BOOTH BOY

Chapter 2 - Consequences

He didn't call.

The thought slams down like the final bang of a gavel into the wood. It jars me out of that delicate murkiness of nostalgia and brings me back to the present so sharply, I inhale harshly.

Cass's hand tightens around my shoulders, probably assuming I'm cold, and he draws me against his chest.

I wriggle around uncomfortably. His hands feel awkward and foreign on my bare skin. That and the way the papery old woman that reeks of flowers speaks to him while I'm standing right here in front of him, almost looking straight through me in a sense, is extremely disconcerting.

When we got here, the party had been full swing. Champagne flutes and hors d'oeurves were being passed around on silver trays by waitors in waistcoats rotating around the hall as seamlessly as the gossip passing between two woman dripping in heavy jewellery clutching each others hands, or onto their purses or better still, clutching the empty air above their hearts. The men were less subtle, exchanging glares wedged between obligatory handshakes and sickly sweet smiles that didn't ever reach the eyes.

I had tried to beeline for one of those tiny pastry cups with some sort of creamy shrimp paste stuffed in the middle but Cassius had attached his hands to my person and steered me around the room like a doll to show off to his partly impressed partly horrified high end colleagues. Impressed and horrified by both my simple looks and the complexity of it, my blackness.

Or so I suppose.

Admittedly, no one has actually said anything. The side eyes could just be because to be honest none of them really like each other. Certainly no one feels any sort of amity towards Cassius himself and yet, being one of the only people of colour in the room always brings this extra bout of anxiety and paranoia.

Even if nobody else cares how dark my skin is in comparison to theirs, I do. That is enough to make me wary of them.

It doesn't help that Cassius will not let go of me and I have to suffer through person after person discarding me as a simple accessory and favour speaking about me rather than to me as if I'm not right there.

What's her name?, they asked him. What a pretty date you have. She looks perfectly exquisite.

I wouldn't know if they just treated all woman like this or not but it's very concerning and disemboding.

By the time the old woman in crimson had approached us, I had begun daydreaming. Luckily for me, someone called for Cassius and he had to excuse us. Funny, I thought he was the only one in the conversation.

He releases me with one of his arms and tries to hug me to his side with the other but I twist out of his hold and evade the embrace. "Listen, Cass, I know I agreed to be your date but this is it."

I am through with this party and we've only been here for a quarter of an hour.

He glances around to see if anyone heard me and then steps forward so that he's in my space again. I fight the urge to step back. "What?"

He isn't rude, just confused. It's almost cute paired with the way his eyes have widened with childish bewilderment and his bottom lip sticks out. I wonder if he knows he's pouting right now.

Either way, it softens my heart and I sigh. I lean forward, gripping his elbow and copy his whisper, feeling many eyes on my back, "Look, I just want to go grab a pastry something or have a glass of that sparkly maybe. Just to loosen up. I don't feel all that comfortable meeting so many people at once. You know that. You can go off on your own for a few minutes without me, can't you?"

I lean back and pout a little myself. I usually am not this tactful or manipulative but when in Rome it's clear I'd have to do as the Roman's do. Cassius is different here. Of course, he's always been a little pushy. I've just never been this irked by his bossiness before.