Zara #2
I swipe gloss on and shrug. “Felt ugly. Trying to cheat.”
She makes a grumpy noise of understanding and buries her face back in her pillow. “Mood. Bring me coffee later.”
“Consider your caffeine tithe paid,” I say, grabbing my bag.
Cass is waiting for me in the quad this time, sitting on the back of a bench with his feet on the seat, board propped next to him. His hood is down, wind messing with his hair, and he looks up at the sound of my steps.
His eyes do that quick sweep again. Hair, eyes, mouth. Then he pauses.
“You’re wearing makeup,” he says, sliding off the bench and stepping closer. There’s no accusation in it, just surprise. He lifts a hand like he’s going to touch my cheek, then seems to think better of it.
“Yeah,” I confirm breezily, flashing him a quick grin as I kiss his jaw. “Figured my face could use some help today. Midterms are kicking my ass. I’m trying to trick my professors into thinking I slept.”
He searches my expression, so I keep the smile firmly in place.
“Looks good,” he says eventually, his tone softening. “You look good.” He taps under my eye lightly. “Little raccoon.”
“Rude,” I mutter, but I lean into his touch anyway because I don't know how not to. “You ready for breakfast? I need a bagel the size of my face.”
We go through the motions, breakfast, class, walking between buildings with our shoulders bumping. We joke about professors and make plans for later.
Any time he looks at me too long, I say something stupid to distract him. By the time afternoon hits, I’m exhausted in that bone-deep way that has nothing to do with sleep.
We’re standing outside his building and he checks the time on his phone. “I’ve got that lab in like ten. You heading back to your room?”
“Yeah.” I stretch my arms over my head and plaster on a grin. “I think I’m going to nap, then maybe actually write the essay I’ve been staring at for three days.”
“You want me to come over after?” he asks, thumb skimming the side of my wrist like he can’t not be touching me.
A part of me screams yes. Another part is tired enough to scream no just as loud.
“Maybe later?” I hedge. “You’ll be all science-brained and stuff. You should use it for good, not evil distractions like me.”
He snorts, leans down and kisses me. It’s soft but lingering, his hand cupping the back of my neck like he’s anchoring both of us there.
“Text me if you need anything,” he says against my lips. “And I mean anything. I’ll ditch early.”
“Yeah, you’ve said that before. You’re going to fail out of college because of me,” I mumble, trying to sound teasing instead of terrified.
“Worth it.” His eyes crinkle at the corners and somehow that hits me worse. Then he releases me, and backs up in the direction of his building. “Love you, Sunshine.”
I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Love you, too.”
I watch him go inside, then turn and head back to my dorm, my smile peeling off my face the second I’m out of sight. By the time I get to my room, the makeup feels like a mask I can’t wait to rip off.
I shut the door behind me, drop my bag in the middle of the floor, and head for the little mirror over my dresser. My hands shake as I grab a makeup wipe and start scrubbing at my face, hard enough that it stings.
“Stupid,” I mutter, swiping away mascara. “You are so stupid.”
For thinking this would magically go away. For thinking loving him and being loved back would flip some internal switch permanently to happy.
Tears blur my reflection as I drag the wipe over my cheeks. I toss it toward the trash, miss, and just let it lie there on the floor.
My shoulders start to shake.
Great. Round three.
I press the heels of my hands to my eyes, trying to will it back down, but it’s useless. The sobs come anyway, quiet but intense, tightening my stomach with each one.
The door opens, and I freeze. Footsteps stop just inside the room. I turn ever so slowly to see Cass is standing there, backpack over one shoulder, out of breath like he sprinted the whole way here. His eyes land on my face—and widen.
I forget how to breathe.
“I thought you had class,” I manage, voice small and wrecked.
He closes the door with his foot, drops his bag in the same spot mine is in, and crosses the room in a few quick strides.
“I bailed,” he says, like it’s obvious, his voice low and rougher than usual.
“I thought something was off, but I knew you would never tell me. I was already halfway to losing my mind wondering if you were actually okay, and I couldn’t take it anymore.
So I turned around and came here.” He stops right in front of me, taking in my red eyes, the smear of leftover concealer, the discarded wipe on the floor.
“Zae,” he says softly, and there’s so much hurt and worry packed into my name that my chin wobbles.
“I’m fine,” I start automatically.
He doesn’t let me finish.
“No.” He’s not unkind but firm as he steps in, hands going to my waist. “You’re really fucking not.”
Before I can protest, he bends, hooks an arm behind my knees, and lifts me.
“Cass—” I squeak, grabbing onto his shoulders, heart lurching. “What are you—put me down.”
“Not a chance,” he mutters, carrying me the three steps to my bed.
He sits first, back against the wall, then settles me in his lap facing out, his legs bracketing mine, his arms wrapping around my waist in a cage that feels completely safe.
It’s involuntary, the way my body melts back against his chest like muscle memory. His chin rests lightly on top of my head. For a moment, we just sit there, breathing. Then he breaks the silence.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice is quiet but steady as it vibrates through my spine.
I stare at my hands in my lap. They’re twisted together so tight my knuckles are white.
“I didn’t want to ruin things,” I whisper. “Everything’s been so… good. Perfect, even.” My voice shakes on the word. “I finally have you, Cass. I’m finally… happy. I thought if I told you I was depressed again, you’d think it meant I wasn’t. Or that you weren’t enough.”
His arms tighten around me.
“Hey,” he says, and there’s a warning in it now at the idea. “No. Don’t do that.”
Tears blur my vision again as I squeeze my eyes shut.
“It’s stupid,” I croak. “I know it’s stupid.
I know that’s not how it works. But every time I feel like this, I hear her, that voice in my head telling me I ruin everything.
And now I have you and I kept thinking, ‘Don’t ruin it. Don’t ruin it by being… you.’”
“You don’t ruin anything,” he immediately assures me. I can feel the clench in his arms, the way he’s trying to hold his temper in check. “You hear me? Nothing.”
“I’ve been crying every night,” I admit, the words tumbling out now that the pipe has burst. “And every morning I slap makeup on and pretend I slept and I tell myself to hold it together long enough to see you, and then I use all my energy pretending I’m okay so you won’t worry, and then when you leave I just—” My throat closes up.
“I crash. I can’t do my assignments. I can’t even answer texts from anyone else.
I just lie there and cry and I don’t even know why.
It doesn’t make sense. There’s nothing wrong. ”
“There is something wrong,” he counters softly, tightening his arms around my waist like he can squeeze the self-hate out of me. “Your brain is chewing on you. That’s wrong enough.”
I laugh weakly, wiping my cheeks with the backs of my hands. “See? Stuff like that. You say stuff like that and I feel worse for not being able to just… snap out of it. I keep thinking, ‘Why can you do so much for me and I can’t even manage to be happy when things are good?’”
He sucks in a breath behind me, slow and controlled.
“Zae.” He pauses, then adds, “Look at me.”
It takes everything I have to turn my head and meet his eyes over my shoulder. They’re darker than usual, little lines bracketing them. There’s anger there, but it’s not aimed at me. It’s aimed at whatever is hurting me—and maybe a little at himself.
“You not being happy every second of every day doesn’t mean you don’t love me,” he says, enunciating each word like he wants to nail it into my skull. “It means your brain chemistry is a bitch. That’s it.”
A startled laugh slips out through the tears. “Scientific term?”
“Very,” he says, mouth twitching. He sobers again, eyes searching mine.
“The only thing—and I mean the only thing—that makes me even remotely question whether you love me is this.” He gestures, one arm loosening to tap my chest gently.
“You pretending with me. Acting like you’re fine when you’re falling apart.
That’s the part that fucks with me. Because it feels like you don’t trust me with the real stuff. ”
My throat tightens. “It’s not that I don’t trust you. It’s that I… didn’t want you to think you were failing.”
“You know what makes me feel like I’m failing?
” he queries, eyes suddenly bright. “Finding out from your roommate that you’ve come back early three days in a row looking like you’re about to shatter.
Sitting in some stupid lab while my brain screams at me that something’s wrong and I’m not there.
Walking into my dorm and realizing I haven’t actually seen you today, not the real you, just this… performing version.”
Guilt burns hot in my chest. “Riley snitched on me?” I ask weakly.
“Yeah.” His mouth twitches again. “I asked her if she noticed anything off about you and she replied with, ‘Your girl’s doing the fake smile thing. Fix it or I’m staging an intervention.’”
Despite everything, I snort. “That traitor.”
“She’s smart,” he counters with a small shake of his head. “I’m glad she did. Otherwise I’d still be unsure if you were fine because you told me you were.” His brows draw together. “I hate feeling like I’m not allowed to worry about you. Or like I’m only your person when you’re on the upswing.”
“That’s not fair,” I whisper.