Frankly My Dear, All's Fair in Love and War

8. Streamlining the Narrative

Tristan

Of course I remember Cassie.

Cassandra. Cassandra. Oh, Cassandra. Poor meek, blond, pale woman whom Desmond invited to spend the night with him, only for him to bolt out within five minutes, scowling in disgust. It was a night that everybody remembered. There was no secret that Desmond would talk and flirt or sometimes sleep with other girls if Tyra didn't come to the party with him, but he never actually left the room within five minutes. Desmond, after all, was a fit guy who relied on his reputation. He only left after hours of vigorous exercise with the lucky girl of the night.

So, after Desmond left with a scowl and a stiff jeans, the rumors started to spread.

Cassandra Bellington has a third nipple.

Cassandra is a freak. But definitely not in the sexy way.

Cassandra this. Cassandra that. I actually stop listening after a very weird rumor that consisted of a criss cross vagina and dual-colored skin. People are fucked up.

I never officially talked with Cassandra, but I notice her alright.

She was a little pudgy, which was something new in a sea of stick-thin girls who never ate and had bad breath due to them not eating. She had soft skin and soft hair. She always had her nose up in her kindle and when she thought no one was looking, she always stared lovingly towards Desmond from the very back of the class. It was the classic definition of a nerd-in-love that I almost always laughed whenever I saw her staring at my despicable half-brother.

Because contrary to what other people might believe, I felt that Desmond would be poison to her.

And when I never saw her anymore, I didn't pay attention. I had way too many things to think about, anyway; mainly how to make girls who come to me want to spend the day with me, too. Come to think about it, there would be hordes of guys who had the exact opposite problem.

So when Cassandra re-appeared a few months later, much skinnier, much more prettier, and losing the gleaming zeal that was always ever-present in her eyes, TI knew that someone had messed her up.

I wanted to say, 'I told you so,', but unfortunately, I never told her anything.

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Chapter 8: Streamlining the Narrative

Tristan was fifteen minutes /late/.

For someone who had insisted she came to his place of choice, he definitely didn't show enough enthusiasm to match with his persistence. Cassie tried her best to not order a second milkshake. /He/was promising her this. And now she had to buy it for herself.

Not that she minded monetarily. She had plenty of money. Sometimes even too much to spend for herself, given her disinterest towards the usual mumbo jumbo girls got into. There were just so many things to get obsessed about: healthy living, yoga pants, cruelty-free skincare and even plastic surgery. Thankfully, Cassie's interest remained firmly in her little web of internet connections.

She looked at her watch again. /Seventeen minutes late/.

When Tristan finally came, she didn't even need to see his face to quite realize it. The people around her had given her enough indication that someone astonishing had gone through the door. All their heads were pointed into a single area, and true, not longthereafter, Cassie could hear his voice.

"What are you doing here so early?"

Cassie had to hold her breath.

She never saw Tristan out of school. In fact, she barely even saw Tristan afterall, but for all the times she did, he only ever wore the school's standard uniform. And yes, St. Pulkeria had great designer and the faculty only allowed the students the best uniform to represent the wealth and prestigiousness of their resident. But she never would have guessed that she would meet with someone who wore clothing that had actual /rips/ on it.