sign {h.s.}

capitolo trentasei

"HEY, CASSIDY! WAIT up!" 

I turn in the direction of the voice, looking for the source of the voice. Almost immediately, I land on it. Elijah. Running towards me with his floppy mess of hair, he calls out to me excessively and loudly as he closes the distance. I've only met him a handful of times, but I've made a conscious effort to not see him ever since the Halloween party. After the way his friend had tried to treat me, I've been very put off by the company that he keeps. 

Even though my problem had been with my friend and not with him, I take issue with him for being friends with someone who would be so willing to prey on a female despite her clearly voicing her disinterest.

So, I continue walking.

"Cassidy, hey!" I'm aware that his voice is closer to me now. Having made it out of the classroom, I have more of an opportunity to make a clean exit and disappear in the crowds of people filtering through the hallways of UMASS Amherst. Though, as I am planning my exit, a firm hand lands on my shoulder and spins me around. "Did you not hear me? I was calling for you." The words are not accusatory in the slightest; they're just vaguely curious, if not confused.

Scoffing, I roll my eyes and defensively cross my arms over my chest. Inexplicably, I feel more protected this way. "I heard you."

"Why didn't you stop then?" He asks curiously, cocking his head to the side, his messy flop of untamed curls sifting with him. From the look on his face, I can tell that he genuinely is unable to put together why I would be so upset with him.

I clench my jaw and look over his shoulder, weighing my options. Keeping silent hardly feels like an option for me. It hardly feels like the most productive thing and ultimately serves no one. "Did you know?" I settle on asking, shifting my weight from foot to foot. Staying still makes me nervous in this moment, makes me feel locked in. For the first time in my life, I realize that I feel exposed in that position, exposed in the stillness. 

Uncomfortable as the question makes me to ask, I know that I can't avoid it. The people that we are friends with—the company that we keep—says a lot about who we are as a person. Knowing what Elijah's friend tried to do to me doesn't make me feel very optimistic about the person that I was starting to consider to be a friend of my own. 

"Know what?" He asks, his eyebrow raising out of confusion, "Cassidy?"

"Did you know that Devin tried to—" I can't even speak the word, my voice faltering. Taking a deep breath, I renew myself. "We were dancing together. He asked if I wanted to go up to his room and I said yes. Once we were up there, I changed my mind. I said no. But he didn't stop. I had to fight my way out of that room. Did you know that he did that to me?" It is impossible for me to meet his gaze. I loathe the feeling of shame that washes over me as a result. As though this is my fault. As though if I had worn a more modest costume, I wouldn't be in this predicament. As though I shouldn't be able to want to look for a good time for a night.

As though I should have just stayed home.

Elijah's face so clearly paints his shock that quickly transforms into a quiet, but present rage. A gentle hand reaches out to extend to my shoulder, but just as quickly he pulls it back. "No," he answers, his face falling at the reality of the situation. "I didn't know."

"So you didn't see me running down the stairs, looking for anyone I knew to stop him from chasing me?" I confirm, fighting to keep my voice level. The events from that night were left unprocessed. Immediately following, it felt like my entire life got turned upside down. The events from this party were left unchecked. 

Shame is written clearly across Elijah's face as he shakes his head, solemnly.

"And you didn't see the fight in the kitchen? You didn't see Harry intervene and—no, you know what? You didn't know why Devin went into the party unharmed and came out bloody and bruised?"