Chapter Fourteen.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

↠ Cassie

"You don't love someone because they're perfect, you love them in spite of the fact that they're not."

― Jodi Picoult, My Sister's Keeper

THE Seventh Street was a boxy little coffee shop on the corner of Brick Lane Street owned by Charles Olsen, James' father. From the outside, it looked perfectly ordinary—a white brick building with a brown door and brown window frames. The shop's name was written on the window glass with cursive gold letters. Potted plants and a sign with some of the menu's items neatly written in white chalk could be found on the pavement.

The inside immediately greeted customers with a warmth that plagued all of the senses. It was rustically adorned, with soft jazz music playing in the background and heavenly smells that caressed the nostrils with sweet and pleasant scents. It had loyal customers who adhered to the serene nature of the establishment and did not bring upon it any unnecessary commotion.

Then there was us. Huddled around a table in the corner, having vivid and loud discussions about topics that entertained nearly decapitated women.

A week earlier, Lucile Reed thought it a grand idea to introduce a community project to our curriculum. Apparently, the school found the students' lack of interest in the town and its culture to be quite concerning. They feared we were too lethargic, too lost, without ambition. "You hardly care about your future and the future of this country," had been Lucile's exact words.

At first, we'd gone for a paranormal approach on our project because we had become fixated on the topic after watching a concerning amount of horror films at James' house. But the town's ghost stories were full of just that—ghosts. Ghosts we could not bring to life. Empty stories that had been sensationalised so much that we felt it was impossible to dig up the truth. In light of this predicament, we switched topics to the subject Ivy had been initially interested in— the increase of violent crimes against women that had subsequently inflated the town's murder rate. It felt more community-focused than the boys' sport-themed suggestions.

Names piled over names in front of us. Gruesome cases that could not float in the air without making the atmosphere feel heavy. Some still unsolved, others with an unsatisfying resolution. Domestic violence, crimes of opportunity, drug-related deaths. The Rabiots, Alice Mullingar, Stephanie Miller (the wife of an alcoholic football fanatic who got particularly upset after a loss.) Lives that had been taken with such ease.

Charles would stop by our table every other minute to remind us to keep it quiet and to extend his services specifically to me. I was the new face in the crowd and he wanted to make sure that I felt welcomed. He was a tall and slim man with bony features, deeply loved by his clients who frequently engaged him in conversation. He greeted us fondly when we first came in, as if we were all figures he esteemed very much.

"Would you like anything else, Cassie?" he asked with this amiable smile fixed on his lips. There was something so incredibly rich and warm about him. Like he was someone you would immediately find yourself trusting. "Some more orange juice? Coffee? Pastries?"

"Actually, yes," James responded, pushing aside the piled notes in front of him and resting his forearms on the table. "Cassie would like the keys to the place so that we can stay here a bit longer after it's closed. Isn't that right, Cass?"

Charles sighed. I imagined he didn't win against James often. He seemed too sweet-natured to deny his beloved son anything he asked for. "I want this place nice and clean tomorrow morning. I don't want to walk in and find a mess like I did last time."

Etienne and James offered Charles an overly sweet smile, which went to show they had been the culprits behind whatever had happened on the one occasion Charles was referring to.

Once the shop had closed, we were extended the privilege of doing as we pleased. Charles made James promise that he would make sure everything was locked up properly once we left, and then he exited without any further requests. It wasn't long until the radio station was changed and the bottle of vodka that James kept hidden in the backroom was placed in the centre of our table. The notes with the information we had compiled on the cases had been left to the side and yet it still commanded the majority of our attention. I think even Ivy was backing down on her topic of choice after discovering just how horrifying some of the details were.

"I think we should change it," River muttered, following some of his scribbled lines with a pained look in his eyes. "I think it's too ambitious of a project for us. I don't think we can do any of these cases justice."

"They're too complex and too different," James added. "You've got gang-related ones, and then there's the homeless bloke that broke into that one girl's home, and then you have the prostitutes. We can't box them all into one project."

"So, Liverpool FC, eh?" Etienne said, leaning back on his chair with a smug grin curving the right corner of his lips, looking at the rest of us as if to receive confirmation that the subject was to be dropped.

"It'll be easier," River reasoned as he passed the bottle of liquor from James to Etienne without so much as looking at it. "Save ourselves the nightmares."

"And having to listen to Lucile Reed lecture us about it," I added, reaching for the bottle to make myself a drink before being assured by Etienne that he would fix it for me. "You know how she is. She will probably sympathise with the killers."

Ivy had been awfully silent, and although it was clear that her curiosity implored her to look more into it, her silence indicated defeat. "Oh, you know she had a crush on Ted Bundy. She's weird like that," she muttered.

"Are you watering my drink down?" I asked Etienne after I caught him doing just that.

"No?"

"That's just how he drinks his own," said Ivy, with a mirthful grin appearing to light up her face. "Doesn't want to end up passed out in the toilet again."

"Shove it, Edwards."

"Where?"

A weight was visibly lifted off our shoulders. We were young and could afford not to care about these things. At least not deeply. Obviously, we knew this was a serious issue, but at that age, I think it's normal to feel like the world is a wretched place and there is nothing you can really do about it. It's maddening. It leaves you with a feeling of hopelessness. But it's just the way things work. What could a measly group of five students do to solve a problem that had been deeply engraved in society for centuries before we were even born?

Etienne's foot brushed against mine underneath the table. It was a silly gesture but it made the moment feel uniquely ours. Everything about him was always so intensely inviting. From the furrow in between his eyebrows to the unexcelled shape of his mouth, it felt as if he was presenting me with a question I wanted to spend the rest of my life answering. James and Ivy bickered over a prank they intended to carry out on one of James' neighbours. River leaned back against his chair, taking it all in with that careful disposition that sometimes made me feel as if he was all-knowing for there was nothing he could possibly miss.

"And where do you suggest we get a skunk, Ivy?" James' head snapped in our direction. "Are you two playing footsies?"

Etienne maintained a neutral expression. "Absolutely not."

"They were," River added, hiding his smile behind the cup that he had brought up to his lips. "But it's not like they're gonna share that with us, is it?"

But just as we were starting to let go of the previous tension, there came an abrupt and persistent knocking on the entrance doors that caused us all to jump startled.

Conversations died down entirely. It must have been our already rattled nerves serenaded by the aggressive landing of raindrops outside that had us all frozen in place. Everyone knew the Seventh would be closed by then. Nobody had any business banging on those doors at such an hour. A couple of heavy seconds dragged by, and it was Etienne who, with a nervous chuckle, ventured forward to receive our guest.

We all leaned back slightly as if wanting to create an imperceptibly bigger distance between us and the door. I don't know what it was that we were expecting, or what was even going through my own mind. Something about that moment, about the sinister information that was still circling around our brains, buried a feeling of foreboding deep within us. Who knew? Maybe there was a killer on the loose. Maybe the idea had already been planted and needed only some water to fully blossom. Etienne was demonstrating an uncharacteristic amount of hesitance as he reached for the doorknob, but after growing tired of his own shenanigans, simply hurried to unlock and open the door without giving it much thought.

It was then that we were met with the sight of an inebriated Peter Perelman standing outside, drenched like a most pitiful dog.

I had trouble figuring out his level of intoxication. He could stand but his balance was poor and he could speak but his words curved at the end. "I'd been looking for you boys everywhere, figured you would be here," he said.

I pitied him for a moment. I really did. That moment came and went with a breeze. Once he spotted me amongst the sea of faces in the room his entire demeanour turned hostile. I don't know why it was exactly, but I think the sight of me outside of Ridgeway upset him deeply. At school, he could easily ignore me, but the acknowledgement that I existed outside of those walls infuriated him for some reason.

His gaze travelled the way from me to the boys and then back to me. There was this outraged incredulity widening his eyes as if he couldn't believe that not only had he been cast aside by his closest friends but also replaced by someone he'd openly disliked for years. He was looking at Etienne the hardest.

"Don't you remember all of the things you used to say about Sophie, mate? Come on. Wasn't she a slag? She'll fuck anything that moves, didn't you say that? When that whole thing with the police officer blew up, didn't you say that she'd probably asked for it? It's no wonder that Cassie's all fucked up with a mother like that. You lot said that. I would become a drug addict too if I knew my mum had shagged half the county, that was you, James. What happened, then?"

Etienne shook his head. I could see he had paled, and when his gaze met mine it did so with evident panic. "That was a long time ago, Peter. Cut it off."

James jumped to his feet, cleared his throat, and began to escort Peter out of the premises. A bit of a hushed argument ensued between Peter, James, and Etienne but none of their words reached me.

"What happened with the police officer?" I heard Ivy ask River in a whisper.

"A couple of years ago Sophie said that an officer had raped her in the back of a police car. She went all out with it. Wanted the officer to be charged with assault. It became a big deal. Made it to the news even. But lots of people didn't believe her, they said that--well--uh--"

"Don't say it."

The tears that had appeared in my eyes were only there because I'd been put in an uncomfortable situation. Their words had not hurt and I did not have enough loyalty to Sophie to feel offended on her behalf. If anything, they had voiced the very thoughts I had housed for quite a long time. Still, my sombre expression created considerable suspense once Peter had left and we were made to deal with the aftermath of his short stay. Etienne swallowed hard, surely thinking he'd already screwed up the beginning stages of our relationship. "I'm so sorry, ma chérie."

"Don't be."

"We used to be so stupid, Cass," said James, sounding genuinely remorseful. "And we used to say a lot of dumb shit. I promise we don't think that way anymore."

"Well, you should," I responded, taking a sip of my watered-down drink. "You weren't wrong."

...

"I'm not angry," I assured him with a weak little voice. My feet were planted on the seat as I hugged my legs close to my body and watched the road ahead. We were heading home and he was driving the car that was technically his mum's but she did not use for obvious reasons.

"But I am." Angry was an understatement. He was absolutely livid. His knuckles had turned white as he gripped the steering wheel with entirely too much force. All of his features were frowning, and although I did try to give his emotions the solemnity they called for, I couldn't help but admire how handsome he looked. The drastic furrowing of his eyebrows and the concentrated way in which he bit the inside of his cheek were simple gestures that painted a beautiful picture.

Still, I had never seen him like this. Anger was not an emotion that Etienne visited frequently. I did not fear him. I thought him incapable of hurting me. But a part of me advised me to choose my words wisely because he'd crossed the finish line of pent-up frustrations he had within himself.

"You know I don't mind when people talk about Sophie. And what you guys said was not objectively wrong."

"But I'm not supposed to be objective, Cassie!"

He raised his voice but if there was anyone he was reprimanding it was himself. He turned to me and I saw that his blue eyes had a resonance to them, an intensity of conglomerated emotions he couldn't begin to dissect himself. I always pitied Etienne in that regard. He didn't like himself very much because he didn't even know who he was. He had spent most of his life pretending to be two separate people, and I could tell that, whenever he looked in the mirror, he didn't know who he was looking at.

"This could've all been avoided had I not been such a fucking idiot. I could've introduced you to River and James on the very first day of school. The first fucking day. We could've all been friends from the very beginning. We would've been happier! All this time, I could've been happier!"

He was so animated with his display of frustration that I nearly forgot to listen to him. Not that I did not care, but I already knew these emotions had been eating away at him for years on end. I knew how to look at him better than he knew how to look at himself.

"But no. I wanted to be friends with those douchebags and ended up becoming one as well. I wasted years of my fucking life being miserable just to please people I don't even fucking like anymore," he exclaimed, and I was sure I had never seen him put this much emotion into any other monologue he had delivered in recent times. This was good. It reminded me of little Etienne, always so passionate about everything. "I know you don't understand this, Cass, but I'm never going to forgive myself for the way I've treated you."

I understood. I understood that he had his faults. That he wasn't perfect. That he could've been a better friend. But I also understood that he'd never had it easy and that all of this time he'd only been a kid trying to get by. And I loved him with those flaws, not despite them.

Back in those days, during the dawn of my sexual activity, I had taught myself a terrible lesson, and that is that my body could be offered as a form of prize. I thought this an appropriate moment to continue testing those grounds. I knew what I wanted to do to ease his tension and quiet his thoughts.

About a week or so earlier, I had been tasked by River to go search for James, who was at the time neglecting his participation in a group project. I was to hand him two books along with a note that had been written by River that read as follows:

You have to send me your part of the presentation today before 10 pm or I'm smashing the windows of your car

It had been easy to find James. I only had to ask the first people in our year I came across. He was a familiar face to absolutely everyone. Easy to keep track of. He'd been out in the empty courtyard, hiding behind one of the wide pillars, with his back turned towards me and a girl kneeling before him. Students used to be very reckless at Ridgeway, mainly because the teachers were an assortment of eccentric characters that no one ever saw as an authority. Except for Maggie, of course.

I announced my arrival as fast as I could. I had absolutely no intention to observe any more than what my view was already providing me with. Neither of them was startled nor ashamed by the fact they'd been caught. I recognised the girl as Sandra Li, a very pretty girl, known for having very strict parents who had immigrated from China and had opened the most successful law firm in the area.

James took his time fixing himself up, and as he did so he gave a cheeky little grin. As if he was a charmingly mischievous kid who'd gotten caught messing up the garden or stealing from the cookie jar. I am sharing this not only with the intent of illuminating James as he was, a carefree and badly behaved young man with a charisma that made up for all of his faults, but because it was this encounter that planted within me the idea of trying it myself.

Unfortunately, I had always abhorred pornography with its over-acted skits that only appealed to the male gaze. And the only person I felt comfortable speaking to on the matter was Ivy, who claimed to have no knowledge because she had never tried it herself either.

"Well, I'm going to have to learn at some point."

"I'm sorry I don't have a dick for you to practise on," she replied, sounding genuinely apologetic.

We entertained this conversation while in the comfort of my living room, which, due to the entrance of winter, had been decorated along with the rest of the apartment to welcome the spirit of Christmas. Ivy and the boys had taken it upon themselves to carry out this task in the hopes that a tree and some fairy lights would help lift the spirits of a place that had been left to rot in the confinements of loneliness. James was generous enough to buy all of the necessary ornaments, and everyone volunteered in the process of setting everything up. It had been a wonderful bonding moment. We only dropped the tree twice.

Now the two of us rested on the sofas with lights casting shadows of blue and green and red and orange, cosied up under blankets and our softest pyjamas, watching our favourite gang-themed series and drinking hot chocolate and sharing school notes and wondering what on earth is a good blow job.

"Go get a cucumber. If you don't peel its skin off then I think you're doing a good job," Ivy suggested at some point during our conversation.

And so when Etienne parked his mother's car in its designated spot in our building's parking lot, I already had my mind set on what I wanted to do. It may sound silly, maybe even vulgar, but it was little actions like this that humanised me. In my own eyes, at least. I wanted to be a person who was marked by her own experiences and not by the ones of those around her. I did not want to be my father's child, my mother's daughter, a stigmatised addict.

I wanted to be a teenage girl who was nervous about performing oral sex on the boy she suspects she's been in love with ever since she was twelve years old. I wanted to be me. Whoever she was—I wanted to meet her. And to achieve that, I had to have experiences that gave me a sense of humanity in its most basic state. Experiences that kindly reminded me of the fact I was very much alive, going through my ups and downs, and through the beautiful trials of a universe that did not particularly favour me but did not loathe me either. I had to live. I had to take a step forward. I had to move.

This particular experience was not groundbreaking because of its sexual nature. It was groundbreaking because there was nothing that could salvage me from the embarrassment and the awkwardness that I was subjecting myself to, and still, it did not feel like it was the end of the world.

I was so far out of my comfort zone, and yet I did not feel like I wanted to die.

Every inconvenience that had ever happened to me had been degrading. The part of my body in which my soul and my sanity met had been horribly mutilated. But with you, Etienne, I learnt that there are degrees to every catastrophe, and some are even worth enjoying. And although people tend to see sexual acts as demoralising, I understood a very valuable lesson when I slipped my hands inside of your pants, and, with a face already red with mortification, said, "I want to try something but it's my first time and it's probably going to be really bad"; and you responded with that overly understanding nature of yours that I never felt deserving of, saying, "It's okay, go for it."

And that very valuable lesson was that I did not have to drown in depthless waters. I have my feet, and I have my legs, and I can use them if I wish to. Life became all that more beautiful when I realised that I could get out of the water whenever I wanted to.

I'd sign no contract that left me confined to my misery. No chains were detaining me. I was free. I'd always been free.