#tuesday has to do sinclair homework..

[olive-garden-worm]

Here are some of my slasher Hc's( if they were to go to college or highschool)

Candy man definitely would wear turtlenecks on a casual tuesday afternoon with those fancy buisness socks.

Chop top would make mixtapes for all of his classmates.

Pinhead would know how to knit(or crochet)and make cool sweaters or stuffed animals for his friends.

Bubba would be best friends with all the cafeteria ladies.

Lester sinclair would rummage through the school's dumpsters looking for rodents.

Billy lenz would steal the school's intercom in the mornings and make random noises until he was found hiding under a cafeteria table.

Stu has definitely pulled the fire alarm to get Billy out of a test.

Vincent Sinclair would wear matching turtlenecks with Candyman(but he'd were his with a cardigan)

Carrie would be giving Baby firefly homework answers during breakfast.

John Kramer would 1000% be either a teacher or a principal.

Ps, I know this is different from what I usually do,but since this is sort of a throwaway account were I post stuff that wouldn't fit on my regular account,I think doing some slasher stuff for a bit could be fun.

[veridium]

the kids aren’t alright

college au update aka I’m finally getting to write some wonderful dating fluff so what if it’s all nervous and a bit clumsy? it’s so stinkin’ adorable. have fun, readers! 

special thanks to one of my favorite Fall Out Boy songs for the title. 

chapter index + previous episode

--

So they are dating.

Not just friends, not just hanging out. Dating. Dating? Dating.

When Olivia says goodbye to Cassandra on Sunday night, first order of business is to sit on her bed and overthink things, of course. Even while doing homework with her typical fearsome dedication. They’re dating. It’s a step that needs getting used to all of Monday while their days keep them apart: Cassandra has an evening exam to work on, and Olivia needs her alone time to process, anyways. They still text, though; they’re good about that when they want to be.

But then, it’s Tuesday. Tuesday, when they can cross paths. They lose the ‘privacy’ of a weekend free of classes and intermingling with the rest of the student body. How is that going to go?

It’s just past 8:30am and she’s putting in silver stud earrings when someone knocks on her half-open door. “Look alive,” Ellinor says as she enters, backpack on with jeans and a long-sleeve pullover on.  Both look clean. Hm, she must have found time for laundry in between her stringent schedule of being Cullen’s respirator and procuring flowers for her nice plastic vase.

“Morning!” she runs her fingers through her loose and combed hair. Waves of blonde that look effortless, but are really the work of a 7:30am shower and a 7:45 blow dry.

“Fun plans for today?”

“Class.” She’s curt, but she means it. Class is fun. Yet Ellinor only groans and kicks back on the freshly-made bed. Living in a single occupancy dorm room has its perks, but with her friends, the term ‘single’ doesn’t really hit home. More like ‘selective.’

“Class. What, no…?” Ellinor tries to tease it out of her. She can’t blame her -- it only takes 30 seconds and a brief glance to know Olivia is on edge. She sucks at retaining some semblance of calm. Then again, Ellinor of all people could be trusted to do well by it. She’s kind and wonderful like that.

But the question remains: what’s going to happen?

“Uh, no,” she shakes her head, assembling her notebooks from her desk table. Two, both political science, just with different course numbers written in sharpie on the front. She’ll need the third one already in her backpack for the class she TA’s for, and then she’ll be set.

Her phone vibrates on her pillow but she’s too distracted to run for it, leaving Ellinor the perfect, gaping open window to do the honors herself. She makes a “tsk” sound.

“You’re a dirty liar, Olivia Sinclair. You’ve been texting her all morning! Who texts this much at 7am?”

“It is not that much!” she hisses, rushing over and swiping the phone away from her. It isn’t all that much: just a good morning, then some playful wordplay, and about plans for the day...she answers more in depth than she did Ellinor: classes, possibly a workout in the afternoon if she feels up for it. Then she’s subbing for an evening dance class because her coworker is out sick still. Cassandra shares much the same detail. It’s perfectly normal. Right?

Ellinor doesn’t flinch. “Alright then…”

“It’s...I’m…” Olivia clicks her home button and tossing the phone on her desk by her bag.

“So, are you going to invite her to the party, or blindfold her until we pull up in the driveway?”

Maybe. Could that work? “No! I’m telling her, okay, it’s only Tuesday. Shit.”

“Only Tuesday. You said you’d ask her yesterday when we got Boba. Soon it’ll be Wednesday, then Friday, and she’ll be wondering why you aren’t around for your brooding Planet Earth marathon date.”

“Hey! Planet Earth is a masterpiece!” She’s never seen more than 15 minutes of Planet Earth in her entire life thanks to a High School Biology class Sub.

Ellinor rolls her eyes, air blowing out her puffed cheeks as she lazily slides feet first off the bed like some all-knowing smug-slug. Back on her feet, she hooks her thumbs on her backpack straps and shrugs. “Liv, you know I’m not her biggest fan--”

“Oh! Ohoho! Bombshell tonight! Call Nancy Grace!”

“Man,” Ellinor winces, eyes closed as she heads for the door, “you are still terrible to be around under-caffeinated. Look, all I’m saying is, the writing’s on the wall. You want your girl--”

“We are not using labels yet.”

“--to come to a party with you, you tell her about the party. Step one.”

Olivia sighs and leans against her chair, legs crossing. Their Sunday heart-to-heart only 24 hours gone, and Ellinor is back to pushing sense. Who gave her the right? If Olivia hadn’t been just as terrorizing with her, she’d call foul. Only, with one park bench rant and Rutherfaker stand-off in the hallway under her belt, she knows she’s the last sinner to throw a stone. Besides, Ellinor is right.

Ugh, Cassandra hates parties. She hates parties and she hates drama. Since they have collided, Olivia has introduced a bounty of both things. But this is who she is: she works hard, dances on tables on the weekends sometimes, and lurks on soccer field grass with her best friend like a fool. The everyday college student, she is.

“You’re worrying.” Ellinor cuts in, and Olivia comes to. They’re both still standing there, like statues, while she has descended down the rabbit hole of internal questions and concerns. With renewed gusto she tosses her notebooks in her bag and adjusts the way her black jumpsuit fits around her waist.

“I’m worrying. But I have a right to.” She walks over to where her shoes are neatly stacked on the a rack, and picks out her dark red velvet boot heels. “Even if she does agree, she definitely isn’t wearing a costume.”

“Oh, LORD forbid,” Ellinor rolls her eyes, hands up in the air before she slips out the door. Probably to immediately pull out her phone and gawk at whatever cutesy bitmoji Cullen sent her after five minutes of not messaging.

It’s not like her and Cassandra couldn’t have the exact same glee about things. Shouldn’t they be gleeful? Is that the correct term? After all this would be the honeymoon stage in all the stereotypical romantic comedies. Bleh.

She continues to mull over it throughout her back-to-back morning classes, and her notes are uncharacteristically direct and thorough, even for her. When she writes, she exerts her anxiety on the page -- this is why she stopped using mechanical pencils after freshman year. Poor .7 lead never stands a chance. Coming out of class, she decides it’s her turn to make the plan.

Hey, meet me for lunch after class at 12:30? Or do you have somewhere else to be?

Cassandra, within a minute or two:

Sure. I just have to drop off books to a Professor. Meet me by the benches on North side?

Olivia: Yep! Sounds good! :)

Lunch plans. Those are good. Those are nice. Maybe they can talk and be cute, and she won’t revile it or find some reason to feel uncomfortable with it. It’s just...so surreal. Lucky enough, it’s a beautiful day outside. Fall is in full bloom, and the leaves that were once changing color are now beginning to release themselves from the abundant trees all over campus. Quad is especially scenic, so much so when she parks herself with her butt on the top of the bench and her feet in the seat, she actually enjoys the moment. Taking perhaps her first long, relaxed breath of fresh air she has had all day.

“Olivia!”

Well, that was short-lived.

Opening her eyes and looking up and down the concrete path, the first thing she sees is a nice grey peacoat buttoned around a nimble and tall body. There’s a strap of a backpack on one shoulder only, and a white and gold glittery beanie on a head of auburn red hair. Oh, not again.

“Leliana.” She braces, her flight or fight instinct dueling for dominance in her head. If she can projectile spit and then run, she could make it. It’d be fine. Or, even better, kick some muddy leaves on her expensive looking shoes. 

Leliana approaches as if there’s absolutely no problem with her existence as far as Olivia is concerned, hands in her pockets and grin on her face. When she reaches the ground in front of the bench, she halts and rocks onto her toes.

“Hey. It’s been a while!”

“It’s been a week.” Not long enough, would be my true answer.

“I...can’t believe how fast the semester’s gone. It’s almost Thanksgiving. And Halloween is tomorrow!”

“Yep. Tomorrow.”

“Got any fun plans?” she keeps smiling.

“Uh, no,” Olivia manages to animate herself with a shrug. Otherwise she’s pretty much a gargoyle on the poor bench. “I don’t really go out during the Holiday itself. It’s a lot of...unnecessary antics.”

Leliana nods and steps even closer. “Yeah, you have a point. Hey, could I talk to you for a second?”

Oh Jesus please take the wheel and drive me promptly into a brick wall. “Uh...well, I’m supposed to be--”

“Meeting Cassandra for lunch. I know! I won’t stay long.”

Oh, will you? Olivia fights off a scowl. She can only hope Leliana found out about their lunch plans the old fashioned way called ‘texting’ or ‘pleasant conversation,’ but a part of here fears her phone camera’s been hacked. Nevertheless, she scoots off to the side, thereby inviting her to sit down. Once seated, Leliana pivots towards her, and crosses one leg over the other. The well-meaning smile then dissipates.

“Look, I know...you may not have the best opinions about me after what happened at the Gala. If you’d let me, I’d like to explain myself.”

“Oh?” Olivia raises a brow, back arching. “And what possible explanation could make me understand why you felt the need to take digs at me in public so that I would become upset? You barely even know me. What gi--”

“You’re right, I barely know you. But, try to look at it from my point-of-view: one of my good friends suddenly perks up about a girl, after denying herself the chance for so long. She starts getting all wound up, and before you know it, she starts hanging out with her, only every few days when you reach out to check in, she says she’s upset about something or other. If you’re me, you’re pretty damn concerned as to what this girl’s intentions are, and you want to investigate for yourself. So I...got a little carried away. I can admit that.”

Olivia is side-eyeing her so hard she wonders if she’s using x-ray vision through the bridge of her nose. Once again someone has been a dick for the sake of friendship, then. Fine, she can understand that...but the one thing she can’t figure out is how Leliana seems to come out of nowhere. Cassandra had never mentioned her throughout any of their hangouts or conversations. For all she knew, Cullen was her one companion.

“Thanks for that. I guess.” She does her best to loosen up, but her pride gets in the way of a lot of things. Shit, maybe she is Pride. Maybe that is what she’ll be for Halloween. Priorities, Liv.

“You’re welcome. I can see now you aren’t just spinning for a good time at the expense of someone else’s feelings, or else you wouldn’t have bothered coming back around after what happened. Cassandra is difficult sometimes.”

“She isn’t difficult, she’s just deliberate.”

Leliana grins. “Cassandra is many things.”

“How do you two even know each other? I never saw you around when we were first starting to hang out. She doesn’t…”

“She doesn’t mention me?” her grin grows into a smile as she rests her elbow back behind her. “I know. It doesn’t bother me. She and I met when we were both involved with the Campus Chapel. Josie might have told you I was a Student Chaplain last year?”

“Uh…” she hesitates on whether to admit they’ve discussed her, but she can’t resist the chance to know more about Cassandra even if it’s through her. “Yes.”

“Yeah! We ended up working together a lot on events and volunteer stuff. It took awhile for us to be anything but that. She’s a hard cookie to crumble. I am, too, though.”

“She’s...she’s a cookie, alright.”

Leliana giggles, and her gaze returns to her. “On a...well, okay,” she adjusts, “can I be real with you?”

“Real? Have you not been real this entire time?”

“Oh, hush,” she giggles some more, “I’m serious.”

“Sure.”

Leliana’s face goes back to that mature expression she had when she first sat down. Solemn. “I know that it may be easy to believe Cassandra is as put-together and unbreakable. But...you should know, it’s not all there is to her.”

Olivia shakes her head a bit. “I didn’t think it was.”

“I know, but, just trust me on this one. I know from experience.”

“Experience?”

She sighs under her breath, and dares to place a hand on Olivia’s knee. “Just be careful with her. I tease, but, she is my friend.” She then stands, facing her head on. It’s slightly intimidating -- scratch that, considerably. Leliana is jovial, but there’s an intensity to her. One you catch if you look long enough.

“I trust you get me when I say I would do anything for my friend’s happiness,” she adds, taking hold of her shoulder bag handle. Olivia doesn’t know whether to take that as a compliment, or a threat. Either way, she continues to eye her but play along.

“I do,” she answers, tucking some hair behind her own ear. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Leliana waves her hand, before looking over her shoulder. They both do, because coming up the path is a well-dressed woman with short black hair, a knee-length blazer coat, and those black leggings Olivia cuddled against on the couch Saturday afternoon. In that moment, Leliana’s reply hits home.

Not long after it does, she is smiling at Olivia and stepping back onto her merry way. “You’re turning heads. Take care.” She walks with a pep in her step, departing just as Cassandra draws near.

Well, that wasn’t foreboding at all, Olivia thinks to herself as she watches Leliana’s beanie grow smaller and harder to see through the neighboring figures walking to-and-from her direction. Cassandra’s boots scuff onto the grass, jerking Olivia’s attention out of her staring.

“What did Leliana want?” she asks, already folding her arms. Her nice leather satchel shines in the sunlight like it’s polished.

She sounds displeased. “Leliana?” Olivia blinks, “Oh, she just wanted to clear the air about the Gala. To say sorry.”

Cassandra’s eyes narrow and gaze down the path where her very nice and peculiar friend had gone. Not convinced. “Really. That’s it?”

“Yes!” Olivia smiles and hops off the bench, nearer to her. Her movement distracts Cassandra, which is what she hoped for. “You said it yourself, she’s your friend. You don’t trust her to make things right?”

“I trust her to do a lot of things. Namely: too much.” She starts to get caught up in it, but rather than raising the heat, she loosens up her shoulders. It’s like a well-oiled machine of emotions.

Cassandra then changes the subject to salvage the moment. “Anyway, I thought we could try the Greek place on the corner by Williamson?”

Olivia smiles. Now she’s talking. Dusting off her thighs, she follows at her side as they walk. The first bit of their journey is quiet, observant of the goings-on. It’s peak campus foot traffic, as people hurry to overwhelm the different food hubs all around. Cassandra doesn’t just have good taste, she has smart taste: Williamson is in a tucked corner, perhaps the most removed from the rush hour. Olivia had learned this when she went with Ellinor once, trying to satiate her Greek craving with the nearest place on Google Maps.

As they near the shop, Cassandra breaks the silence. “Yesterday was fun. Thank you again for making breakfast.”

“What? Oh!” Olivia waves it off, “It’s no big deal, stop thanking me! It was good to...to cook again.”

“Everything okay?” Cassandra notices the slight low-tick in her tone at the end. It’s almost cliche, the way it happens -- and she hopes she wouldn’t catch it. But she does.

“Yeah,” she brushes it off, “I’m just still processing lecture.”

Cassandra smiles, and lowers her gaze to the ground in front of them as they round the corner. It’s easy being like this with her. Easier than all the hype Olivia builds in her head about the way things are, the way they should be, and what they aren’t. In the moment, in the thick of it, it all makes sense. No comparison and no longing.

She folds her arms against her chest as they keep going. Only a minute or so ‘till gyro goodness.

--

An hour later they are sprawled on playfield grass nearby the shop, under the sparse shade of old trees planted around the perimeter of it. A bit like the Siberia of the campus athletic areas, out on its own in a nook of campus not many people frequent. For casual picnicking with food and bare feet in the grass for two women who say they have distaste for exhibiting affection, though, it’s perfect. 

Besides, they’re sharing bites of each other’s food, now. That shit is damn-near explicit. No one wants to see that rated X, woman-on-woman action. 

“I think we had a practice out here, once,” Cassandra balls up her gyro foil, the remnants of a meal long-gone. “It was miserable, actually.”

Olivia has long-devoured her gyro into oblivion, and is laying flat on her back beside her with her glasses on, taking in the blue and cloudy sky. “Oh? Is the grass not...green enough?”

“Is that a serious question?”

“I don’t know! Is grass...like...a factor to consider?”

“In a way, yeah.”

“Oh…” she wrinkles her nose, a foot itching the other with toes. “Huh.”

“Think of it this way,” she says as she twists open her hydroflask, the squeaking sound of the seal an echo of every single time a person does during class seminar discussions. “You’re a dancer. Flooring matters, right?”

“Pff, yeah, you won’t catch me launching myself six feet in the air to land on gravel.”

“See? It’s like soccer. Or any field sport. The grass you land on, run on, fall on. It matters.”

Olivia stares up at her shoulder, and can only imagine what her face looks like. It must be beautiful, because there’s an excitement in her voice that is almost infectious. Maybe, if she stays exposed to it, she could grow a...tolerance, of athletic occupations. Maybe. Maybe with Cassandra, she could do a whole lot of things.

She’s been to quiet. Cassandra glances down, looking like she’s expecting Olivia to be asleep or something. But when their eyes meet, it’s all grins and unexpected butterflies.

“You’re teaching me something new every day,” Olivia remarks as she lifts herself up, propping on her hands. “I like that. Keep doing that.”

Cassandra reclines back to be shoulder-to-shoulder with her. “I’ll keep doing it as long as you want,” she says sweetly, “even if you wish to argue about it sometimes.”

“It helps me process information. If I can’t fight about it, it isn’t worth knowing.”

“Socrates, reincarnated.”

“Not even!” Olivia chuckles, nudging her. She lingers in the lean-in a bit indulgently. Cassandra nudges her back, until they are both veering into one another and away like haphazard pendulums. Then, their faces still in suspension close enough to tempt. And then, the lean...the closing in...slow closing of the eyes...and then the kiss. If anything could convince Olivia movie scenes in life were real, it was the way it felt getting used to kissing her. To being kissed by her. To be the person she kissed, out of everyone.

She gets into it. Too into it. It’ll overwhelm things. She stops herself and pulls back. Her lip rolls as their eyes open into each other, and Cassandra looks a bit surprised.

“Um…agh,” she says, a bit short on a breath, but happy. 

Olivia grins. “Yeah. I know.” It’s terrifying. And so good.

Cassandra exhales in a smile, and they separate. This, this is the honeymoon sensation. Everything feels right, and generous. This is what makes brave risks happen.

Olivia pulls her knees up against her chest and opens her mouth. Pausing, and struggling, but she gets it out. “H-hey, I keep meaning to ask you something.”

“Yeah?”

“This weekend. Do you have anything planned?”

“This weekend?” Cassandra tilts her chin, gazing out at the empty half-brown field. “Not really. I mean, if you wanted to do anything, I was going to…” she trails off. The butterflies hum in Olivia’s core, but she does her best to stay steady.

“Oh! Uh, yeah. Well, that’s what I was gonna say. Our friend Dorian, he’s having this Halloween party thing. Ellinor and I were invited, and we can bring plus ones. I was...I mean I know you’re not into parties like, in the...the Hangover sense…”

“‘The Hangover’ sense?” She asks, alarmed. 

“Uh y--no! Not that bad, just!” she laughs anxiously, “okay more like...like Clueless.”

“The one where the guy is an asshole and she and her best friend get a fight ab--”

“No, try...uh...fuck,” she shuts her eyes hard and taps her forehead, “well, okay, it’s a thing. It’s just...a production. Dorian, he--”

“Dorian Pavus, right? I know him.”

Olivia’s train of thought, derailed in a half-second’s worth of what the fuck. Her eyes go wide, and she whips her head around. “You know Dorian Pavus? God, please don’t say Church. Don’t say it.”

Cassandra raises a brow. “No. Not Church. I don’t know him well, but I know of him. He’s...interesting.”

“He’s really cool. I mean, we go to the same gym and he works there part-time like me. I mean, he’s...he usually just calls me the name of a blonde character. Like Elle Woods or...you know, Piper Chapman.”

“Piper Chapman.”

“...Yeah.”

Cassandra nods slow. “Okay. So, I was right to say...interesting.”

“Okay yeah fine. But he throws amazing parties, and all of my little crowd will be there. Ellinor and Cullen are going!” She throws it in like it’s a last ditch brownie point to take her over the edge. The look of overt skepticism on Cassandra’s face is telling, though.

“I imagine this won’t be no small backyard BBQ,” she rejoins, taking a second sip from her open canteen before putting the cap back on. “But this also explains why Cullen all of a sudden started his laundry this morning.”

“Does he not do his laundry?”

“He…” Cassandra looks for the words, “He does. It’s not that he’s not all about that kind of stuff. It’s just...for some reason laundry is like a tell-tale sign he’s emotionally preparing himself for something. Once, his sister tried to run off to Nevada to be in some cover band her friends made and his half of the suite smelled like lavender linen on steroids.”

“Oh…” Olivia frowns, “that’s...intense.”

“Yeah. It was fine though, in the end. Don’t say I told you that. He’d die if anyone found out. Especially you, or the team.”

“No worries. I don’t really hang out in that crowd anyway, you know that. I mean, Ellinor and I showing up at Rylen’s party...”

“Rylen doesn’t throw parties, he throws beer in an ice cooler and pulls out a frisbee yelling at everyone to dare him to ‘Air Bud’ it,” Cassandra jests harshly, her legs criss-crossing as she sits up.

“I wasn’t saying...well, I just meant that it’s not the same thing. Dorian’s parties aren’t small like that, but they’re fun! And good people will be there. I’d like you to go with me.” With me.

Cassandra quietly looks ahead. Her fingers pensively tousle and twist at the grass, but she doesn’t prick or pull. Only feeling, only tactile.

“Liv, there’s…there’s reasons why I tend to keep things lowkey.”

“I know,” she’s quick to offer compassion, perhaps a little too quick. “I get it. No drama, the better. I just didn’t want to go on ahead without considering you. We did say...well, you said we should be compassionate with each other, and communicate.”

Cassandra half-smiles, and her shoulders roll straight. “Yeah, but there’s...well. thank you for considering me.”

Her heart flutters. “Anytime.”

“Does this mean you’re asking me to be your date?”

Olivia purses her lips, and her shoulders bunch. “Maybe. You don’t even have to wear a costume. I’m doing the ‘deadly sins’ thing with Ellinor. You can just wear whatever you want.”

“So that is why you were arguing about Ellinor being Wrath. Hm. You have a point, there.”

Oh, God, if she ever heard you say that. Olivia’s reaction is half smile, half grimace. “Yeah. She’ll warm up to it. I think I might go as Envy. Make things fair so that neither of us win the coveted and almighty Lust mantle.”

“That would be the favored one, between you two.” Cassandra takes Olivia’s hand into hers, so cooly it makes Olivia blush. “I don’t think you’d be Envy though.”

“What? Oh, is this where you call me Sloth?”

“No way,” Cassandra huffs, “I was going to say Pride.”

She echoes her thoughts back when her and Leliana talked on the bench. A second affirmation of her search. Pride? Pride. Alright. She looks out, her head going from side-to-side as she thinks it over.

“Pride. How would I dress as Pride, though?”

Cassandra’s tongue is quicksilver. “Simple, wear what you had on when you came to Rylen’s with Ellinor. You could have been the dictionary image for it.”

“Oh, fuck that! You!” Olivia has urge to do something she hasn’t done in years. And certainly not to anyone she’s been involved with. She shoots her arms out to Cassandra’s sides and begins to tickle her, fingers spindling up and under her arms. It’s a daring move, one you’d think someone like Cassandra would stiffen and admonish. Yet, in a strangely amazing twist of fate, she lurches and begins to laugh. Laugh, and laugh, and laugh. Falling back onto the ground as her knees bend towards the sky, curved and kicking as Olivia rushes up and over her. Laughing,right along with her out of sympathy.

It’s a light she’s never seen, Cassandra losing control like this. And she loves it. She is so stunning.

“Stop it! S-stop!” Cassandra cuts in between laughs, breath escaping quick and shallow. “Y-you! Ahh!”

Olivia gives an Aha! To her tone, Then, it all starts to slow down. Laughs ease. Cassandra’s snuck her arm around Olivia’s waist, holding her close despite having been held captive. Chuckles boil down to snickering, and then recuperating heavy breathing.

“You...you didn’t tell me you were ticklish!”

“I-I,” Cassandra bubbles out the remainder of her glee, “I don’t think that’s something you...you brag about.”

“I think it is!” Olivia argues, chest half on top of hers. “You, ticklish? It’s like the world’s best kept secret.”

“Well, now I have to kill you, so it will stay that way.”

“You wouldn’t dare!”

Cassandra smiles and clings to her, the strength in one arm enough to nearly crack the spot in Olivia’s back that’s been a problem for her since 9th grade. Good to know for future amateur chiropractor needs.

The romantic position they’ve found themselves in sticks, the Siberia soccer field enough of a stowaway place for something considered ‘PDA’ to be acceptable. Olivia is engrossed, her chin resting on her chest. A subtle, lucid breeze combs through the edges her hair.Cassandra’s olive skin basks so well in the sunlight overhead, especially when she’s contented.

“This party,” Cassandra says after a few moments of wordless admiring, “it would be fun?”

“Hmm, Yes. I’d be there, after all.”

“Well, then I suppose it is my kind of fun then.” She agrees, but there’s a touch of carefulness to the end of her sentence. Carefulness from trying despite implicit reluctance. Olivia pauses to examine, but is only met with a well-meaning stoicism.

“You mean it?” she questions, sliding her knee in between Cassandra’s to rest.

“Yeah. If you can handle Rylen and the others, I should be able to handle your crowd.”

Olivia is reminded of Ellinor’s eye-for-an-eye logic, and her brow furrows. “My crowd is...I think you’ll like them. I mean, they’re all just really gay and well-dressed.”

Cassandra holds back a chuckle. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah! You saw! And besides, we can join them. Be gay, and well dressed, and if you’re lucky we can also be gay and well-dressed in taco bell,” she whispers the ‘taco bell’ part like she’s a screaming concert-goer, something that provokes Cassandra into poking her ticklish waist in return. More giggling, more effortless giggling, and it’s all even.

“See! I am the master of persuasion!” Olivia rejoices, still stuck on the feeling of lounging on her. Class where? Campus whomst?

“You have talent, I think you’ll go far in life.” Cassandra rubs up the side of her back, before laying her head into the grass and closing her eyes. Grinning and inhaling, nice and deep. “Alright, a few more minutes, and we have to head back. Or, at least I do.”

“So we do.”

Cassandra opens an eye at her, but Olivia only winks. A last exchange before she lays her head back down on her chest.

Cassandra exhales. “So we do.”

It’s all so good. No dramatic fights, no screaming matches, no salty comments. Just them. It’s so potent, Olivia understands why Ellinor was so moth-drawn-to-flame when her and Cullen started...doing things. This is fucking great. It’s like...nothing can touch her, and everything is as good as it’ll ever get. Which is pretty damn good, by her standards. Not even Leliana’s odd behavior can get her down.

Though, admittedly, as they took the last minutes they could to rest in the sun-baked grass, she wonders. If Cassandra was not all alright, then, what would she ever have to hide? She peers up, tempted to ask straight out. Cassandra has her eyes closed, and she’s so tranquil. Her hand wrapped around her, making her a part of it. Olivia can’t stomach the idea of ruining it.

What goes on inside that head of yours when no one thinks to ask? If you have your reasons, what are they?

She gives up, and lays her cheek back down, and the world washes away for a moment longer. The trees and their enduring leaves sway gently up above in a wind, A moment that screams ‘take your time.’

[veridium]

heartbreak warfare

WELCOME TO MORE QUEER PAIN 

Hope ya’ll are ready for some shit. Because I brought the shit. Heaping dose, because I have had a wonderful day and feel all mushy. Enjoy!

part one // last episode

-- The man was a no-good blond bastard with too much wool in his wardrobe and clumsy taste in flowers. White carnations represent pure love, and he had the audacity to come around with a fist of them. He should have crawled up the stairs on his knees if he wanted to present pure love. Yelling at him made Olivia feel close to the goddess Medusa in levels of vindicated fury, though she was inconvenienced by the lack of hair snakes.

Despite her almighty and supernatural ire, Ellinor granting him entry is something she disagrees with but ultimately respects: her best friend is tired, and deserves to feel loved, and maybe the one silver lining is that there isn’t much else Cullen Rutherfudger can mess up more. Maybe if they get it together she won’t have to peel her up off the floor next weekend. Damn, had their standards for a good Saturday crashed down below sea level.

But, she will be keeping a close eye on him. A very close, and scathing, eye. To be fair, the man shows up and tows the line when he has fucked up; which is more than she can say for who she once thought of as a potential suitor as Sunday passes with no word. Potential suitor. Ugh, that kind of working only happens when you’ve paid attention to someone who’s a rhetorical romantic. Too much attention.

Monday comes, and is mundane. She keeps a low profile, and attends classes with little fuss; her Professor asks how she is doing because of her silence in class discussion, and she gives an excuse about getting over a head cold. Yeah, right. Besides lecture and a short shift at the gym, she goes back home to continue being reclusive. She does not cross paths with Ellinor much, though she fields the almost hourly texts asking her how she is, where she is, and if she needs anything. Ellinor is doing that innocent thing all friends do when they find themselves luckier in personal exploits than their loved ones: sympathy that is all-too-easily swallowed as pity when you’ve been kicked down one-too-many times.

Tuesday also comes and goes. Classes and a midterm exam, one she completes with confidence; cold war history is interesting enough. It helped that she had someone, for a brief time, to rant about it and dissect things. During the free response portion she uses a word Cassandra did during one of their debates: “pejorative.” How the hell she knew that word was whatever.

Then, Wednesday. Even though it’s only been a few days, when she wakes up to Ellinor’s voice it feels like it’s been a century since the last time she’s heard it.

“Liv, release the hostage oreos.” Oh, great. Long time no see, and she’s come into her room just to attack her for her life choices.

Olivia growls and hides away, bastard red velvet oreos in her clutches. “Bite me.”

“Liv. Come on,” Ellinor’s standing by her bed, hands on her hips like a fed up soccer mom trying to get her kid up for school. “You haven’t been responding to my texts and you don’t answer the door. I worried you ate yourself into a coma. I keep hearing the Scientist on repeat through your door. I think I can play the piano part off of just memory alone.”

“Good, maybe Cullen would enjoy another concert.”

“Olivia!”

She gives in and rolls over, tossing the oreos to her without looking. “Fine! Have at ‘em.” Ellinor misses and they fall onto the floor with a sharp, plastic crack. The worst part though is the thought that comes immediately after they crash: Cassandra would have caught it.

She groans again and tosses her comforter over her head. “What time is it? My alarm hasn’t gone off.”

“I caught it as it went off, bitch,” Ellinor grumbles. The sound of her picking up the oreos and tossing them to the table. She cares. I shouldn’t be so mean. She cares.

“Oh. Hm.”

“Seriously, are you alright? You haven’t dropped off the radar with me since that time you shaved half your eyebrows off at the Homecoming after party, remember?”

Oh, Jesus. How could she forget. “Mm. I’m fine. I’ve just been swamped with homework.”

“You? Olivia Sinclair, swamped by homework?” Ellinor’s voice veers farther away, towards the door. “Shit, the rapture must be upon us.”

“Give me a break, please. What are you doing up so early anyway? You don’t have class until…” that was a silly question. There could only be one reason she would be up and about like this. A week ago, it would have been the promise of coffee by Olivia. Now, it’s the promise of someone else’s coffee. Blond roast. Bleh.

“...Uh,” Ellinor chuckles nervously, “Nothing. I’m just hanging out. If you’d rather be left alone, I can go back to--”

“Don’t lay an egg, Ellinor.” Olivia gripes, stretching her toes. “You can say you’re up for him. I’m not a widow. Have fun, whatever it is you heteros do at the crack of dawn besides milking cows and...I don’t know, watching TLC or something.”

Silence. Ellinor sighs, and opens the door. “Okay, Olivia.” Dammit, she feels bad. Ellinor shouldn’t be feeling bad. She deserves to be happy, and she deserves a best friend who would support her being happy. Olivia flips over to lay face down and continue loathing herself. Every bone in her body wants to snarl and hide from everything good and cheery. Soon, Cassandra won’t be the only one steering clear of her, if she keeps this up.

Just outside her shut door, she hears a deeper voice. A deeper, calmer voice. Then Ellinor’s more opinionated tone. She says something bossy -- sounding like ‘I’m gonna kill your roommate for this, I hope you know.’ A sigh immediately responds. Typical. Cullen better have prepared himself to be with a woman who didn’t pull any punches, who could fight her own fights...and sometimes, fights that belong to her friends who have grown too tired of it all.

All she can do is wonder what it’ll take to feel okay again. It is one thing to say you’re hard to love, and make people miserable. It’s another to have someone confirm it so unapologetically.

--

Wednesday is as repetitive in the first half as Monday was: the same lectures, and then eventually a couple hours in the TA office waiting for nothing and no one to show up for assistance while she grades Blackboard responses to the week’s study question.

She’s in the thick of it when an email notification pops up on her laptop. Her women’s history 305 Professor, saying they’re switching texts for next week’s discussions. They’re going to study Heloise, a 11th century French nun and scholar. Great, fantastic, except none of their texts are about her. The Professor kindly asks they search for the suggested reading online or in the library. Olivia would be completely okay with digging up the text online if her laptop hadn’t just been salvaged from a virus stemming for the last time she did so.

Besides, the library was a reliable source. Why not do something she’s good at, and dig?

With a half hour left in her office hours she takes the liberty to stroll down to the main campus library. The book in particular is old so it should be in the stocks. When she goes to a computer and checks the catalog, she finds one copy is still available; her class’s rush to obtain it free hasn’t nosed her out completely just yet.

The Dewey decimal number takes her to a shelf on the fourth floor, but after 20 minutes of searching she uncovers nothing. No book, no Heloise. Defeated, she stands alone in the aisle and looks around one last time. It should be here, there’s no reason it shouldn’t. It said so in the database.

Climbing down to the main floor, she takes the issue up with the work study student manning the checkout desk.

“I’m sorry,” she says after looking it up on her own computer, “it’s been incorrectly logged. It happens.”

“What? What does that mean?”

“We have a couple satellite locations in town where our reserves are loaned long-term; sometimes their books are kept under our organized log when it’s with them.”

“So...so it is here. In town, right?”

“Oh, yeah, it should be. It’s just at one of our outsourced places.”

She asks if she can check them out still, and to her relief, the answer is yes. The kind woman writes down the address and name of the place for her, so that she can find it for herself once and for all. Handing it to her with a nice-enough smile, she sees her off.

Olivia makes it through the metal detectors before checking the piece of paper with pencil writing.

‘203 Northeast Lillian Way.’ Why is that so familiar? Shit. No, no, no, no. She rips her phone out and starts scrolling feverishly with her thumb through the old and taboo messages between her and she-who-still-shall-not-be-named. Lo and behold, it’s the worst possible outcome: the Church library. Of course, they would demand premium on books about a French Nun. How poetic.

She stands outside the library for a few minutes and deliberates her choices. With any luck, Cassandra is elsewhere -- it’s mid-afternoon, she probably has practice, or volunteer hours, or class. She tries, but she can’t remember for sure what her Tues/Thurs routine is. It’s been that long, or it’s been that hard to have her in her life. Regardless, she needs the book, and if she can get a hold of it she can make a photocopy and give it back with no harm done. It takes her a while, but she convinces herself to make a break for it: pulling out her keys from her bag and heading straight for the blue parking lot where her trusty car is awaiting.

All the same, she can’t help but curse her luck.

--

The drive to the Church would make her emotional if she had any emotions left to give. Days of alternating between crying, eating junk food, denial, and good ol’-fashioned anger have jaded her. At this point, she would dare the fates that be to make her days. The point between her pulling into the parking lot, turning her car off, and walking inside is all a surreal blur. Once she would have rather walked on a chain-link fence edge barefoot than set foot in a House of God, and now it’s twice in one month’s time.

Walking down the center aisle of the hall isn’t the same without Cassandra there to burst open a door on the other side. The stained glass isn’t as colorful, and the bread bowls aren’t as interesting. Still, thankfully, she finds herself left alone like before: no one to pretend they care about her soul, or ask if she’s been saved. The whole place feels like a ghost town, actually -- an odd thing for 4:30 in the afternoon on a weekday. But who is she to judge? The Pope?

A right, then a left, then up stairs. She logs it all in her head. There’s so much more room in the hallway with just her. Too much room. Eventually, she finds the double-doors. One cocked open, with a wooden stopper wedged underneath it. She hesitates to show herself: she’s not as modest as she was when she first came around, black high-waisted shorts with tights on under, with a black short-sleeve v-neck tucked in. Heels, because, of course -- and they clank on the wood floor.

But she does go in. Brave enough, finally, after a couple breaths: and she’s vindicated for doing so. No one’s in. No school kids hiding out, no Missionary interns studying away. No Cassandra, either, skulking or pacing with a book in her hands contemplating the secrets of the universe. Fabulous, she can pull out the paper in her pocket with the decimal system number, find the damn book, and be out like a thief in the night. The mischievous fates have been thwarted, so it seems. If she ignores the sinking feeling in her stomach and feet, being back where Cassandra first surprised, she can be on with her day.

Coming towards the standalone shelves rowed together, she studies the note she made for herself. The first shelf is way too early in the alphabet, so she comes around to the middle and peeks down the first section. Nothing and no one, and still in the C’s-E’s. She needs J.

Then, the sound of paper rubbing against itself. Like a page being turned. She freezes, takes a breath, and approaches the corner of the second aisle.

God, please, no, anyone but--but it’s her.

Her shoes are hitting the ground too hard for her presence to be a secret, and she knows well enough. She stops, and a heel grades against the wood grain. Cassandra -- dressed in black leggings and a sweatshirt, over-sized, and the most casual she’s ever seen her styled -- is sitting cross-legged on the floor. Up against the stacks, with several books piled around her. One open in her hands, kept in her lap. At the noise of Olivia’s footfalls she looks up. Not expecting her, clearly, her eyes go wide and she jerks up to her feet in the blink of an eye. Agile enough to do so without stumbling all over herself, but not confident enough to stand all tall and proud. Not like she did in the gallery.

Olivia steps back, and she can feel her face sour. She crinkles the paper in her hand, and it bends beneath a fist. She doesn’t respond, only glares with steeled hopelessness.

Cassandra closes the book in her hands. “W-what are you doing here?”

“I came for a book.” Iced, and disdainful.

Her face strains a bit, and she adjusts. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” she rolls her bottom lip and holds her ground. “That is all.” It’s crushing her slowly, the priorities: yell at her, say sorry again, cry, beg. Too many needs and too many wants. She takes a page out of Cassandra’s metaphorical book and holds it all in under a guise of self-sufficient introversion. 

“I...okay. D-do you need--”

“No. I know how to work a library.”

“...Alright.” She accepts it, and nods. Olivia sucks on her teeth. They both try to get on with whatever it is they were up to before they were aware of each other’s presence: Cassandra, sitting back down on the ground, and Olivia investigating the far end of the shelf. She tracks down the J’s, but there’s no book in sight. Again. First, twice, and thrice she checks the row where it should be. A couple minutes have passed, and she’s left standing there with no reward to her risk.

She lets out a sigh through puckered lips.

“What are you looking for?” Cassandra’s voice, clear and calm.

She keeps her eyes on the shelf, clinging to the paper. “I don’t need your help.”

“Um…” she treads lightly, very lightly, “some of the shelves are disorganized, because of the students.”

Fan-fucking-tastic. She’ll never find this damn book, she’ll never do her homework, she’ll just drop out and call it good.

“I’m…” she starts, but stops when Cassandra suddenly shows up next to her, having risen to her feet without so much as a sound. She takes hold of the paper that is in a death grip in Olivia’s hands, one which she releases against her better judgement.

She raises a brow. “Hm.”

“It’s--it’s a book with copies of letters from--”

“Heloise and Abelard. I know this anthology, I had it for...um, hm. You won’t find it here, though.”

Olivia slouches, and frustration escapes her. “What? Again?!”

“No,” Cassandra shakes her head, and then turns around, “it’s over here.” Without a word, she walks away, with the presumption that Olivia will come along. An audacious presumption; if she had not come all the way across town to track down the damn thing she would have laughed and said ‘fat chance.’ Beggars can’t be choosers.

They go to the back corner, where there are rows of tall volume books that look like dictionaries. The shelf above them is where Cassandra slants onto her toes and searches. Olivia does her best to keep her eyes preoccupied elsewhere -- anywhere else, but her -- and waits patiently. Finally she falls back, pulling a book out that’s rather small and thin. But it’s weirdly pink, like the catalog image.

“Here,” she breaths, pivoting back to her and holding it out.

Olivia stares at the outstretched book, brow pressing low as she bites back more bitterness on her mind. She takes it, gripping onto the opposite diagonal corner to Cassandra’s grip.

“T-Thanks.” She spits out, holding it to her stomach. “Do you know if I have to….to do anything special to check it out from here? Or do I just take it to the main library?”

“You just take it there…” Cassandra confirms, reaching across her own stomach and clasping onto her elbow.

“Okay.” Olivia keeps her eyes to the ground, and her responses curt. “Thanks again. I’ll be going now.”

“Olivia, I’m sorry.” The words cut through the air like a chef’s knife. Eager, and quick, like it’s the last word she’ll ever get in edgewise. Olivia has turned to the side by the time she hears it, and she stops cold. The book to her belly now feels like armor she can’t live without. She can’t bare to look at her, at whatever face she’s making. It’ll be too sincere, too heartfelt.

“I really don’t want to hear it.”

“I know you don’t, but you deserve to.”

“You thought I deserved to hear a great deal of things.”

“I...I know. And…”

“What?”

“And it was unfair of me. I shouldn’t have cornered you, when you were already feeling uncomfortable. It wasn’t right.”

Olivia sucks in her gut; the words she is saying are too poignant to face with a chin tucked in shame. She looks, only to feel punished for it: Cassandra is frowning, and not the way she does by default. It is a sad one. It makes Olivia’s heart skip, and plummet at the same time.

“Y-you know, Cassandra,” she replies, her voice brittle as her throat gets thicker with tears she thought she had long run out of, “I...I just wish I knew what your secret was.”

Cassandra blinks a few times, beautiful black eyelashes fluttering. “My secret?”

“Yeah. Your secret. The one behind how you always look so undaunted and...and un-phased,” she closes her eyes to hold back tears, and cradles the book in both hands against her. “You know, Cullen talks to Ellinor, and Ellinor talks to me. I hear about how you are minding your own business, going about your day, while I cry myself to sleep or eat my body weight in Taco Bell. Every time. It hurts, but I tell myself, ‘oh, she’s just coping in her own way, she has to be as messed up as I am about this, just as torn up, just as…” she takes a shallow breath, but it does little to assuage her. “‘She has to be just as inexplicably messed up as I am.’ But even when I worried you didn’t care, or that you were indifferent, never did I think you would walk into the room and rip my heart out the way you did.”

Cassandra had become more and more engrossed in a painful kind of way, the more she talked. It wasn’t hard to understand -- it was probably the most brutally candid Olivia had ever been in her presence. Bearing her most cringe-worthy sides of her survival, for reasons she could not articulate half as well.

“So…” she sharply sniffled, “I just want to know what the secret is. What you do, what you...you tell yourself, that makes you so magically put-together. Maybe it’s the same shit you take that convinces you that I’m the one tormenting you when I…” she closes her eyes again, but a stray, small tear runs down the outside corner of her eye. That is enough for her. “You know, whatever. I’m...I’m not gonna…” she started to walk back, verbally and physically, expecting nothing else but her own shame.

A few steps, and then, the second twist of the knife.

“Liv, please.” Once again, she asks, and once again, Olivia stops. This time, her back is to her.

“I…” Cassandra takes a moment, collecting her breath by the sounds of it. “Cullen knows me, but he doesn’t know...me. He sees me coming and going, but he doesn’t know what happens while I’m getting by. If he did, he’d tell Ellinor--or, probably you, more like--that from the moment you first spoke to me I haven’t been able to get your voice out of my head. I’ve never been good with sentimentality, much as I appreciate it. But when I’m...when I’m around you it feels like I don’t have to worry. If anything’s been a secret, it’s been that.”

The sensation of hugging her in this room is still fresh. The way her arms wrapped around her waist, the way her breath felt against her neck. The briefness of it, and wishing it could last. But nothing lasts. Head high as much as she could pretend, she swallows stiff and keeps her eyes on the door for just a beat longer. Then, she faces her again. And Cassandra, she...her red eyes, her slightly red, tired eyes. It’s horrible.

“If you were so crazy about me, then why didn’t you kiss me? I was all yours, I was--”

“Because I didn’t want it to be like that.”

“...You…”

Cassandra sighs tersely, rubbing the side of her face. Exasperated. “I didn’t want the first time I ever kissed you to be during a fight about you being slut-shamed and me invading your privacy, alright? Is that...is that so much to ask? That if I was going to...to let myself be with a woman, a woman like you, that that kind of thing would be a little more special?!”

“I would have agreed, if you would have just talked to me! About anything!” Olivia shifted, now head-on with her. “You said you knew what you wanted, Cassandra, but that’s just it. You knew. I may have had my hopes and...and you may have been right about me having more of a clue than I admitted, but a clue is not consent. It isn’t a consensus. When you rejected me, I felt like an ass! Like I had taken advantage of you in some way.”

“Something you would have known wasn’t the case if you would have just stayed and listened to me! I was trying to tell you!”

“Trying?!”

“Yes! Or have you forgotten how hard it was to say out loud to the first girl you ever liked that you had feelings for her, and you were terrified she’d walk out?!”

“I did--!” She begins to hiss back, but stops. Forgiveness was an easier visitor when it came to certain suffering. She couldn’t swing the gavel when it came to that: it was like breaking ten different rules of queer code. Ugh, dammit. “Intimidated or not, we’re adults. This isn’t a recess, or homeroom, it’s...it’s life. I don’t get it, you’re always so...just...mature, with everything else but this.”

Cassandra half-nodded, and folded her arms. “The heart of man is a labyrinth, whose windings are very difficult to be discovered.”

Olivia delayed her retort, a bit off-guard. “...Um...yeah, that is...one way of putting it.”

Cassandra’s sweetly sore, peering down at the ground. “It’s an excerpt, from one of Heloise’s letters to Abelard. It’s...it’s after one where he implores her to revoke their union for the sake of God, but she refuses.”

Who even is this woman? Some thesaurus of mankind’s broken desires, reincarnated into one toned, statuesque, androgynous body? Is she even real?

“Yeah, well...Abelard was an elitist asshole who wasn’t worth it. And you’re still pompous, I take it.”

She smirks again, but not as sadly, as her eyes meet hers again. “Maybe so, on both counts. However, he still encouraged her in her work, and her learning.”

“Yes, as a means to punish her for behavior he deemed carnal even though he was a complicit beneficiary of if, not to mention--”

“Behavior he was punished for as well, rather grotesquely, if I can recall.”

Olivia’s hold on the book loosens, and she looks down at it, before back at her. “He...yeah. I mean, it was just a little...castration. It be like that sometimes.” They stare once again, and she clamps down on her tongue. They’re both fighting back something, some kind of expression, though Olivia denies the hope that Cassandra wishes to smile as she does. That is, until they both cough up a chuckle. The first in a long time; she can hardly remember the last occasion. That hurts.

After a moment, she gathers her wits. She slides the book into her shoulder back, and gets back to the unsavory topic.

“We’ve made a mess, haven’t we.” She can’t help but smile. Cassandra could run her heart through the mud and gravel, and then say something clever, and that’d be all it takes. She’d smile.

“I’m afraid so. They must think we’re devising to kill each other,” Cassandra says, coming forward. There’s no need of explanation as to who she’s referring to. In a flash, images of a very worried Ellinor and slightly scared Cullen come to mind.

“You would deserve it.”

A wry smirk. “Oh, would I?”

“Yes, you were a dick.”

“And you were an insensitive snob.”

Olivia chokes back another laugh. “Compared to the company you keep, Cassandra, I’m a down-home piece of apple pie.”

Cassandra scoffs. “Leliana? Ugh, God,” she grins, “she only pulls that act when she’s trying to pull something. She was being an ass, but, she was just...trying to protect me. I’m sure she’ll appear out of nowhere and explain herself, so, be prepared.”

“Oh, wonderful, I crave her company,” she mocks, eyes rolling gently as she looks back towards the door. “Why doesn’t she just show up now? I’m eager for more mortifying company.”

“She knew I wanted to be left alone. She does listen, you know.”

“...Oh. Well, damn.” That was a nice thing. Boundaries, huh, who knew. She can sympathize -- Olivia also has a friend who left her alone after one too many acidic quips. Oh, Ellinor. Though she wants to, she can’t crucify the woman for wanting to put up a fight for her friend. “Look, I know it makes me an asshole every time, but, I really should be going this time around. I have things to do tonight, and I really just needed to get this….this book.” She says it, but she hates it.

She hates it even more when Cassandra frowns, and blinks her eyes away. “I understand, no, it’s alright. You can’t just stay in every room I find you in.”

“No, I can’t, hah.” But I wish I could.

“Hey, Olivia?” she says one last time. Her full name. It’s nice, without all the malice.

“Yeah?”

Her eyes brighten a little. Bravery. “I...I hope that you’ll be happy. Whatever that means for you. You deserve it.”

It’s a stab to the side, clean and direct through her ribs and into her gut. Her voice saying ‘I think you knew what I wanted,’ rings loud and clear in her mind again. Wanted. Not want, wanted. And now this. Oh no, Cassandra, please, please don’t tell me you’ve really let go.

“...Thank you, Cassandra. I...I wish the same for you.” I wish it, and I wish it’d happen with me. Be with me. Ask me to stay. This time I’ll stay, I promise. Just ask it.

“Thanks. Um, drive safe, okay?” More of those polite, detached manners. Again. No, no, no.

“Yeah, um,” Olivia swallows, “I will. See you around, maybe?”

“Yeah. I think so.” A smile. She’s smiling. Oh God, she really has accepted it. That they aren’t meant for each other. Like Heloise and Abelard: Olivia as Heloise, ranting and raving in her letters about having been consumed by amorous affection. And then there’s Abelard, pointing her away towards higher callings, wishing her the best. Fuck Abelard, and fuck this.

Olivia tries her hardest to hide it, and she manages a wide grin and wave before leaving. She makes it out the hallway, down the side aisle of the Church pews, out the door, and into her car.

Slamming the car door behind her, she sinks into her compact leather seat and bangs her head against the headrest. Cassandra is letting her go. She did at the gallery, technically, but now it hurts in a different way. A way she feels no enraged pride in, no vanity. No need for spiteful indifference. She wants to take it all back, this time.

The one thing she couldn’t say, and perhaps will always regret, is that Cassandra was right. She is right. And now, she’s giving Olivia what she wants, what she clamors for, all the time. She’s giving it rather than trying to change her. So this is what respect feels like from someone who wants to love you.

The book stays in her lap as she drives home. When she stops at every red light, she clutches where Cassandra held it. If it were all a movie, this would be where she’d drive off into the sunset after her coming-of-age tale, leaving the reckless love behind. But she wants to do anything but that.

How long will it be until she finally stops? The answer is now.

She brakes hard and pulls into a street parking spot -- one of the luckiest moments of her life. Digging in her bag on the passenger’s seat, she finds her phone. Thumbing and thumbing, until she finds her name and the message thread she could never make herself delete.

--You know what’d make me happy? Because I have a couple ideas on the subject. The first is Friday night, at 11. Stay awake, or miss out.