Chapter 3
Cassandra
Our glasses share a small clink as I raise mine to Sophia’s, before taking a deep, cool sip of the cocktail. The sweet mixture goes down with a bite, the wash of hard liquor running right to my head.
After dropping our bags at Sophia’s sister’s apartment and circling the ten-block radius for two hours searching for a parking spot, we’re finally settled with pink, fruity drinks at our favorite bar.
Parallel parking truly drives people to alcoholism. I don’t think that’s talked about enough.
“Rebound!”
I look up to my friend’s lit face, snapping out of my thoughts. “Excuse me?”
“That’s what I want tonight. A nice little rebound boy. A hot, steamy night, and then we never meet again. ‘Block and walk,’ if you will.”
I can’t help it. I break into giggles, choking on my last sip.
“What the hell are you rebounding from? Wasn’t Sam just a friend with privileges?”
She tilts her head, hitting me with a fake pout. “You can have rebounds from situationships! Since when do you stand on semantics?”
“Fine,” I concede. “We’ll find you a rebound and liberate you from the emotional strain of your two-week-long situationship.”
“Don’t worry, C, I’ll find someone for you, too! Though it would be a lot easier if I knew your type. You always find reasons to hate all the men who come up to you.”
“I don’t hate them! It’s just…there’s a certain type that tends to be cocky enough to sneak up on a girl when she’s having a fun night out and whisper something idiotic in her ear.”
She lifts a brow. “Maybe you’re just a prude, cause I love a good whisper.”
“There is absolutely nothing a man can randomly whisper in my ear that will end on a good note.”
“Bet,” she says, shoving herself off her stool with a giggle and rounding the table to my side. Then she leans in close, and a wet path tracks across my skin.
I shriek and push away. “Did you just lick my fucking earlobe?”
She cracks, folding in half and emitting a deep, belly laugh that is instantly contagious. We laugh so hard that mascara-tinted tears start tracking down my face, and the other patrons turn, shooting us irritated glances.
We might have been kicked out for misbehavior if Sophia’s phone hadn’t started ringing, causing her to settle down and respond to her sister’s call. She shoots her finger up in my direction, signaling that she’ll be right back.
I take another sip of my sweet drink, a wide smile still lingering on my lips.
I hope it will still be like this between us next year, after we graduate and move on to the next phases of our lives.
I know everyone says that they eventually outgrow the friends that belong to specific parts of their life: childhood, high school, college.
Honestly, I’ve never really had the luxury to get this close to my friends before.
With the way that I grew up, it was never an option for me to let anyone else fully into my heart.
I could never let anyone come over to my house without revealing the state of fear my mom and I existed in.
Sophia came into my life like a blonde bulldozer, shovelling out enough rubble to make herself a warm, cozy spot in my heart.
There’s no way a silly thing like growing up can hold a flame to that kind of claim.
The thought has me grinning against my glass.
But then a whine drags through the air. The alarm of a siren far away.
My smile falters. The sound pulls me into a carefully boxed-up memory in the catacombs of my head, and suddenly I can almost smell the metallic sting of blood mixing on pavement.
I can hear that gut-wrenching squelch from when I pulled my hands from his wound and left him on that street.
My fingers rub together, dry and cold. Not wet and warm. Not red and dripping.
“Hey, so we should probably…you okay, Cass?”
I look up.
Long, blonde hair. Concerned, but loving eyes. It pulls me back to the present.
“Yes! Sorry. Is it time to head over to the club?”
My best friend eyes me with suspicion, but thankfully doesn’t push me on it.
I haven’t told her about that night. I haven’t told anyone.
For one, I don’t want to make her a target for something dangerous, something even I don’t understand.
But the longer I hid it, the less real the whole night felt.
I watched for news reports, paper articles, anything to report the crime. I found nothing.
No proof. No arrests.
According to all accessible documentation, 5th Avenue was dead-silent on November 23rd.
Who was I to interject and say otherwise?