Chaos

Chapter 3

I let out a breath that I didn't know I was holding as Casey puts the car in park. He gets out slowly and walked around to my side. As he opens the door, I feel the tears coming. He meets my eyes and sees the emotional dam about to break. I slide down to the pavement and let him wrap his arms around me.
     "I'm so sorry Erin." He buries his head in the crook of my neck. I dig my fingers into his shoulders as my body is wracked with sobs. In the back of my mind I worry that I'm getting snot all over his shirt, but at this point I don't really care.
     I notice my shoulder growing damp and realize that Casey is crying too. I gently pull away and close the still wide open car door.
     "I think I need to lay down," I murmur, making my way up the steps to his front door.
     Casey slips his key into the deadbolt and lets the door swing open. He gestures for me to go in and I do. I wander into the kitchen, looking around. It occurs to me that as long as we've been friends, I've never been to Casey's house.
     "Do you want anything thing to eat?" He asks, tossing his keys into a bowl on the counter.
     "Yeah, actually I haven't eaten since lunch." I hop up onto the counter, gaining a small smile from Casey. I'm surprised at how comfortable I feel simply being with Casey. I know if I had gone back to my place, I'd probably be in a ball on the floor right now.
     "Mac and cheese?" He asks, rooting around in the pantry.
     "Sure, sounds good," I say with a chuckle. "I haven't had mac and cheese since grade school."
     Casey turns around slowly, with a look of horror on his face. He clasps a hand to his chest and he tossed the box of pasta onto the counter.
      "Well, in that case we will not only be eating mac and cheese for dinner, but for breakfast too." He pulls out a pot and turns on the stove, pouring some water and pasta into it.
      "For breakfast? That sounds like a terrible idea."
      "Mac and cheese is never a terrible idea," He scolds, sounding almost offended at my lack of appreciation for pasta.
     I chuckle as he stirs the now boiling pot and pulls out two bowls. I swing my dangling legs and accidentally bang into a knob on one of the lower cabinets.
     A hiss escapes through my teeth as I grab my leg. I look down and see that I managed to bang a particularly nasty cut on my calf from the coffee table.
     "Let me get some ice," Casey winces, opening the freezer and getting a bright blue ice pack. He walks over to me and I reach out to take the ice pack. He ignores my outstretched hand and sits down, pulling my leg onto his lap. He presses the pack to my leg, his eyes wandering over my over scrapes and bruises.
     "I'm so sorry," he mutters, "I should have known he would hurt you, with all the drinking something was bound to happen." He shakes his head, tears welling up in his eyes.
     I nudge his chin up to look at me, "You can't blame yourself. By that logic, it was my fault too for not expecting it. You saved me tonight, so don't you dare feel bad about anything you did or didn't do."
     His lips turn upward and he takes my hand, "Thanks Er, I kinda needed to hear that."
     A soft sizzling sound makes us turn toward the mac and cheese on the stove. Casey's hands my the ice pack and gets up to finish our dinner. I press the ice pack back to my leg which still aches considerably.
     "Why don't we take this into the living room?" He asks nodding toward the couch. I hop off the counter and grab the two glasses of orange juice he's set on the kitchen table. The couch is a little small, but for only two people it works fine.
     "Thanks," I say as I take the bowl Casey hands me, sitting sideways with my legs pulled up to my chin. I rest my back on the arm of the couch and nearly inhale my mac and cheese. I look up to see him doing the same. He turns on some game show that doesn't require too much thinking as we finish our bowls.
     As I set my empty bowl on the coffee table, he reaches out and grabs my legs. He gently pulls them toward him, stretching them out and laying them over his. He presses my still cold ice pack onto the worst of my bruises.
     "You looked cramped up over there," he teases. He pulls off my shoes and chucks them over toward the door.
     "Be careful, I love those shoes!" I yell with mocking indignation. He just shakes his head and throws his shoes over with mine.
     "You'll survive," he jokes. He leans back, resting his head on the couch. I feel myself do the same as I stop watching the game show. I let out a sigh or relief as I close my eyes and drift off to sleep.