chapter sixty two

good mourning.season six, episodes one and two.

tw: severe depressive episodes, alcohol as a coping mechanism,very brief mention of not eating,grief, & strong religious beliefs.

before you continue, please try to remember that your health & safety are more important than reading a fanfiction. if any of the mentioned warnings may be triggering to you, please skip to the next chapter orproceed with caution. [3

. Truthfully, she didn't believe in god at all; at least, not the god she grew up with. God was supposed to be gracious, loving, and merciful. God was supposed to be . When she was a child, Cassie's mom told her that god gave his children not what they , but what they .

That's how Cassie knew for a fact that god wasn't real. Because in what twisted, fucked up universe did Cassie her best friend to die?

Holding a nearly empty bottle of tequila in one hand and a pair of scissors in the other, Cassie stared blankly into the mirror above the sink, her gaze fitting over the black dress she wore. She actually went out to the store to buy it, because she threw out her funeral dresses after Denny died.

Cassie snorted at the memory, and the fact that she was so naive as to think she didn't need them anymore.

Bringing the scissors up to her hair, she made a harsh cut, chopping off a few inches at the middle of her chest. She tilted her head, the gaunt paleness of her face making her feel sick.

Not liking the length, she chopped another inch off, humming in satisfaction as she did the same on the other side. Haphazardly dusting her hair off of the counter and onto the floor, she left the mess for someone else to clean up.

With one last look in the mirror, Cassie exited the dimly lit bathroom, hopping back up on her favorite stool as she flagged the bartender down.

"Joe," she slurred, dramatically waving a hand in the air. "Another alcohol, please. Oh, and here's your scissors back."

Joe made his way over to her, frowning as he snatched the sharp object out of her drunken grasp. "Where did you even get these?"

She shrugged, taking one last sip as she  finished off the bottle in her hand. " them behind the counter, them from behind the counter," she gestured to her hair, "."

Observing her current state, Joe reluctantly handed her another shot of tequila — which he slyly cut with water when she wasn't looking — as he turned around to serve another customer.

The bell above the door to the bar rung out, signaling that someone new had entered. Cassie glanced over her shoulder, only to see her boyfriend making a beeline towards her with an unreadable expression.

"Joe! Hey, Joe!" Cassie shouted, once again gaining the bartender's attention as she pointed at Mark. "Double scotch, single malt for this one, please!"

"No," Mark cut in, sending Joe a stern look as he approached her side. "I'm not drinking."

Cassie rolled her eyes at him. "You ."

Leaning against the counter on one elbow, Mark stood right next to her, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. "You missed the funeral, Cass," he said lowly, tilting his chin downwards in an attempt to make eye contact. "Everyone was waiting for you to show up, but you never did."

"Funerals are for the living," Cassie smiled wryly, looking up at him with half lidded eyes. "I, however, am drinking to honor the dead." She raised her glass to the ceiling, making a faux gesture of acknowledgment as she obnoxiously raised her voice. "To George O'Malley and Lily Blair, two people smart enough to become surgeons, yet idiotic enough to get hit by a fucking bus. Cheers!"

Mark's eyes fitted across her face, trying and failing to understand what she was feeling. If only he knew, Cassie didn't really understand either.

"Okay," he said slowly, his hand moving around her shoulders to gently grab her arm. "I think it's time to—"

"Don't me," Cassie snapped out of the blue, her humorous facade dropping for the slightest moment. Taking a deep breath, she put a calm expression back onto her face. "I live across the street. I'll walk."

Mark shook his head, unsure. "Baby, it's getting late. I don't think you should—"

"I didn't ask what you ," she rose a single brow, tossing back her shot without breaking eye contact. "Either shut up and drink, or leave me alone."

Taken aback, Mark slowly nodded to himself as an uneasy feeling settled over him. "Okay then."

He moved down to another seat a few feet away, watching anxiously as Cassie carelessly flagged down Joe for another drink.

☆

☆