THERE was no rhyme or reason, no pretty finish. The money had run dry, reality was a cruel and constant heat that tormented them, irritable and sweaty and starting a fight just because it felt good. The ashtray on the bed, black speckles over her side of the sheets. It drove Annie absolutely crazy, because she didn't know what it was like to grow up that way—she didn't know what it was like to be poor and dirty.
There was a light tremble in Cassandra's hands—the alcohol was waning thin in her blood, her dependent mind and body suddenly jittery as she felt her bowels threaten to turn traitor on her. Fuzzy and loud static was a taunting mess against her skull, only basic and impulsive instincts coming close to making sense. The half-filled bottle of Gray Goose was standing beside the dresser, next to the motel door. A direct line of sight between Annie's legs. Cassandra imagined herself darting for it, and Annie immediately locking onto her hair, screaming death as she reeled her back violently, and Cassandra could only claw at the ground as another pissed off wave of Hell caught the stale air around them.
No. Cassandra was safe here, on the bed with her back against the wall. No corners, no blind spots, no way to get in. But she wanted a drink, goddamn did she want a drink.
Focused on the ashtray. That stupid fucking tin ashtray Cassandra had bought at a garage sale during their clumsy and scattered drive to...
Nowhere specific.
Annie always seemed to have a route in mind whenever she drove the Wagon, a chosen path. She insisted that she was just driving in the direction that felt good, and Cassandra didn't doubt that, although it never quite felt so random—like they were headed towards a type of nameless festival that was foretold through prophetic dreams, something wild and exhilarating and both new and ancient. The electricity in the air, humming as they grew near. Cassandra would sometimes look towards the midnight sky as they journeyed down a quiet highway, imagining she could see flashes of light and smoke signals against the dark blue, the haze of a million screams born from ecstasy and absolute madness.
"This is fuckin' gross, Cassie." Annie shook her head, rubbed her face, there were tears in her eyes and days old makeup smeared beneath her lash line—she was as desperate for a drink as Cassandra was, only she was too overwhelmed to realize it. She was new, withdrawal is still just a scary word without any prior experience. Until now.
"You smoke." Incredulous with disbelief, though she knew exactly why Annie was frustrated. "You've smoked in bed, too."
"Not with the ashtray lying there, you lazy freak." Her eyes darted towards the tin tray, glaring daggers at the skin of gray ash and residue that covered it. It was the worst thing in the world, Cassandra suddenly realized, the stupid piece of metal was about to be the end of their relationship. But then again, what didn't bring them to that point anymore? "Whatever, Cass. Whatever. Get the fuck out."
Cassandra leaned forward, cocking a brow, "What?"
"I don't want to look at you anymore," Annie seethed, taking a step towards the bed before inching back, grabbing the side of her head as though there was a sudden flare of pain. There probably was, she was probably in pain all over—Cassandra knew that she was. "I'm over this, I'm fucking over it. I'm over you. Get the fuck out."
"And go where, sweetheart?" Cassandra demanded rhetorically, her expression screwing with a glare. "'Cause you dragged my ass down here from New York, if memory serves. You begged me to come, wasn't that right? Now I'm the one that's gotta go?"
"I'm paying for the room," Annie spat, moving halfway towards the door and gesturing at Cassandra from the bed. "Go on, go. Go! Fuck off!"
"You're a fucking crazy bitch."
There it was—the knife, the tear, the breaking of the dam. Cassandra watched with a subtle, controlled fear as Annie's green eyes widened into spheres, the whites tainted a rich and veiny red. She lurched forward as though she was about to pounce, but Cassandra quickly braced herself, shooting her a silent warning, If we start this there's no going back, hunny, before faltering for a moment and changing course to the ashtray, grabbing and throwing it at Cassandra's face. There was an arch of flurries as black ash quickly spread across the entire bed, staining the sheets far worse than anything Cassandra had done. The tray crashed against her lower jaw, and Cassandra took it in her hands but paused, mid-throw.
She stared at Annie for a long couple of seconds, and she couldn't deny the wave of pity she felt. Her skinny, pale body—long white legs scattered with bruises, scars and terrible memories. Black hair was greasy, a sad mess of knots that curled inward against her neck and around her shoulders. She was still very pretty, naturally blessed with good bone structure and an attractive face, but before the beauty was undeniable—now, a person couldn't help but feel sad when they looked at her, as though they're standing witness to a real life falling of grace; the destruction of an angel, neglected and misused and begging for mercy killing.
Cassandra laid the ashtray beside her, keeping her jaw tight. Annie was obviously taken back, having already prepared herself for violence, and she was gaping at an attempt of finding the right words—apologies, threats, could be either—as Cassandra slid off the bed, snatching at her black hoodie crumbled on the floor beside the metal frame.
She pushed her hands through the arm holes—the fabric smelled of mildew, sweat, begging for a run through the washer. Cassandra hardly ever took it off. "I'll be back, eventually." Her words were faraway as she slipped into her old Air Forces, "If you're still here, that'll be cool." If you're not, maybe that'd be even better.
"Cass."
Cassandra paused as she held onto the metal doorknob, wishing for something but didn't know what—she didn't expect Annie to ask her to stay, to apologize and plead for them to talk this out, but a portion of her heart begged to listened if there might be a chance.
Hanging her head, long strands of coiled dark hair falling over her tired face, she glanced at Annie once more. Shaking, terrified, coming down, pissed off. A flurry of passion and emotions falling over her expression, watering her eyes as she continued to search for what to say.
At that moment, Cassandra realized that above all else, she truly wasn't interested in hearing whatever those words might be. She walked into the hallway, only a small bark of Annie crying her name as she slowly shut the door behind her. When it clicked into place, Cassandra started to run.
...
Nothing made sense to her anymore. She drove through backroads, the pretty rich houses with their pretty green lawns. She wasn't a person who should be driving a car—she was told, she told herself, whatever. What was true? None of it. She drove too fast, hunched over the wheel, and her eyes were open and the road was ahead of her and she was aware of the neighborhood flashing to her sides, but her brain didn't process any of it. The same sights everywhere, seen them once and seen them all—after a million miles, everything was just blurs of mixing colors.
The sky was white with rolling clouds, the growing promise of a storm. There was a distant rumble, the environment shaking as it spiked with a bolt of electricity, and Cassandra could feel it under her skin. Intense, riveting, lighting her blood and scorching her pores.
She wasn't sure where she was driving—the town they found themselves in was small, a cute retirement area just outside New Orleans. Long stretches of land broken up with colonial mansions against the water, gated and secured, million dollar bed and breakfasts that somehow knew Cassandra didn't belong. Beautiful structures that shunned her, the people inside repulsed by the idea of her presence. Annie was able to hide stink of being an outsider, she could make friends with anyone. Cassandra was colder, cautious and expecting assault with warm smiles.
She curved to the right, along a backroad of dense willows and shrubbery, the swamp mixing in the air with smells that she wasn't familiar with—alien, a gaseous planet of dew and tropical heat, Cassandra felt like an invader in a new world.
Whatever. She pulled into a bar, ready to drink away the shakes.
YOU ARE READING
LEAVE ME ALONE
Romance"Well, look at you? Aren't you just an absolute darling? If I were to stab you, you'd bleed out holy water."
