The After of Us (Judge Me Not #4)(6)

Will



By three a.m., things are in good order. Good enough, that is. The cleaning lady is due in tomorrow—or, technically, later today—so she can deal with the rest.

Before heading up to bed, I walk around to the front of the house so I can close and lock the heavy wrought iron gates at the end of the driveway. Everything is usually quiet when it’s late like this, but tonight there’s a yellow cab idling across from the house.

That’s odd.

Things grow even stranger when the cabbie rolls down his window and spits out onto the street. This is a nice neighborhood, and shit like that just doesn’t happen.

The gates are in the process of closing, but I hit the control panel and stop them mid-swing. “Hey, you lost?” I call over to the grubby driver.

He ignores me completely as he lights up a smoke.

“Dickhead,” I mutter under my breath.

Just as I’m turning away, about to hit the command button to close the gates the rest of the way, the back door of the taxi pops open. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a super-skinny girl with stringy dishwater-blonde hair spilling out onto the road. Like, literally, the chick almost eats concrete.

I walk out to the sidewalk to see what the hell is up.

As the girl rights herself and adjusts the light blue tank top and jean shorts she’s wearing, I sense something familiar about her. Unfortunately, there are far too many shadows being cast by the dim glow of the fancy gas street lamps for me to discern if I know this girl…or not.

I’m about to close the gate, for real this time, but just then the scraggly girl starts walking over to where I’m standing. I am afforded a much clearer view, and am soon muttering, “What the…?”

First, it’s clear the girl is a druggie. No one clean and sober scratches at their bare arms like this chick’s doing, nor do they tug repeatedly and methodically at the hem of their shirt. Oh, and they definitely don’t move their mouths in weird ways.

This girl does all of those things. So, yeah, I conclude she’s a user.

As she draws nearer and nearer, it hits me—shit, I know this girl. Hell, I used to love this girl.

“Cassie?” I mutter, amazed and appalled all at the same time.

My ex-girlfriend must’ve moved back to Las Vegas at some point, but, clearly, things aren’t going so well.

Maybe I’m dreaming all this?

I pinch myself. No, not dreaming.

As the strung-out girl reaches me, any lingering doubt is erased. This is definitely my one-time girlfriend, my first love, Cassie Sutter.

Fuck, though, man. She sure is a shadow of her former self. If there was ever a reason for me to be grateful I swore off drugs, this is it.

“Will,” Cassie says softly when she sees recognition on my face.

Her voice still hints at vulnerability, but there’s a hard, gravelly edge that used to not be there.

“Cassie,” I croak out as emotions I didn’t count on well up. I loved this girl once and, truth is, it hurts to see her like this.

“Hey.” She smiles wide, and shit….

The smile I was about to send back falters.

Cassie quickly looks away.

Wow, just wow. And not a good kind of wow. The girl I once loved used to have this gorgeous, all-American smile. Not anymore. Her teeth are now yellowed and stained, and one is flat-out missing.

“God, Cass,” I blurt out without thinking. “What the hell happened to you?”

Her head jerks back to me sharply. “Nice to see you, too,” she snaps, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

I barely hear her. All I can think is that Cassie needs help. Like, immediately. Her addiction is spinning out of control.

“You want me to take you to a hospital or something?” I offer. “You can check in for a psych evaluation. You might even be able to slip into a rehab center as early as tom—”

Cassie recoils like I smacked her. “Rehab? Psych evaluation? I don’t need those things, Will.”

Scoffing, I say, “Uh, actually, I think you do, Cassie.”

And just like that, she’s infuriated. “Jesus, you’re still such an arrogant prick. You always were. Have you forgotten your past? Like you never got f*cked up?” She lets out a nasty cackle. “I, for one, know you did just as many drugs as me.”

“It was never like this,” I maintain as I strive to remain calm. “I wasn’t a junkie.”

“I’m not a junkie,” she hisses. “And, you know what? Fuck you, Will. Just f*ck you.” She throws her hands in the air. “This was a mistake. I never should’ve come here.”

“Why are you here, anyway?” I shoot back. “Showing up at my house at three in the morning? What the hell could you possibly want from me after all these years?”

This is how it got at the end of our relationship. We were always bickering, always snapping at each other.

But, really, why is she here?

I always thought if I ever ran into Cassie someday she’d be this beautiful older version of the cute, quirky teen I used to know—the girl with ethereal features, tiny and small, all wispy blonde hair and translucent skin. I guess I always imagined her clean and leading a normal life.

And this is so not that version. This Cassie makes me sad. And I really do want to help, if she’ll let me.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay?” I swallow twice to keep my voice even. This is upsetting on so many levels, but I don’t want to show her how distraught I really feel. It will only upset her further.