The Green Eyed Monster

Ch. 38

Trina's still belting out off-key songs when I hear the front door close. I strain my ears, the remains of a tissue slipping from my fingers to join the mound on the carpet. But either they're speaking too softly to hear over Trina, or they're not talking at all, and I have no idea whether Tori's warning Cat, or if she chickened out and never picked her up. I hate not knowing things, I hate feeling nervous and uncertain. I feel like that pile of torn up tissue paper scattered over Tori's carpet; it's so easy to tear, so fragile, so easily blown away. The slightest breeze, an exhaled breath can send that ripped up pile whispering apart.

I jump at the sound of soft footsteps, my whole body thrumming like it's listening, like I'm trying to tune into some barely heard frequency, to twist and turn until it comes through loud and clear. Tori's voice is loud and muffled, and I can almost, almost hear a quiet murmur underneath that. My heart hears better than my ears, it knows it's her. And when the door opens, it freezes, it stops beating. It's Cat who opens it, and I'm guessing Tori made her walk ahead of her, so she could shepherd her in. Or stop her from getting away. Her clothes look too big for her, charcoal cardigan hanging off her shoulders, rumpled navy t-shirt underneath. Wrinkled jeans that have been slept in, dirt-encrusted converse; clothes that have been thrown on, because she couldn't stand to be naked, she was already bare enough. Cat's ruby hair is tangled, barely brushed, like her hands have twisted and clenched in it so many times they've moulded it like clay. Her eyes are dull, heavy and dark, and she walks like every step is a struggle, like she's wading through thick mud and about to give in, to fall any moment and let herself sink into the dark muck.

When she sees me, it's like a slap, her whole body stiffening, eyes welling. She turns hesitantly to Tori, innocent confusion in her eyes, voice desperate, pleading. "Tori..."

Tori's face is twisted and torn, and her words come out broken and soft, trickling out. "I'm sorry."

I stand, and the whole world spins, shakes and almost sends me stumbling. "Cat, please... just give me a chance. Just give me five minutes. Please." Cat's eyes flick between me and the door, to where Tori is the only flimsy barrier blocking her. She looks like a scared deer, too terrified to move until the car hits her, and she lodges in the bonnet, blood streaming from her broken body. And I've always been the car, always shone the bright headlights that dazed her. I reach out a hand to touch her, like maybe that can convince her, if I can just make contact with her skin, it'll remember how I used to touch it, how my lips used to whisper against it. My hands never lied to her. She flinches back before my fingers even brush her, tears spilling from her eyes as she blinks, running down her cheeks to drip off her chin, and I remember wiping so many away, thumbs stroking her face until they stirred a smile. But her lips are soft and split now, parted and panting, like they're incapable of smiling, like it's a motion her muscles have forgotten how to make. She's edging away from me, like I'm a wolf prowling around her, and she's Red Riding Hood, and inside the basket is her heart, barely beating. It gives me enough leverage to close the door, Tori's worried face disappearing, still conflicted, like she's not sure if she should put a hand out to stop me, or help pull the door shut. It's out of her hands now, anyway.

I lean against the door, Cat still backing away until she's brought up short by Tori's wall. "Cat, please."

She shakes her head, eyes scrunching closed, lashes thick and dark. She balls her hands into fists, pressing to her ears. "No. No." Her voice trails into a whisper, repeating the word over and over again like a mantra, like if she just wishes hard enough, she'll wake up. Like I'm a nightmare she's had a million times before.

It rips my breath apart just like the thin, tissue strips that litter the floor. Everything in me wants to go to her, to hug her and kiss her and hope that that would smooth everything over, to turn the nightmare into a sweet dream, and hope we never wake up. And I've never been more stupid than now, because I have nothing. I trusted that the words would come, like my heart would take charge, but anything I could say is dying in my throat and clawing at the walls, making my eyes prickle.