Title: Fear
Chapter: One
Fandom: Greek
Words: 1,773
Rating: PG-13
The party's been going on for almost four hours now, the dinner dishes whisked away long ago by the hotel staff dressed in matching, overly starched uniforms.
"Casey," Evan Chambers says lightly as he touches his fiancé's shoulder. "Why are you sitting here? Alone?"
For a split second, Casey smiles at him, thinks he legitimately wants to make sure she's okay, that she's not out of her element. But the small smile falters as Evan grabs her hand and pulls her up from her chair at a back corner table.
"A politician's wife has to know how to mingle," he reminds her lightly, jokingly, but Casey too tired to engage him in jokes and banter and softly mumbles an apology back at his unnecessary reminder.
"Mrs. de Rohan, Mrs. Flandreau, allow me to introduce my fiancé, Casey Cartwright," Evan tells the two ladies, who are mingling at a table close to the dance floor, as he pulls out the chair for Casey. Once she's sitting, he pushes it in and immediately calls out a name Casey recognizes.
"Senator Logan!"
"So, Stacey," the woman Casey assumes is Mrs. de Rohan begins, "you must be so proud of Evan, being in top five percent of his law class and all."
Casey wants to tell them that she's number three at Northwestern, that she took her midterm this morning before this god forsaken party for Evan's parents, who already hate her. But she doesn't, she won't. Instead, she nods her head and says something about how proud she is, how Evan's going to do great things.
And after listening to Mrs. de Rohan and Mrs. Flandreau tell her how great a catch she made, ask when's the wedding, and blubber on about things Casey's not remotely interested in, she excuses herself and makes her way to the exit of the ballroom. Slowly, so not to draw attention to herself, she opens the door and slips out, making sure the train of her dark blue dress doesn't get caught as the door shuts behind her.
It takes her nineteen steps to get to the door of the ladies' room but as she sees Mim Chambers heading into that particular restroom, Casey turns and heads back down the hallway, past the ballroom where the party is going on in an attempt to find a little peace and quiet.
Her attempt doesn't go unrewarded and Casey slips into the first bathroom she can find. There's a small room before the sinks and toilets that contains two oversized chairs and a floor length mirror. Her reflection in the mirror causes Casey to pause and examine her appearance.
"What am I doing here?"
--
Casey's not sure where she's running to only what she's running from, a life of following Evan's dreams, Evan's plans, and being Senator Chamber's little wife.
The heel on her shoe broke a long time ago and in Casey's haste to leave the Sofitel, she forgot her coat, a grave mistake to make in Chicago in February. She slows down, stops running, and crosses her arms over her chest to ward off the cold. As she passes people, Casey can't help but laugh at her appearance. Here she is hobbling down East Chestnut Street without a coat, her hair half fallen out of its complicated twist, and her shoe broken.
Quite a sight.
She should hail a cab and go back to her apartment or, at least, take the train to her parents' home in Glyn Ellen. But in her haste she foolishly forgot her purse and her cell phone, so she can't even call her parents to come get her.
And, she tells herself, if she's running away, going to a place where Evan would look wouldn't be very smart.
Except, she has no money for a cab or a trip on the EL or a hotel room.
"Stupid. Stupid," Casey tells herself as she brushes past people on the sidewalk. "Stupid!"
People are looking at her now, so Casey turns to the large picture window to her right and hopes the pedestrians will think she was talking about what is in the window.
However, as soon as she looks at the item in the window, her breath catches in her throat.
It's a photograph.
Of her.
Casey furrows her eyebrows, crinkles her face in confusion as she tries to figure out exactly why a photo of her is hanging in this window display.
It's quite a few years old and Casey can't place exactly where it was taken but the smile on her face is one she hasn't seen in a while, one she hasn't seen since she left Cyprus-Rhodes University.
The sign hanging in the corner catches her eye and Casey bends down, pressing her forehead against the class, to get a better look.
"The Sweetheart," Casey mumbles, reading the words. "Copyright. Chevron Caplan. All rights reserved."
At first she doesn't recognize the name but a quick glance at the sign to the left of the photograph fills in her immediately.
"Cappie," she mumbles, her eyes closed, as she pinches the bridge of her nose between her thumb and index finger.
--
"We're going to be closing in twenty minutes," the curt, young brunette manning the front desk of Movement Gallery tells Casey as she hands her a brochure.
"Okay," Casey mumbles back, slightly surprised that the gallery is free. The brochure hangs uselessly by her side as she unable to read about Cappie's life.
Rusty had tried to tell her how well Cappie was doing so many times but Casey had always shut him down. His relationship with Rebecca spanned into January of his senior year and her subsequent reconciliation with Evan in November of senior year effectively crushed any chance of reconciliation between the two of him.
And by the time he finally found the words to profess what he had been feeling since freshman year, Evan had already lavaliered, pinned, and proposed to her. To which Rusty replied that they were moving too fast but Casey just told him he didn't understand, that she couldn't go back to the way things were between her and Cappie freshman year.
So when the time came the next morning to say her final goodbyes, she kissed Cappie on the cheek and whispered in her ear what he had mumbled her ear during their first time.
Ever thine. Ever mine. Ever ours.
It only took forty minutes for Rusty to call and say what she did was inexcusable. It only took five minutes for Casey to cut Rusty out of her life, calling only to wish him a happy birthday and keeping socialization to family events only.
And now here she is, wandering around a gallery of her ex-boyfriend's photographs wondering what if.
The staff of the gallery are cleaning up and Casey maneuvers around tables with picked over trays of food and people carrying empty champagne flukes back to the small kitchen for washing.
As far as Casey can tell, there aren't anymore photos of herself hanging in the gallery and as she passes one of her brother, she runs her finger along the edge of the frame.
"Please don't touch the photographs," the brunette from the front desk tells her and Casey mumbles back an apology.
The final photo on this wall is one of a little girl holding out a stick of wood towards the photographer.
Cappie, she reminds herself as the realization that this little girl might be Cappie's daughter hits her. Her breathing increases as she takes a step backwards, away from the photograph, her eyes frantically trying to find the title card in the corner.
"The Littlest Beaver," Casey reads aloud.
"Mr. Caplan," the brunette from before greets and Casey freezes.
"Cappie, Claire. Cappie," Cappie reminds her lightly. "Did we have a good night?"
"Yep, Annie sold another photograph," Claire replies and Cappie nods his head like he's paying attention. However, his gaze is currently fixated on the blonde admiring his photograph of Emma.
"How much wood could a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?" He asks her as he comes to stand next to her. Her breath catches in her throat as she struggles to figure out what to say. Her silence throws him for a loop and he turns to get a better look at her face.
"Casey?" He asks.
"Hi, Cap," she replies as she turns to face him.
"You look…" he trails off as his eyes take in her mudded dress, her hair falling out from its twist, and from the way she's standing, he would bet that her shoe's broken.
"Like shit," she fills in for him, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Your words, not mine," he says with a smile. "What are you doing here?"
She opens her mouth to response but shuts it when nothing comes out, her brain racing for an answer.
"Hey, are you okay?" Cappie asks her, placing his hand on her arm.
"Where do you get off having a photo of me in the window?" She seethes and he jerks his body back.
"Creative license," he replies with a shrug.
"Well, I want it," she replies, her gaze matching his.
"Nope. Not for sale," he tells her as he jams his hands into the front pockets of his jeans.
"How's Evanesance?" He asks, gesturing to the ring on her finger and Casey moves her other hand over it.
"Fine," she mumbles back and he raises an eyebrow but doesn't verbally question her reply.
"Are you okay, Casey?"
"Yes," she snaps back before dropping her voice an octave. "No."
"Is there something I can help you with?" Cappie asks softly as he tentatively touches her arm.
"No," she replies nodding her head up and down like she did five years ago during that pool game.
"Ma'm," Claire interrupts. "We're closed now."
"Okay," Casey replies softly and turns back to Cappie. "I'll see you around."
--
She's made it to the next store's door by the time he catches up to her, his hand on her arm stopping her dead in her tracks.
"Case, at least let me take you home," he tells her and Casey gives him a small smile.
"I can't," she replies.
"Sure you can. Just get in the cab with me," he says and Casey shakes her head back and forth.
"I can't. I can't go back there."
"Go back where, Casey?"
"My apartment. The party. My life," she tells him and concern dances across his face.
"Okay, well, come back to my apartment. Just until you figure out where you can go."