Broken Juliet(31)

“I hope you do,” she says. “You two are meant to be together. I can feel it in my bones.”

The thing that frustrates me more than anything is that I know she’s right.

I just don’t see how it’s possible.




It’s performance day.

We’ve been rehearsing our excerpts for four weeks. Holt and I have hardly spoken the entire time.

Avoidance has become an art form, for both of us.

My group is performing scenes from A Streetcar Named Desire. Connor’s playing Stanley. I’m Blanche.

I know now why Erika initially wanted Holt to play Stanley. He’s perfect for the role—moody, intense, full of turmoil and passion, unsure of himself and aggressive because of it. Connor’s doing a good job, but Ethan would have been spectacular.

Blanche is a challenge for me. She’s an aging Southern belle. Distraught over the suicide of her husband. Haunted by having walked in on him having sex with a man. Embarrassed by her sister’s violent oaf of a husband, and fighting her primal attraction to him.

As we prepare to go on, I sneak a peek into the auditorium. All of our classmates are there, as well as the second-year actors. I see Holt, tight jawed and restless in his seat, trying to look interested in something Lucas is saying.

Just as Erika announces our scenes, Holt stands and strides out of the theater.

Even though I’m a little hurt, I’m also relieved.

Now I can pour everything into my performance without being self-conscious about him watching me with Connor.

It also makes me not feel so bad about hiding in the bathroom when he did his love scenes with Zoe earlier. I couldn’t watch them together. I just couldn’t. Just thinking about it made my head pound with rage.

Yep, this not caring about each other thing is going well.




Ruby points to a third-year drama student with shaggy hair.

“Kiss him.”

“No.”

She gestures to a guy I’ve never seen before but who bears a striking resemblance to a young Matt Damon. “What about him?”

“No.”

“Here, have some more tequila.”

“It’s not going to make me want to kiss random boys.”

“Yes, it is. Trust me.”

I sigh and slump against the couch. “Ruby, I don’t want to kiss anyone.”

“Yes, you do, but you want it to be that douche who dumped you freaking months ago, which is why I’m staging this intervention.”

“Okay, taking me to a party and getting me drunk enough to mack on strangers is not an intervention.”

“It is in my book.”

“Also, I do not want to kiss Holt.”

She rolls her eyes. “Sure you don’t. That’s why, in the five months since you broke up, you haven’t even looked at another guy.”

“That’s not true. I’ve looked.”

“Yeah, you just haven’t touched.” She throws up her hands. “Cassie, don’t you understand that the best way to get over one guy is to get under another?”

“I just don’t feel like getting into anything, okay?”

“I’m not saying you have to pick out china patterns or anything. Just have some fun. Kiss. Grope. Fuck. It doesn’t have to be with the love of your life. You’re nineteen, for God’s sake. You can’t just swear off all men because Holt broke your heart. Men are like vibrators. Just because they’re dicks, it doesn’t mean you can’t use them to have a good time.”

She hands me another shot of tequila and I down it, mainly because I can’t be bothered to argue with her.

I’m starting to feel blurry. Like the room is filled with Jell-O and everyone’s moving slowly.

Ruby’s still talking, but I’ve tuned her out. I don’t want to be here. Also, I know she’s right.

I am afraid of getting hurt again.

Part of me wants to take Ruby’s advice and hook up with someone, purely to feel wanted again. To remind myself that I’m attractive and desired, and not as hollow as I feel. But I know I’ll always feel the twinge of what Ethan did to me. It will always hold me back.

I get up. “I’m going home, Ruby. I’m sorry. You stay. Have a good time.”

She stands and hugs me. “Well, me having a good time is a given. I just wish I could help you get over Mr. Dickface.”

I laugh. “I am getting over him. I swear. I haven’t fantasized about punching him or f*cking him for weeks now.”

She pulls back and looks at me in shock. “Seriously?”

“Yep.”

She strokes my cheek. “Awwww, I’m so pwoud of you.”

I smack her hand away and hug her again. She really does give the world’s best hugs.

I call for a cab and head toward the door. Just before I get there, I see a familiar shape silhouetted in the hallway, tall and lanky, chaotic hair. I slow down and lean against the wall for support as I contemplate squeezing past him.

To my relief, when he turns around I see that it isn’t Holt. It’s a guy I’ve never seen before. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Kind of gorgeous. He gives me a smile and moves back against the wall to let me pass.

“Please tell me you’re not leaving,” he says, obviously a little drunk. “It would be a total crime if the most beautiful girl at this party went home before I got a chance to talk to her.”