Cassius #2
“You also need to not make her your full-time project,” she adds, pointing her finger at me to drive her point home. “You’ve got your own stuff. You burning out doesn’t help her. It just gives her more stuff to blame herself for.”
I stare at her, because I know she’s right.
She shrugs one shoulder, then yawns into her fist. “Self-care or whatever. Put on your own oxygen mask before assisting others. That whole cheesy line.”
“I hate that that’s reasonable.”
“Yeah, it’s rude as hell,” she agrees, mouth twitching again. “But you asked.”
Silence sits between us for a second, broken only by the faint hum of the mini-fridge and the slow whisper of Zae’s breathing.
“She really does love you, you know?” Riley murmurs, voice soft enough that it almost melts into the dark. “It’s been painfully obvious from the second week of living with her.”
My heart gives a stupid little lurch, but I don’t think I will ever not believe this is a dream.
“Yeah,” I mutter quietly, staring down at Zae as if she’s my beating heart out of my body. “I know.”
“Good.” Riley nods once. “Take care of her. Take care of you. And if you start to drown, say something before you pull both of you under. Deal?”
“Deal,” I answer, because there’s really no other answer.
She gives me a small salute, then crawls under her covers with all the grace of a drunk cat, burrowing under the blankets.
I look down at the girl in my arms, at the way her fingers still cling to my shirt even in sleep.
I, however, stay awake a lot longer. Every time my eyes drift shut, my brain throws up flashes of Zae on that bathroom floor or curled on this bed whispering, I didn’t want you to think I didn’t love you. I press my mouth to her hair, just barely.
You couldn’t make me believe that if you tried.
At some point, my body betrays me and I doze off in fits—ten minutes here, fifteen there—jerking awake at every twitch she makes. It’s not good sleep. More like my brain dipping its toe into rest and then yanking it back.
When gray light starts leaking around the edges of the blackout curtain, I give up. Zae is still out, somehow. She’s sprawled half on top of me now, one leg tangled with mine, cheek smashed against my chest. The frown she wore most of the night has smoothed out, leaving her looking softer.
I ease my arm out from under her and slide a pillow into my place so she doesn’t roll straight into the mattress. She makes a small noise, fingers closing around the fabric instead of me, and my chest aches.
“Back in a bit,” I murmur, brushing a knuckle over her temple.
She doesn’t stir.
Riley rolls over in her bed, hair a nest around her face. “Where you going?” she mumbles, voice gravelly.
“Bathroom,” I whisper back. “Then group.”
She pries one eye open. “You going to bail on her?”
The question punches me harder than it should. “No. I’ll be back before lunch.”
She squints at me for another beat, then nods, apparently satisfied. “Take a nap sometime today,” she mutters, flopping onto her other side. “You look scarier when you’re tired.”
“Gee, thanks.”
By the time I’ve scrubbed my face with cold water in the communal bathroom and changed into fresh clothes in my own dorm—ripped black jeans, band tee, hoodie—my body feels wrung-out. My mind’s still racing.
On my way out, I stop at the vending machine and stare at the rows of options.
Granola bars. Crackers. Little packs of cookies.
Food, water, meds, sleep.
I feed the machine a crumpled bill and buy three different things, shoving them into my backpack next to my notebook.
Group is in the basement of the counseling center in one of those rooms that tries very hard not to feel institutional. Somebody put effort into it. Soft chairs in a circle, a fake plant in the corner, a box of tissues that’s not the cheap kind.
Ghost is already there when I walk in. He’s sitting in the chair closest to the wall, hood up, one leg stretched out in front of him while he taps his thumb against his phone screen. He looks up long enough to nod at me, then drops his gaze again. That’s about as warm as Ghost gets in public.
I sit in the chair beside him, and for a second, neither one of us says anything. That’s one of the things I like about him. He doesn’t fill silence just because it exists.
“You look like shit,” he mutters.
I huff a breath through my nose. “Thanks.”
“Wasn’t a compliment.”
“Figured.”
His mouth barely moves, but I know him well enough by now to catch the almost-smile.
I met Ghost in this group last year. He introduced me to Maverick and Riot later, and somehow I kept them.
I don’t know how that happened exactly. One day they were just there, skating with me, talking shit, acting like my business was their business whether I wanted it to be or not.
Ghost is different with the anger than I am.
He’s not exactly better. I don’t think he’d like it if I called it that.
He’s just further along, maybe. He’s been in therapy and group longer, at least. He knows his warning signs in a way I’m still trying to figure out.
Most people probably wouldn’t notice anything wrong with him now.
He doesn’t snap. Doesn’t raise his voice or look like he’s fighting something every time his jaw tightens.
I notice the way he goes quiet when something hits too close. The way his hands go still, or how he leaves a conversation before it turns into something he’ll regret. He makes it look easy.
I know it isn’t.
Dr. Malik looks up from the notes he’s jotting down and gives me a small smile.
“Cass,” he says, standing to offer the same hand he’s been offering for a year now. “Good to see you.”
“You too,” I say, and the automatic response feels strangely true today.
He gives my face a once-over, takes in the shadows under my eyes, the too-tense line of my shoulders. “Rough night?”
For a second, I think about shrugging it off. The words I’m fine sit there on my tongue out of habit. Then I think about Zae with makeup streaked down her cheeks because she’d been crying alone in her dorm instead of telling me.
“Yeah,” I admit. “Actually.”
Ghost glances over, but he doesn’t say anything.
Dr. Malik nods slowly, like I just passed some test only he knew we were taking. “We’ve got about ten minutes before we start. If you want to talk one-on-one after, I can stay. Or we can schedule a separate slot.”
“After’s good,” I murmur, throat thick.
Ghost bumps his shoulder against mine once. Barely there, but still, I feel it.
Group starts a few minutes later, and it goes the way it usually does. Then Ghost talks. He doesn’t say much. He never does.
“My boss changed my schedule without asking,” he says, staring at the floor between his shoes. “Got pissed.”
Dr. Malik leans back in his chair. “What did you do with it?”
Ghost rubs one hand over the back of his neck. “Went outside.”
“That’s good.”
“Didn’t feel good.” His voice stays flat, but his fingers tighten around his knee. “Felt stupid. Like I’m twenty-one years old and still have to put myself in timeout so I don’t ruin my own life.”
That lands harder than I expect, because I know that feeling.
The shame of needing space. The humiliation of having to walk away before the worst part of you gets a chance to speak.
The way control doesn’t always feel like strength.
Sometimes it feels like standing outside in the cold, pissed off and embarrassed, trying to convince yourself not to go back in and make everything worse.
Dr. Malik waits a second before he asks, “Did you go back in?”
Ghost nods once. “After ten minutes.”
“And?”
“Didn’t quit. Didn’t yell. Didn’t break anything.”
“That matters.”
Ghost shrugs like he doesn’t want it to. But it does. I know it does because I’m still staring at him when he looks over. His brows lift slightly, like what? so I look away.
When it’s my turn, I share a small, neat piece about almost losing it on a dude at the skate park last week when he cut me off four times in a row.
It’s not a lie. It’s just not the part that’s been sitting on my chest since last night.
I don’t talk about Zae yet. That’s for later.
When group breaks and everyone filters out in that mix of awkward and relieved, I hang back.
Ghost stops beside me before he leaves. “You staying?”
“Yeah.”
He nods, eyes flicking once toward Dr. Malik. “Good.”
That’s all he says. Then he taps two fingers against my shoulder and walks out. For Ghost, that’s practically a speech.
Dr. Malik waits until the room is empty, then closes the door so it’s just the two of us. Just me and him and the fake plant in the corner who I swear judges us all.
He drops into one of the chairs and gestures to the one across from him. “Tell me what’s going on.”
I sit with my elbows on my knees and my hands clasped so tight my knuckles pale.
“I, uh…” I start, then laugh once, humorless. “I don’t even know where to start, man.”
“Start messy,” he says calmly. “We’ll organize later.”
So I do.
I tell him about the party, the punch, the fallout, and breaking up with Stacey. Then I tell him about sleeping with Zae and all the good parts, the ones that make my chest feel too big and my face heat just thinking about them. And then, I finally tell him about last night.
I talk about walking into her dorm and seeing her wiping makeup off with tears streaming down her face. About the way she folded into me like she didn’t know how else to hold herself together. My voice goes rough on the details, but I get them out.
“I thought… once we were together, it would be better,” I admit out loud for the first time, staring at my hands.
“Not magically cured or whatever. I’m not that stupid.
Just easier, maybe? Happier more often. And it has been.
We’ve had this insane month of feeling good.
Then yesterday hit and—” I shake my head, swallowing.
“She was so fucking sad, man. And she kept apologizing for it, like she was failing me somehow. I hated that part the most.”
“What did you feel?” Dr. Malik asks quietly.