4. Cassie #2
I bet I will.
“You know how the Walters family has that lake house—”
“Yes, I’m familiar with the house, Mom,” I say a bit shortly.
She lives with me; she knows what happened to me at that fucking house. Of course I know it.
“Well, the boys are staying there for the summer.”
“Yeah, that’s not new,” I mutter, going to the fridge so I can get something to drink.
With their family money, good looks, and athletic prowess, the Walters boys were already at the top of the high school food chain, but when they turned sixteen and started spending summers at their family’s second home—allowing for so much freedom and so many parties—they became gods.
“Do you have to be so—?” she explodes, annoyed with me. “I’m trying to tell you something.”
“I don’t want to talk about that family.”
At least that’s the truth.
“One of them died last night,” she blurts, wide-eyed.
“Good,” I shoot back without thought, my eyes widening as well. What the hell does she want from me?
“You—” Flabbergasted, she shakes her head at me. “That’s an awful thing to say.”
“I don’t care anymore! They don’t care if I’m hurt, so why should I care if they are? They’re awful people who have made the past year of my life pure hell. They hurt me, and somehow, I’m treated like the bad one? Fuck them. I don’t care what happens to any of them.”
“Well, Timothy’s dead,” she says, expecting to shock me.
“Good riddance,” I mutter, turning to walk back down the hall.
“You need help, Cassie,” she tells me—not in a loving, concerned way. She’s just mad that I’ve ruined her enjoyment of the hot gossip she possessed.
Anyway, I don’t need help anymore. I got tired of looking to others who only ended up disappointing me and finally helped myself.
Obviously, I wasn’t thinking of it when I came in last night, but I forgot to even check and make sure Tor’s friend—whoever that was—removed the note from my house.
I should probably find out who that was because now they have my journal.
At least I think they do.
When I get back to my room, I lift the mattress to check, and sure enough, it’s gone.
I hear the front door slam. She didn’t seem like she was going anywhere, but since I pissed her off, my mom is probably leaving just to get away from me.
I wish I could do that, but I don’t have a car.
I stop dead.
Oh no.
I don’t have a car!
I turn around and rush back out to the living room. I make it to the front door just in time for my mom to swing it open. Her eyes are even wider than before. “Where is your car?”
Oh shit.
I don’t have a story ready, and I’m not capable of establishing entire alternate realities at the drop of a hat the way Tor is.
My mouth opens, but no words come out.
My heart starts hammering in my chest.
But then my attention is diverted, and so is Mom’s, when a midnight-blue Lexus pulls into our driveway. Her eyes are at a real risk of popping right out of her head, and then the car door opens, and Torrance Walters steps out.
Her jaw actually unhinges.
That’s fair.
This is weird.
Since I haven’t told her anything yet, I know my mom is very lost right now.
“What are you doing here?” I ask uncertainly.
Tor and I never had a chance to talk last night once the police arrived on the scene. I wasn’t even sure if we were allowed to talk to each other, though I guess once we left the police department, they couldn’t really stop us.
“Came to see you,” he tells me, then his gaze flickers to my mom, a practiced, golden god of Holbrook smile falling into place on his ridiculously handsome face. “Sorry, I hope I’m not interrupting.”
“Oh no, honey,” my mom says, turning to face him. “I heard what happened to your brother. I’m so sorry for your loss.”
My spine stiffens, and my insides shrivel up and die a little more, but it’s not the first time I’ve felt like she’s not really on my side.
She has made sure to let me know every time she’s been socially taxed for the sin of standing by me.
One night, she even told me that it wasn't that she didn’t believe me about what happened, it’s my response that she takes issue with.
She said sometimes it’s easier to let certain things go.
Ironic coming from her, because I have never once witnessed her letting something go in the entirety of our lives, but it quickly became clear she wasn’t talking about all relationships—just the ones involving men.
“When I was around your age, my boyfriend nearly strangled me to death one night. I broke up with him after, but I didn’t make a big deal about it,” she told me.
That didn’t strike me as anything to be proud of and definitely nothing to advise your daughter to emulate.
What I felt absolutely betrayed by is the fact that nobody ever seems to be angry with them.
Not only did they raise a rapist, then stand by him and refuse to even apologize for what he did to me, but they also made every attempt to drag my name through the mud in his defense.
I had probably wanted to sleep with him, and I panicked afterward because I had a boyfriend.
“Regret isn’t rape,” his lawyer said with a straight fucking face.
I can’t believe I have to see that odious man again.
Actually, that’s probably why Tor is here.
Last night, I was so foggy that I just went along with everything he told me to do, but now that I’ve had some sleep, I’m not sure that’s what I want. Yes, his lawyer was effective at getting a guilty person off, but somehow I doubt he’ll put forth the same effort for me.
I even had my doubts about Tor sticking to the story he cooked up so quickly. I don’t even understand why he did it in the moment, but surely, given some time to think about it—and now that his family is involved—he’ll realize he can’t be seen defending me.
Then again, Torrance Walters has always done exactly what he wanted to do, no matter what anyone else thought about it.
I’m not sure that extends to his family, though. I don’t know their dynamic.
“Thanks,” Tor murmurs, but he’s glancing past my mom to me. “You want to go for a ride? We need to talk.”
“What’s this about?” Mom asks, glancing between us. At least she sounds guarded, perhaps realizing there’s a chance I would be looked at in the murder of Timothy Walters—especially by his family.
“It’s fine,” I say quickly, so he doesn’t have to answer.
Not that he would struggle with it, if last night was any indication.
I step forward, approaching him, then veer over to the passenger side of the car.
“Don’t worry, I won’t keep her for too long.” Tor nods at my mom respectfully, then opens the door and slides into the driver’s seat.