Getting Around

Chapter Two: Battle Scars

Chapter Two: Battle Scars

It was a fierce war, and she had come prepared. After smudging smoky eyeliner just under her thick lashes, a camouflaged Cassidy turned away from the mirror and marched onward towards the battlefield. The sight she was met with was typical, but nevertheless frightening. Drunken girls squawked to each other and sloppily danced on anything: boys, walls, and mainly each other. Roaming about the room predaciously, the frat boys tracked their female prey. Cassidy scrunched her nose as the repugnant smell of stale beer, the signature scent of all college parties, assaulted her. Countless hungry eyes immediately wandered her way and lingered on her small but shapely figure. She was disgusted and exhilarated all at once; she was a veteran of this twisted war and she always won. 

Cassidy pushed past a girl with a spray tan gone awry and sauntered towards the bar. Seeing her approaching, the pledge boy manning the bar poured a cheap beer and eyed her eagerly. He was cute and though she had a soft spot for pledges, who were hazed for months, Cassidy had The List to think of and settling just wasn't her style. She flashed him a sympathetic smile and snatched the cherry red cup.

A foreign hand snaked across the small of her back and settled on her hip. With crawling skin, Cassidy’s smile melted to a scowl as she spun to face her aggressor. 

“Chill, baby. I just wanted to introduce myself. And trust me beautiful, you’ll want to know me. Hell, you need to know me. I’m that good,” the boy boasted as he ogled her. The heavyset platinum blond had the ego of a male supermodel, but that was the extent of similarities between the two.

Though her eyes were slits and her glare was deadly, Cassidy felt vulnerable under her strong exterior. Above all others, she hated his type of guy. The type that assumed they could use her if they sported their supposed masculinity and tossed a bit of flattery her way. But she knew better; they couldn't be trusted with that power. Besides, this part of Cassidy’s world was her game and the players needed to play by her rules. Control was a vital necessity and surrendering it was never an option. Trying to keep an even voice, Cassidy said, “Don’t touch me. And I’m not your ‘baby,’ asshole.”

“Siddy, come over here!” cried a distant and piercing voice that could belong to none other than Olivia.

Cassidy scoffed at the arrogant jerk and spat, “See you never. Or at least I hope.” With that, she left the bewildered boy to find her roommate.

The girls danced together for a few songs, but steered clear of the groping couples all huddled in a pack as tight as sardines. As Olivia spun her around like a practiced ballroom dancer, Cassidy spotted flaming red hair and an equally scorching glare. And Cassidy was in the direct line of fire.

Savannah Sullivan never had qualms about expressing her detestation of Cassidy loud and clear. The past year, Cassidy had bunked up with Savannah’s recent ex-boyfriend at the time. Despite Olivia’s vehement protests in which she cited many valid examples of Savannah’s insanity and unfounded jealously, Cassidy apologized to the girl in hopes of avoiding persecution. Thirty minutes later Cassidy was branded on two different college gossip internet sites as a “filthy, disease-ridden, disgusting slutty whore.” Olivia had held a crying Cassidy until 3 AM that night.

  As Cassidy’s carefree smile was diminished by the defiant stare, she stepped back from Olivia and looked down. Though she was well aware that the girl was a loon, Cassidy couldn’t help feeling cheap and helpless under the scrutiny of Savannah’s heated glower. Even Olivia picked up on the tension.

“Fuck that ginger bitch. That’s it,” sizzled Olivia and before Cassidy had even looked up, Olivia had plucked the nearly full beer cup from her hand and was speeding towards Savannah like an unstoppable fireball.