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Cassie had opened the door ten minutes after Victoria had left three soft knocks against it, as if she still wasn’t sure she was welcome.
When she opened it, her jeans were unbuttoned, and Victoria could see the white boxer briefs underneath. A silver chain hung around her neck instead of the usual gold one. Her bangs, as always, were rebelliously messy, refusing to stay in place.
So that was what Javadi remembered: stairs, because Cassie hated elevators, door, Cassie, couch.
Victoria without her shirt and bra, sitting on McKay’s lap while her own shirt was already wrinkled and her lips swollen from too many kisses.
In Cassie’s apartment, in Cassie’s living room, on Cassie’s couch.
Cassie’s tongue slipped into Victoria’s mouth, rough and warm, while the hands around her waist remained cold. For some reason — unknown to Victoria — McKay got cold easily, which was why she wore jeans even inside the apartment, keeping herself warm that way. Victoria didn’t mind anymore. She was used to it, and she knew it wouldn’t take long before Cassie’s fingers warmed inside her.
Looking past Cassie’s shoulder, Victoria noticed a faded green plastic dinosaur lying forgotten on the living room floor.
Harrison, she remembered.
Shame flooded through her veins, twisting in her stomach before climbing into her face.
Three days earlier, she had been sitting on that very same couch, eating popcorn and watching some dragon movie with a clever, mischievous little boy whose wild hair and large eyes resembled his mother’s, the same mother who made Victoria’s stomach tighten and stole the air from her lungs.
But if she thought too much, Cassie would notice, and Victoria didn’t want her to stop and ask what’s wrong? only for her to answer your son.
So instead, she focused on Cassie’s bittersweet perfume, the way it seemed to deepen the taste of the kiss, and leaned closer with a quiet sigh as their mouths met again. Cassie smiled.
It all felt so dirty.
Sometimes Victoria became painfully aware of herself, of the way she flirted with her mentor at the emergency center, exchanged short obscene messages with her, and asked for things she shouldn’t want. Her stomach would twist with disgust.
Repulsion.
Other times, she became aware of herself, of the fifteen minute breaks spent drinking lukewarm terrible coffee together while laughing quietly at work. Their hands brushing. Their shoulders bumping together when one of them said something funny. Texts asking about Harrison. Weekends spent at Cassie’s apartment because her son insisted Victoria stay.
She wanted to be close to her. Always.
Love.
And that was the feeling Victoria locked away in the deepest corner of her mind, pretending the word itself didn’t exist, because she couldn’t physically run from it.
That one was worse.
She could handle the guilt. She could bury it in desire, in bruises, in hunger, in the desperate need to feel Cassie close enough to erase every coherent thought from her head.
But she couldn’t stop the chaos inside her — the pounding heart, the sleepless nights, the anxiety every time she waited to see her again. There was no cure for the trembling in her hands or the aching need for Cassie like fresh water after a lifetime of thirst.
Everything Victoria felt for Cassie McKay was painfully, stupidly young.
And God, she hated herself for it.
That was why it took nerve to lie to her mother, drive all the way to the worn white apartment building, climb the stairs, and show up at Cassie’s door, even if it was Friday night and even after receiving a single clear message:
Come over.
Even though Victoria knew exactly what this was. What they had been doing for six months.
Strangely enough, none of that courage was necessary when it came to kissing Cassie like she belonged to her. Or tugging at her clothes. Or losing herself completely beneath her touch.
It was effortless, like falling under a spell where her only purpose was to remain beside Cassie until she either shattered apart or dissolved into her entirely.
So when Cassie pressed a kiss against her neck and rested a hand on her thigh, Victoria tilted her head back and whispered against her ear without hesitation:
“Bite me.”
When Cassie pulled back to look at her, she didn’t seem shocked. Or disgusted.
Quite the opposite.
Her lips parted slightly, her breathing shallow, her eyes bright with fascination and want, like a hunter staring at prey.
Cassie’s teeth pressed carefully against Victoria’s skin at first, almost gentle, drawing a shaky breath from her.
“Don’t be so gentle, Cassie.”
After that, the restraint vanished.
By the time Cassie bite her again, Victoria’s skin burned with heat and scattered marks, and she had never felt more wanted in her life.
Minutes passed in a blur of sweat, tangled limbs, breathless sounds, and the dizzying feeling of being consumed completely by someone else.
With two fingers inside her, Cassie leaned close and murmured softly:
“Do you like that?”
Victoria could barely breathe properly anymore.
“Yes,” she answered hoarsely. “Cassie…”
“You’re good, Vic”
And then, without thinking, without preparing herself for it, Victoria whispered:
“I love you”
The words came naturally. Too naturally.
Not like something said in the heat of the moment, but like something long accepted and impossible to deny.
Cassie froze, stopping abruptly.
When Victoria finally opened her eyes, Cassie looked stunned, as if she’d been struck across the face.
Victoria’s stomach dropped instantly.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Cassie looked as though she were falling from the top of a building without ever reaching the ground.
Victoria watched her mouth open once, twice, several times, yet nothing coherent came out.
Fear crawled beneath Victoria’s skin.
Then something changed in Cassie’s expression. Her jaw tightened, and she stepped away quickly.
“I think you should go” she said firmly, without looking at her.
The words hit harder than Victoria expected.
“Cassie, I-”
“No. Seriously. You should leave, Victoria.”
Cassie was already dressing again, her back turned the entire time.
And suddenly Victoria felt like she was back in her first days at the emergency center, being sharply reprimanded by the woman.
She had never learned how to handle this version of Cassie.
The first thing Victoria wanted to do was cry.
Cry like a child, cry like someone who knew she had done something wrong without understanding why it was wrong at all.
The second thing she wanted was to disappear before Cassie could see her being so fragile.
So she dressed clumsily, nearly tripped while putting on her shoes, and left without another word. Tears were already slipping down her face before she reached the first flight of stairs.
By the time she reached the landing, her legs gave out beneath her.
Victoria didn’t want to cry.
She didn’t want to go home. She didn’t want to have left Cassie’s apartment. She didn’t want to feel for her.
Cassie didn’t want that either.
She never should have.
The only time Cassie turned around was to stare at the closed door.
She was gone.
All that remained was Victoria’s scent, the fading warmth of her touch, the memory of her laugh, the forgotten lilac coat she’d left behind months ago and never taken back. Harrison asking over and over when Victoria was coming again, with no answer to give him.
After that, Cassie avoided Victoria the way someone avoids a cross.
She avoided her eyes as though they could burn her alive. Avoided standing too close to her as though love itself were contagious.
Cassie wanted Victoria to hate her.
And one day, while working side by side with her again, watching Victoria smile gently at the frail woman in bed, Cassie felt a sharp wave of anger that Victoria hadn’t kept her love to herself.