Chapter Thirteen.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

↠ Cassie

"As a whole, people suck. But a person can be extraordinary."

― Jim Butcher, Changes

I felt a little more complete after losing my virginity.

I finally felt like the world revolved around me, if only for small intervals of time. Like when I woke up the following morning, with small patches of dry blood in my underwear and a conventionally good-looking boy sound asleep next to me. If only life could be a compilation of these small moments that make you feel like you've finally figured everything out then I'm sure the drug market would plummet in a heartbeat.

I traced Etienne's neutral features over and over as he slept next to me. The sunlight had already started pouring in but I figured it could be a welcomed intruder if anything because it allowed me to admire his beauty more clearly. His lips were defined and rosy as if perpetually swollen. His eyelashes were long and dark in a way that made women envious. His skin was without fault. His nose was straight and perfect. It was as if a marble statue that had been carved by the most skilled of artists had come to life.

"Don't stare at me. It's weird."

And then he opened his eyes and there was that blue. Not a regular blue. Not the type of blue that has been abused and overused by beauty standards and lovesick poets. No, this blue was not vibrant and it did not reflect light. It was not bright and electric. This was the blue of the ocean when there was a storm coming. It came with the sound of the waves and the rumbling of thunder. It was momentarily peaceful but you could always feel the storm creeping on the horizon. It was beauty and chaos. Peace and turmoil.

I was resting on my stomach, looking at him with a playful gleam I couldn't chase away from my face. "Tell me, is this the first time you spend the night at a girl's place after having sex with her?"

He stretched and my eyes followed the movement of his biceps so closely that for a moment I did internally acknowledge my own weirdness.

A lazy smile took to adorning his lips as he released small little grunts while sitting up. "I think it is, actually."

"Interesting," I said, dragging the word out as I kicked my feet back and forth in bed. He was shirtless but I did not let that distract me too much from the fact I wanted to remain vaguely nonchalant about this entire ordeal because I thought that's what neurotypical people probably did. I was only half-joking when I asked, "So that means I've been your favourite lay so far?" Because I was teasing him but I also really wanted to know the answer.

He caught on to the fact it was only banter and, unfortunately for me, responded to it as such. He played it off as if he was thinking it through with over-dramatised frowns and grimaces. "I mean, it was not bad for a first time."

I rolled over, employing a fair share of theatrics myself as I lay limply on my back and stared up at the ceiling. "You did not answer the question. Now I'm feeling strangely suicidal."

I felt a shift in the mattress and then saw him appear on top of me. It took only a quarter of a second for his lips to be pressed against mine in a hard yet sloppy kiss I wanted to spend the rest of my life waking up to. He smiled into the kiss then, and whispered, "I think I need another round to really make up my mind."

Another reason why I loved losing my virginity was because it felt like I was guarding a secret that was mine to keep. Like I had a bit of information that nobody knew but me. When I attended the support group meeting that afternoon I felt like a different woman, not because of the sex itself, but because something monumental had happened in my life and nobody knew. It was like doing drugs, in a way. When you successfully lie, when you manage to get away with all of the secrecy, it makes you feel like you're in control. In control of the narrative, of your situation, your life. It's a small victory in a battle we know we're bound to lose.

I was joined by Mathew that evening after the meeting had ended and I was waiting for Etienne to come pick me up. Mathew something or another. "I knew your dad," he told me after my first time attending a meeting. He'd joined me out on a bench just like he did that night, lit up a cigarette, and felt the need to engage in conversation with the least appropriate person. He had an Irish accent and a patchy beard and was well into his forties. Those were the most distinctive things about him. I never paid attention to anything else. Never even bothered looking him in the eye. "We used to go out to Ismelda's Inn and have some pints after work."

"This kid you're always talking about, Ethan."

"Etienne."

"Hm. Is he really just a friend?"

I wanted to tell him that he had no business meddling in my personal life, but I kept it to myself hoping my silence would be a good enough indicator that I had no interest in engaging him in conversation. It had been wishful thinking from me, though, for Mathew had always been dreadful at picking up cues. He lit up a cigarette and offered me one as a sort of silent message meant to inform me that he planned on staying.

"You talk about him often. Have talked about him since day one. How he's helped you do this, how he's helped you do that." He took a long drag from his cigarette. He too avoided eye contact. "You know, Cassandra, people can be addictive for all the wrong reasons."

I had to bite my tongue at this. My initial reaction was to become defensive over the one thing I treasured most in the world, but I knew that by doing so I would be proving him right.

"I was once in a situation very similar to yours."

"I don't want to hear your story."

"It is very similar to yours."

"You don't know mine."

"You're not as difficult to read as you think you are. And besides, aren't we all a variation of the same mistakes? That's why we're here, isn't it? Anyway, I'll spare you the details because I have a feeling you're not really interested on that, but I too had someone that made me want to get up in the mornings and push through. Drugs felt insignificant compared to her affection. I felt like if my only reason for existing was to please her then that would be a life well-lived. But your happiness is not the responsibility of others. Sounds a bit harsh, I know, but it's the truth. It's selfish of us to expect others to pick up after our messes and save us from ourselves. And it's dangerous as well. You cannot rely on another human being to be your stability and your strength. They have their own set of flaws and issues, even if we refuse to acknowledge them."

I inhaled the smoke of the cigarette. Felt the tightening of my throat and an itch in my nose. Exhaled quickly and put down the cigarette. Etienne's mother's car turned the corner. "I think you're just bitter because your relationship didn't work out."

I didn't. I believed him, I was just choosing not to listen. He knew this, and so he laughed and watched me jump inside Etienne's car without so much of a warning. Whatever happened next would be the result of my own stupidity.

We were back in our apartment building only a couple of minutes later. Anticipation over what would happen next had been growing in my chest and between my thighs, only for him to tell me to wait outside as he hurried in, reappearing three minutes later manoeuvring his bike out the doors. Our plan, I learnt, was to exist unapologetically outside of these four walls, if only for the night.

"I have not ridden a bike in years. Are you mad?" I asked dumbfounded as I took the bag he was handing me and watched as he climbed the shiny red bike I had not seen him use in a minute.

"That's exactly why we're doing this. Just sit behind me."

"It's cold."

"Don't be so whiny, Cass. You've done heroin. I think you'll survive a little wind."

A raspy laugh I had tried to fight back ended up escaping despite my efforts while I finally did as I was told. "One thing is not like the other."

My arms wrapped around his torso and felt the shaking of his frame as he laughed along. "Right. Because it's the wind that's gonna kill you."

It was cold and the winds were particularly unforgiving but I couldn't recall the last time Millfield Road had ever appeared so sprightly as it presented itself to me. Suddenly, there were little details to be found in every corner of a place that had for long been a dreary painting I had simply started to walk past at some point in my life. When I was a kid, I used to think we were all a collection of interesting stories, but the older I grew the more I understood those stories were inarguably sad ones. And sadness tends to strip things of their colour.

I pressed my forehead into Etienne's back and closed my eyes. "I cannot believe I lost my virginity to such a git."

"Cannot believe you got so lucky. Now do me a favour and don't fall. There's wine and doughnuts in that bag and we don't want either of those to hit the ground."

"Oh, we're drinking?"

"Just this once."

"Is this a date?"

"It's whatever you want it to be, ma chérie."

He took me to a green park not far from our home, but when you've deprived yourself of the world the way I used to, those five blocks are a long distance. "Do you remember this place?" he asked. How could I not? My dad used to bring us here when we were little, only back then the place was a load of nothing. Runners and senile people feeding birds were the most common sight at the time.

Now the gardens were better kept and more lampposts had been added to keep the place evenly illuminated even in the darkest of nights. There were a few groups of people scattered around. A family ready to head home, a group of friends sitting by the fountain having a very engaged conversation, and various couples making the most of the romantic ambience the park had to offer.

We rested over the freshly cut grass, looking up at the thin clouds that were clinging to their spot in the sky. His hand lingered over mine, his fingers softly caressing my own.

"How's your mum doing?"

"Better. She needed some fresh air. I think she'll be good for a couple of weeks."

"Did you hear Mary got in a fight with Molly last night? Ivy told me."

"Right. I did tell Mary I was seeing someone else. I think she assumed it was Molly."

"Can you believe those two are fighting over such an idiot?"

He sat up a little, resting on his forearm for balance. And then he kissed me. It was a sweet and tender kiss. It wasn't meant to be a statement. It was a way of showing that this was our new normal. This was our new ordinary. Every kiss didn't have to mean something anymore. They could just be exchanged carelessly, recklessly, without a second thought.

"Right? Who in their right mind would want me?" he asked with humour, his face lingering right above mine.

"That's what I'm saying. I'm not in my right mind so that makes sense, but those two?"

He chuckled and resumed his position next to me, staring up at the sky with newfound admiration. "You've got your head in the right place, ma chérie. It's just a little bit foggy."

"Did you just call me dumb?"

"Yes."

We drank the wine straight from the bottle like animals. No one was paying attention to us. Everyone was caught up in their own little world. A prepubescent boy was confessing his feelings to a girl his age some ways away from us. The group of friends laughed loudly at something one of them had said. An elder lady was walking her dog, a corgi by the name of Louis that she spoke to as if he was a human being. I thought of how interesting we all were, even if we could not appreciate it. Every life story is a good one, even if we succumb to monotony, we're still so unique. In a way, not one story has been told twice.

"Why did you never tell me you liked me before?" I asked him suddenly.

"I thought you had more important things to worry about," he replied, the gentle disposition of his gaze shifted from the sky to me. "Why didn't you?"

I chuckled to myself. "I had more important things to worry about. And also I didn't think you'd ever like me. Don't make that face. I've spent the last four years of my life looking like the absolute train wreck that I am. And you've always liked the pretty girls."

"You are a pretty girl."

"Not like the rest. Not conventionally pretty. I still don't know how you could possibly fancy me."

He laughed and the sound was filled with sincere amusement. "Oh, you're so dramatic. You are pretty. You're more than pretty."

I was not being dramatic.

Just the month before my overdose we had been in my living room watching some repetitive romantic comedy film, he was on a couch and I was on the floor. "I think if I ask Bethany to the dance she'll say yes," he'd said, taking the beer bottle from my hand and downing some of its content before returning it to me. His eyes were set on the television and therefore missed how the light in my eyes had momentarily flickered.

"Bethany? That's a very ambitious move."

"And I'm a very ambitious man, ma chérie."

I took a sip from my beer to conceal the bitterness in the smirk that adorned my lips. "If I were you, I'd think of a backup plan."

"Oh, I have my options," he said, smiling down at me.

I was not one of them. "I know you do."

Etienne was not a renowned sportsman nor an outstandingly smart individual or a spineless delinquent, and yet it all gravitated back to him as if he was the main character in everyone else's story. He'd kissed Lindsay the week before this. Kissed Liza the week before that. And Monique the one before that. And it was perhaps naive of me to think they did nothing but kiss and in that blissful naivety I liked to remain. I had no right to limit his interactions with other women, and even less to monitor them.

Sometimes I'd wish I'd never been on the receiving end of his affection and that he had never given me such an endearing nickname. Sometimes I wished he had more conditions, more limitations. If he treated me no differently than he did a male friend, then maybe I wouldn't have tasted blood in my mouth when I quietly watched him approach Bethany at school the following day. Their words were drowned out by all of the noise that violated my ears. All I could do was observe and use their facial expressions to fill the void that words had left.

Bethany. The blond. The blue-eyed. The friendly cheerleader. The girl that naturally instilled one with jealousy and made you feel guilty for it because you knew that she was not to blame for the fact that she was quite simply luckier than you in every imaginable aspect. I did not hear a yes, but I saw their smiles, the shy way in which Bethany leaned into him, and the air of victory with which he carried himself during the rest of the day.

"What did I tell you, ma chérie? I'm irresistible," he told me once we were back home. He was only half-joking. I found a painful truth doing a poor job of concealing itself in his banter.

I brought my mind back to the park. He propped himself up to his elbow so that he could have a better look at me in all of my insecure glory. His voice was soft, barely above a whisper. His eyes were being invaded by a tenderness that he rarely gave ground to. But he did it this time, for me, to soothe my turbulent feelings. "Do you want me to list the reasons why I'm in love with you? Because I will. I will in a heartbeat. I can name a like twenty things just off the top of my head."

"Oh, don't be silly."

"I love how expressive your face is and how much you move your eyebrows when you speak. I love this little dimple in your cheek―I've wanted to kiss it over and over for the longest time. I love the face you make when you zone out and the way you look first thing in the morning. What else? Ah, your sense of humour, of course. So dry and sarcastic. You truly have a way with words. It's not a good way but it's a way."

"Fuck off."

"And you're more than just pretty. More than just beautiful. I don't think you understand, ma chérie. It drives me insane. It actually hurts to look at you sometimes because my heart loses its fucking mind. You're my favourite sight. You've always been my favourite sight and probably will be for the rest of my days."

"Etienne," I whined and pushed him away, feeling completely flustered by those words that were being engraved on the walls of my brain as he spoke them. He giggled at my reaction after he had purposely sought to make me blush. "But I'm not really a Bethany, am I?" I asked in a whisper I wasn't sure I wanted him to hear.

He smiled. "No, because I haven't heard from Bethany since the day of the dance. And you're here."

That infinite feeling at the centre of my chest felt entirely too foreign to me. I wanted to hide from it. I wanted to run. I was not used to beautiful things. But I knew that I was going to stay for as long as Etienne allowed me to, even if Mathew was right, even if Etienne was perhaps not the most reliable person to entrust with my wellbeing due to his own proclivity to break at times.

I had fallen plenty of times but I never ended up landing anywhere. Every time I tripped it was in my luck to be positioned only a step away from a never-ending pit. I was permanently suspended in a plane of existence that meddled with time and space and sometimes with my sanity. I habitually fell into an abyss that was dark and wrong and suffocating. And for once, I had stumbled upon something good. So let me fall. Let me fall. At least the view was pretty. And if this pit had an end and I met my demise at the bottom of it, then at least I would get to enjoy the way down.

Etienne stood up and dusted himself off. I loved admiring the mechanics of his body. I thought it possible that he'd never made a wrong move in his life. That his lean yet muscular physique knew just how to react to every scenario it came across. His body moved the way water flows, and I wanted to drown in him. Drown most brutally.

He reached out a hand for me to take and helped me up with ease. The butterflies in my stomach were staging a mutiny. My body had never been this reactive before in my life.

He climbed his bike again only this time he scooted backwards, leaving space for me in the front. I could've drawn the smile that curved his lips a thousand times over and never gotten tired of it. "Come on. You're riding now."

I stood by rather foolishly, hugging my body as I stared at that red bike as if it were the most challenging obstacle I'd encountered in my life. I could tell I looked silly by the giggles he was holding back. "I already told you I don't know how to ride a bike anymore."

"And that's exactly why we're doing this, so you can learn again."

"At nighttime?"

"There's plenty of light."

"It's cold."

"We'll live."

"But the wine made me dizzy."

"Don't do me like this, ma chérie. Come on. I really want you to ride." That little mischievous gleam in his eyes was vivid and unbounded.

Drugs and whatever mental malady I suffered from had stripped me of my personhood at a very young age. Everything was an unmovable mountain to me. No matter how mundane an activity could be, to me, it felt like an obstacle I thought myself incapable of overcoming. Reason and logic are thrown out the window when your sense of self has been muddled by senseless anxiety that is always discouraging you from taking that first step.

I didn't know how to go to the supermarket without needing to give myself a pep talk, or how to not rehearse my responses to hypothetical questions every time I prepared for a phone call in advance.

But that day I chose to take that first step, and I learnt that, as long as Etienne was there to help me keep my balance, I would be completely and incandescently okay. And what a bad lesson to learn that was.