Those Ocean Eyes

Chapter 27

Cassie walks out of the hospital in a haze of self-loathing, and stops off at the liquor store on the way home. By 9pm, there's an ever-expanding collection of bottles lining her kitchen counter, and she's starting to feel pleasantly buzzed. She can't handle being alone with her thoughts tonight, though, so she fumbles her way through a shower and then trowels on some foundation, realising that her hand-eye co-ordination isn't up to par when she jabs herself in the eye with a stick of mascara.

"Fuck."

She casts the wand aside and opts for the full stage make-up instead; heavy blusher, fake eyelashes, and smoky eye shadow that extends well beyond the confines of her eyelids. She has to admit, it's easier staring at a Barbie Doll-inspired mask than looking at her own haggard reflection in the mirror. She towel-dries her hair and then decides that she can't be bothered doing anything with it, so she just lets it cascade over her shoulders in a wild mane of curls. She stumbles her way into a skimpy black thong and then retrieves her sluttiest LBD from her closet - the one that barely covers her ass (or her tits, for that matter), and then she downs a couple more shots of vodka before precariously teetering towards the seedy salsa club across town.

The venue itself may leave a lot to be desired, with its sticky floors and vinyl couches, but the music is its one redeeming feature. She doesn't waste any time in hitting the dance floor, and after watching her become the living embodiment of drum and bass, the guys don't waste any time in flocking to her, either. She dances uninhibitedly, feeling the alcohol surging through her system, and they revel in her exhibitionist streak. She humours them for a while, switching partners until they all start to look the same, but she eventually gravitates towards the guy who has the most rhythm and grinds up against him until she can feel his dick straining eagerly against her back. He's getting more handsy as the song wears on, edging up the hemline of her dress, running his hands over her hips and grazing the underside of her breasts, but if she's honest, she welcomes the distraction. It's pure hedonism, and it's been too long since she fucked a faceless stranger, with no complications; no repercussions; no feelings.

They end up staggering into a filthy bathroom stall, and she laughs like a hyena when he rips her tights to shreds and wrenches up her dress. Her smile rapidly fades, though, when he slams her up against the cubicle door, yanks her hair back, and starts sucking on her neck like a fucking vampire. His kisses are bruising, and sloppy, and it feels like he's mauling her face with his mouth. His stubble's grazing her chin, and when he moves to paw at her breasts, pinching her nipples painfully between his stubby fingers, she regrets her decision not to wear a bra. Clearly he's not a big believer in foreplay, and she barely has time to retrieve a condom from her purse before he's yanking her underwear aside and unzipping his pants, moving to frantically rut against her.

She squeezes her eyes shut, trying to derive a modicum of pleasure from his feckless fumbling, but for some reason, Schwimmer's face pops - unbidden - into her mind. She thinks of that stolen afternoon on Rachel's couch, the heart-stopping kisses and the leisurely caresses, and suddenly she can't go through with this. She clenches her legs together, and flinches away from his grasping touch.

"OK, that's enough," she says, trying to wriggle away from him. "Hey, asshole, I said stop."

He doesn't listen, so she grabs his shoulders and pushes him backwards, sending him careering over the toilet and crashing to the floor. He looks taken aback by her strength for a moment, and then he regards her in a mixture of outrage and disbelief.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" he demands, and he comes at her again, so she grabs his ball sac and squeezes. Hard.

"Do I look like I'm kidding?" she retorts, and she tunes out the obscenities he's hurling at her. She tries to unlock the door and stumble her way towards freedom, but he grabs her wrist, blocking her exit. It's only then that she notices he's wearing a wedding ring, and her antipathy for him increases tenfold.