“No. I don’t expect you to believe me. I don’t expect you to even forgive me.”
“Then what the hell do you expect me to do with this information, Mikhail?” I yell into his face.
His brows fold down with an expression that would look a lot like shame if I didn’t know any better.
“I just needed you to know. To understand how sorry I am that I hurt you. I think you matter to me more than anyone else in my life.”
“We barely know each other, Mikhail! And every single time I’ve tried to get to know you better, you’ve shut me down. I don’t even know what you actually do for work—this ‘organization’ that you thought I infiltrated.” I let out an exasperated sigh. “You have some serious issues you’ve got to take care of. You need professional help. How the hell can you claim I’m the person you care about the most if you don’t even trust me?”
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’ll try harder.”
“There’s no need. I have plans that are bigger than being dragged around by you anytime you get into another one of those moods. I want some fucking security and safety for once in my life, and you will neverbe that for me.” I look up at his sad gaze, unimpeded by his ghostly beauty and pitiful stance. “Goodbye, Mikhail. Please leave me be.”
I shut the door and slide down to the floor, overwhelmed by the crushing weight that crashes down on me. I stare down, listening until the sound of footsteps walking away vibrates through the ground. Unwillingly, that staggering, all-consuming kiss we shared on the twinkling balcony whips through my memory, teasing the breathless joy it left behind. Then the scene dissipates, and I remember the stale room. The closing door. The sound of the lock clicking against my screams.
“Cassandra, please don’t have visitors over this early. I was trying to sleep,” Veronica suddenly yells out from her room, voice muffled by the closed door.
I sigh, rising to my feet with a new type of heaviness strapped to my chest.
Cassandra
“Alright, let’s review the methods of depreciation we’ve been talking about. Remember, straight line and decline methods affect the financial statements differently. Who can explain how accelerated depreciation affects the bottom line in the short term?”
My hand shoots up when Professor Davis finishes his question, waiting for his searching gaze to find mine. Participation is thirty percent of our final grade in this class. The only problem? Davis seems to always call on the women last, acting as though he simply doesn’t see our raised hands most of the time.
I’ve thrown myself into my studies for the past week, grateful that the quantity of nightmares has been slowly fizzling down after those first few days. The extra sleep has been valuable in re-evaluating my priorities, and the finish line of my degree is finally in sight.
By the time the class ends, I’ve secured my full participation points for the day, and a soft smile lifts my face from the little triumph. I slip mycomputer into my side bag and head towards the door, nearly running into the figure blocking the exit.
“Sophia!” I exclaim, throwing my arms around her in a sudden hug. Seeing her is like being offered a tall glass of water before even realizing you were thirsty. With the emotionally taxing week I’ve just had, my best friend’s arms tightening around mine is the sweetest relief.
“Gosh, C, did you miss me or something?” She laughs, pulling me down the hall and out of the building.
I needed my best friend so much in the past few days, but every time I thought about calling her, I stopped myself, remembering the long trail of lies I’d hidden from her. It tormented me, knowing that telling her a single piece would unravel the whole story.
I halt our meandering path and grab her hand, looking down at her soft gaze.
“Soph, I’ve gotta tell you something. It’s important.” My stomach rumbles with anxiety as I watch her eyes widen.
“Sounds important,” she says, pulling me down to a nearby bench and sliding in next to me, still grasping my hand in comfort. “What’s wrong, Cass?”
I tell her everything, starting with the drink at the bar, the night with Mikhail, and ending with the confusing, painful night that followed our first date. To her credit, my best friend stays stoic through it all, though her eyes visibly pinch with torment at the mention of the date-rape drug after her departure that night. Her hand stays wrapped around mine until the very end, squeezing with encouragement when emotion seeps into my voice. After I’m done, she exhales a weary sigh, staring at the chipped concrete below us.
“I hate that you felt you had to hide it from me, Cass. I deserve to know about my own failures.” She says sadly.
“It was not your fault, Soph. I didn’t tell you because I was afraid you would take on the responsibility of it. And that—in no way, shape, or form—belongs to you. Women should be able to stand alone at a bar without getting their drinks drugged. And you should be able to leavemy side for more than half an hour without some piece of shit doing that to me.”
“I know, Cass, I know. I agree. I’m just…” Another simpering sigh. “I’m pissed that I couldn’t protect you from that. And I’m horrified that someone tried to hurt you.”
I curl my arms around her neck once again, reveling in the warm embrace of my closest friend.
“I love you, Soph.”
“I love you more,” she says against my neck.
“Not possible.” I give her one last squeeze before pulling back.
“As for the man…” she says, sniffing and wiping her eyes. “That whole thing sounds very complicated. But he sounds like an absolute asshole.”
