d rather sit on a couch eating crappy pizza with you every Friday for the rest of my life than be with anyone who doesn’t get me the way you do.”
Her fingers curl around my wrists, holding on.
“I should’ve ended things with Stacey sooner,” I admit.
“That’s on me. I kept trying to make it work because I thought that was what I was supposed to do.
That it would make me a good boyfriend. That if I could just fix whatever’s wrong with me, I’d feel the way I’m supposed to feel about her.
” I huff a humorless breath. “Turns out the thing that’s ‘wrong’ with me is that I love you instead. ”
Her eyes shine.
“So here’s what’s happening,” I continue, steady now.
“Today, I’m breaking up with her. For real this time.
No putting it off, no ‘we’ll talk later.
’ I’m ending it because it isn’t fair to her and it sure as hell isn’t fair to you.
And when I’m done, I’m coming back to you.
” My thumbs brush her cheeks. “You better be ready for me, Sunshine. Because once I’m yours, I’m not going anywhere. ”
She lets out a breath that sounds like it’s been trapped in her chest for years.
“Okay,” she whispers.
“Okay?”
Her mouth kicks up at one corner. “Okay,” she repeats, a little stronger. “I’ll try not to combust while I wait.”
I want to kiss her again so badly my teeth hurt, but I force myself not to. She deserves better.
Mom’s voice floats up the stairs then, yelling our names and declaring that the waffles are getting cold and she didn’t wrestle with a waffle maker for nothing.
Zae scrubs her hands over her face. “Saved by the carbs.”
I bump her shoulder with mine. “You love my mom’s waffles.”
“I do,” she says solemnly. “If you screw this up and your mom divorces me, I’m taking you to court.”
“Pretty sure that’s not how any of that works,” I mutter, but I help her off the bed anyway.
We straighten up, attempt to look normal, and absolutely fail if the way Mom’s eyes narrow when we walk into the kitchen is any indication.
Mom has outdone herself. There’s a mountain of waffles, a sea of bacon, and enough fruit to pretend any of this is healthy.
Zae lights up like it’s Christmas, sliding into her usual spot at the table because she’s as bottomless as a black hole.
I drop into mine across from her, lighter than I’ve felt in years.
Mom eyes us over her coffee mug. “You kids sleep okay?”
“Fine,” I respond.
“Yep,” Zae chirps at the same time, way too bright.
Mom’s brows lift. “Uh-huh.” She glances between us like she’s watching a tennis match. “Anything you want to tell me?”
“Nope,” I answer a little too fast.
“Absolutely not,” Zae replies, also too fast.
We glance at each other. Look away. Mom smirks into her mug.
“That’s what I thought,” she says lightly, piling more bacon on Zae’s plate. “Eat. You both look like you’ve been hit by feelings.”
Zae chokes on air.
“Mom,” I groan.
“What? I may not know the details, but I know that face.” She points her fork at me. “That’s your ‘I did something reckless’ face.”
My phone buzzes on the table before I can come up with a comeback, stealing all the air from my lungs when I see the name.
Stacey:
Can we talk today? Please.
There it is.
My past, buzzing on the table while my future sits across from me with syrup on her chin. I wipe my hands on a napkin and pick up the phone. Zae’s eyes flick to the screen, then back to her plate. Her shoulders go a fraction tighter, but she doesn’t say anything.
“You okay?” I ask her quietly.
“I’m fine.” She stabs a waffle with unconvincing violence. “You should text her back.”
I do.
Cass:
Yeah. We need to talk. I’ll come by campus later.
Stacey:
I’ll be at the house. LMK when you’re here.
My stomach twists, but not in the same way it used to. There’s dread, sure, because breakups suck. There’s guilt, because I did care about her, just not the way she needed. But under all that, there’s this weird sort of relief.
I set the phone down, noticing the way Zae is watching me, chewing slowly. “You still okay?”
Her mouth tips to one side as she swallows. “Ask me again later.”
We finish breakfast with Mom trying to pretend she isn’t dying to pry and failing miserably. Zae helps clear the table, bumping my hip with hers at the sink like we’re normal and everything isn’t shifting under our feet.
When we finally head toward the door, Mom catches my arm.
“Be kind,” she says quietly, flicking her gaze from me to Zae and back. “To both of them. Including yourself.”
I nod, throat tight. Zae pretends she doesn’t hear it, but the way her fingers find the back of my hoodie as we step outside says she did.