𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐞 જ⁀➴

XIV

Cassandra

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Cassandra straightened, back shooting up from her mattress in an immediate instinct, blonde hair matted against her forehead, before she tucked a few rogue strands behind her scalding ears. Squinting her eyes, Cassandra adjusted to the darkness, the only light visible the myriads of moonbeams that shot through the lace of her dormitory curtains, and searched throughout the room, eventually declaring it entirely empty.

When her roommates, Aleksandr and Dorian snuck out from the room had been beyond her, escaping her recollection, and just as she assumed the previous sound was from her belaboured delusions, it returned once again. More and more insistent and incessant, shaking the panes of the frosted windows. Ripping the silk sheets from her frame, Cassandra treaded carefully over to the source of the predominant sound, yanking the curtains to the side and perched her knees amongst the ledge of the casement outline. Bemused, she focused past the miniature water droplets that cascaded down the spine of the open window, and sighed wistfully.

Jameson.

Heart hammering against her swollen ribs, she caught clouded glimpses of him past the frozen pane and swallowed thickly.

What he was doing there, Cassandra had no clue, mind spiralling out of control. It had made no sense, his presence, but still nonetheless he was there. Jameson. Her, somewhat hers, Jameson. A smile etched across his lips at nothing in particular like he had no real reason to be happy, except that he simply was. Warm enough that she could forget about the all-consuming and deep unhappiness that lurked in the marrow of her bones. She had no idea what he was doing here especially after how she screamed how not so long ago. But he was, and it had made sense considering who he had been.

Deep down, Cassandra knew exactly where she stood with him. Hope blurred the lines a bit, but she knew. But how was she supposed to get over him. How do you fall out of care or trust with someone who was never yours in the first place? And who was Cassandra supposed to blame when she was the culprit for breaking her own heart? He was like her own page of poetry, Jameson was, and she folded the corner of her favourite moments with him–the small happy hallucinations amidst the sad trajectory of it all–because she couldn't have him any other way. Just deep in the crevices of her mind.

All enclosed.

"What are you doing here," Cassandra asked, avoiding his eyes as she opened the windows to peer down at him.

Jameson stunned from her appearance appeared at a lost for words, lips parted as he struggled to regain some semblance of sense, then huffed out a weak laugh. "You're coming with me."

Cassandra blinked. "Why would I do that?"

"Because I wanna show you something."

Running a hand through her hair, Cassandra bit back the small impulse to laugh behind her teeth and continued, "No, I mean, genuinely, why would I do that?" The question hung silently in the air, and Jameson tilted his head like it was absurd what she had just said. Like she made no sense at all.

And as if obviously evident, he said, "We're friends now, aren't you? So why wouldn't you?"

Cassandra did laugh then. Couldn't help herself, it seemed.

"I never agreed to being your friend, Hill. Maybe your acquaintance. Your tutor. But never friend." She turned her head, examining the resigned sigh that exuded from his mouth, then added, "Plus it's in the middle of the night. Where could you be possibly taking me in the middle of the night."

Jameson breathlessly chuckled, and Cassandra momentarily stopped breathing when he, all of a sudden, began to climb the branches of the old tree that stood outside her dormitory window. Clearly, he didn't care for what she had to say. With a defeated sigh, Cassandra took a step back from the ledge as he clambered inside with not an ounce of struggle upon his appearance. The scent of woodsy aftershave tinged with the underlining factor of what she knew all too well to be cigarettes and something sweet and citrusy enrapture him, and it was odd how the smell somehow radiated nostalgia.