Of the Trees(42)

“He can grab a ride with someone else,” Corey assured her.

The whispers wouldn’t quit inside her head. Even after the car door shut, even with the engine started and revved, still, over the noise, Cassie could hear the whisper.

Come back. Come back.

She grunted, her hands flying up to her ears and pressing tightly. It didn’t help. Laney turned in her seat, concern etched over her face. “How much did you have to drink tonight?”

Cassie grimaced, rocking in her seat. “Nothing,” she said. “No, a beer. Just one.”

“You’re staying at my place tonight,” Laney said, catching Corey’s eye for a moment before putting her hand out and patting Cassie’s arm. “I’ll text your mom.”

Laney pulled her phone out of her pocket, and Cassie stilled, remembering where her phone was, and who had it, and something like hot lead filled her stomach at the thought of facing Ryan tomorrow. Cassie heard the buzz of a reply but didn’t look up. Her mother wouldn’t care that she was at Laney’s.





Cassie awoke the next morning with a pounding headache, her mouth dry. She reached out for the bottle of water Laney usually left on her nightstand, wincing at the pops it made when she twisted the cap free. She gulped the water down. It sloshed in her empty stomach.

Cassie shouldn’t be hungover. She only had one beer, but she felt sick. She couldn’t honestly say what had happened to her last night. At the time, she had felt drugged. The buzzing and voices inside her head had been terrifying, unlike anything she had ever experienced. It didn’t help now that her insides were twisting with mortification and guilt or that she could still feel that boy’s hands all over her, his mouth hot against hers.

Her stomach pooled with regret, and all she could think about was Ryan. Ryan, and what he’d say if had seen her last night.

And Jon. Jon was there. But he didn’t see her.

Cassie jerked out of bed, her hand rubbing forcefully over her mouth, suddenly not too sure Jon hadn’t seen her. She stumbled over a pile of shed clothes from last night and grimaced, still smelling the wood fire in her hair and on her skin. Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than a shower, wanting to wash away the dirt and the smoke and the feeling of someone’s hands running all over her.

“You okay?” Laney’s timid voice peeped from beneath the covers. Cassie sunk down on the end of the bed, running a hand through her hair. She hugged herself around her midriff before pulling her pajama covered legs to her chest. She felt embarrassingly like crying and didn’t want to.

“I’m fine,” she coughed out, swallowing hard against the rasp in her throat.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Laney offered, sitting up. Cassie shook her head.

“I have to get to breakfast,” Cassie said, offering a wry grimace over her shoulder at her friend. Laney gave a small smile and shrugged before burrowing back down into the bed. “I’ll get my clothes and stuff from you later.”

“Call me,” Laney said, her voice muffled. Cassie nodded, even though Laney couldn’t see her. She bent and rummaged through the backpack she had shoved her shoes in last night. She grabbed them, carrying them by the strap. She considered strapping them to her feet, but decided not to since the walk wasn’t far and the only thing more embarrassing than running from Laney’s house to her house in pajamas and no bra, was doing it in high heels.

Her home was suspiciously quiet. Cassie stepped into the foyer, dropping her shoes. They landed with a clack and a thunk on the hardwood floor, and no one called out in greeting. She sniffed hopefully, anticipating the savory smell of frying bacon. She was disappointed however; the kitchen was quiet and still, no sounds of breakfast cooking.

“Mom?” Cassie called out, walking down the hall toward the kitchen. Her head felt loose, pounding in time with her heartbeat and she brought her fingers to her skull, massaging gently. No one answered her. If it had been any morning other than a Sunday, that wouldn’t be unusual. Today, there was supposed to be the sizzle of bacon, and the slap of pancakes being flipped. Today, she was supposed to hear her mother’s quiet cursing and her father chuckling at his wife’s temper as he rustled the pages of the Sunday newspaper.

The kitchen was empty. Cassie spun in the center, looking at the stove clock. Eight thirty. It was already late for breakfast. She poked her head into the garage, noted the missing car, and headed back up the stairs.

As she came through the hallway once more, she noticed the hastily scrawled message on the hall mirror.

They called me back to work, be home before 3 -Mom

Cassie sighed, finding herself wishing that she could at least count on Sunday morning breakfast. Of all mornings, this morning, she could have used the dose of stability, but her mom’s job did that all the time, constantly calling to see if she could come in and work overtime. Her mom could never say no.

Cassie stopped at the top of the stairs and picked up a towel she had discarded last night, noticing as she did that she could just hear the sounds of the shower running from inside her parent’s bathroom. She grimaced, not wanting to wait for the shower, but knowing she’d get no hot water if she didn’t. Just as she was straightening up, the wrinkled towel gripped in one hand, she noticed a crumpled piece of paper on the carpet just in front of her parent’s bedroom door. She recognized the way it was folded—four times, a rectangle that would fit perfectly into the top pocket of the scrubs her mother wore to work. Her work notes frequently littered the house. They were always falling out of her pockets when she came home, and Cassie would watch her curse, bend over to pick them up, and then rip them to shreds before she threw them away. Cassie walked over to it, bent to snatch it up off the floor and was just about to tear it up for her mother when she stopped, seeing the untidy scrawl of a name she recognized.