5 Ways to Ruin Casey Brandt

s i x t e e n

♡ BRIAR ♡

I haven't seen Casey in days.

It's been three days since my lapse in judgment. When my nerves got the better of me and I introduced myself as his girlfriend, and, Casey's cheeky grin convinced me to keep playing along.

I blame him completely. His shining blue eyes. The way he looked in that suit.

Two days since I stopped answering his texts, my already short responses fading into nothing. Silence. Which seems to be Casey's least favorite thing, proven by the slew of messages I continued to receive. A mixture of pleads, jokes, and surprisingly sweet reassurances.

I couldn't handle the incoming flood of words, so, I gave my phone to Demi. This required confessing what happened at the Hemmings Gala and enduring her thousands of questions and jokes. She's been fielding his calls and texts ever since.

The last one I read had said, I'm still here, Doc.

But that's the problem isn't it?

One day since I decided I could not go through with dating Casey Brandt—no matter how fake or beneficial. Half a day since I decided I could, in fact, do it. As long as it ruins him more in the process.

Demi, it seems, has reached her limit with my sulking around.

"We're going out," she declares, hands on her hips as she blocks the TV from my view.

I crane my neck but still can't see. I settle her with an exasperated glare. "What?"

"To the bar," she clarifies. "The one that everyone goes to. The Oak, or Tavern, or whatever it's called."

It's lost on me how she doesn't know the name of the White Oak Tavern. Despite having to walk past it every day and living around the corner for a few months now. What's more concerning is her sudden urge to visit said tavern.

I simply stare at her.

She continues, "It's a building with a bar, stools, and alcohol that we will be drinking."

"Why are we drinking?" I eye her suspiciously.

"Because," she says with a cheery smile. "I'm hoping it'll make you less...well, you."

I don't bother asking what she means by that. I can assume. I've been pretty grumpy. Sulky. I lay around the apartment with textbooks spread across my lap and the TV blaring for study background noise. When I decided to stop talking to Casey, the branch extended to Demi. I've been responding to her in grunts and one-word sentences.

I give her two words. "No way."

This doesn't bother her. She surges forward and drags me off the couch and toward the bathroom.

"Demi—" One word.

I continue to protest, even as she shoves me through the threshold and slams the door behind me.

Two more words. "I'm serious—"

"Shower," she commands through the wood. "You smell like you've been camped out on the couch for three days eating all my granola."

I suddenly don't feel so bad about finishing off her bag of chocolate breakfast food.

"I'll pick out our outfits!" she calls, voice sounding farther away. Probably heading to her room to scrounge through her nightmare of a closet.

A quick shower later, I find myself sitting in my roommate's room, my damp hair smelling of her fancy shampoo that I'd only used to spite her. If she gets a whiff, she doesn't seem to mind. She's too busy throwing shirts at me.