Road to Scarborough
For a request from Chelsea (laneyseradias), technically.
00
This sucked.
Seriously, though. Casey felt another tug on her long skirt and turned, shooting a dirty look at the guy who kept sitting on the white fabric. She shifted away from her harasser, huffing. Honestly, this wasn't at all like it was in the movies.
She thought moodily of every chick flick she'd ever seen – and she had seen quite a lot of them – and in each and every one, the femme fatale always pulled off their last grand, romantic stunt with dignity and grace.
And none – not a single one! – of them had ever been forced to take the bus in their wedding dress.
She thought dismally of Julia Roberts and her cleverly charming wedding escapes. Why couldn't there have been a convenient horse waiting for Casey to ride away on, hair and lace flying like the cover of a romance novel? But no! Casey's white horse came in the form of the 2:37 bus to Scarborough, which was so typical.
Casey winced as she caught sight of a little girl across the aisle, who was staring up at her with wide, curious eyes. She gave a tight smile to the little girl and quickly looked away, praying that she was shy and too afraid to ask questions. She realized that seeing a grown woman in full wedding regalia was a bit of an unusual sight to see on a mid-afternoon public transport, but this was Toronto, right? Big city, these people should be used to weird things happening? Right?
Damn it. She knew she should've moved to New York.
The bus pulled up to a familiar stop and she jumped up from her seat, whipping a young woman in the cheek. Casey whirled around and apologized, only to smack the aforementioned harasser in the face. That, she didn't apologize for.
She gathered up the overflowing bundle of white tulle that made up her skirt and shimmied sideways down the aisle, smiling shakily at the line of irritated people who quickly became victims of a flying piece of lace or silk. She escaped off of the bus and, being the only one getting off at the stop, barely managed to clear the platform before the bus took off again.
She stood there for a moment, hesitating. What now?
She looked around the empty bus platform for a moment, stumped. It was completely empty. The sky was much darker than it'd been when she'd boarded the bus, she noticed, with angry looking storm clouds gathering overhead. Wind whipped through the station, throwing around random pieces of garbage and thoroughly ruining what was left of Casey's sixty-dollar hairstyle. On a bench set beneath a small awning, an abandoned wool coat lay on the planked wood.
Casey shivered and plopped down on the bench, picking up the coat. She ran her hands over the fabric, wondering who it belonged to. A business man, on his way home from a work trip? A young mother, perhaps, who was too distracted with her small child to notice her missing coat?
Whoever it was, their loss was Casey's gain. Given that she hadn't exactly been in the most sane of mindsets when she'd left the church, she'd left her purse, jacket and – well, change of clothes – back in the small preparation room. Thank God she'd ran into a sympathetic soul at the bus stop, otherwise she wouldn't have been able to pay for the bus ride.
She slipped the wool over her shoulders, instantly feeling warmed and strangely comforted. It was a strange thing, to take comfort in an abandoned coat, but well. If there was one lesson that Casey had been learning lately, it was to stop questioning the good things in life.
She huddled beneath the coat, well-aware that she looked insane. She imagined what someone would think if they were to happen upon her here, what they'd say to themselves or their companion. Oy! Look at that girl there – the stick thin one, with the bags under her eyes! She's wearing a wedding dress, but she's got such an odd, bulky coat on – and why is she crying, do you suppose?
Jilted at the altar, their companion would say wisely. Or maybe she's the one who did the jilting.
Young people. They'd shake their heads regretfully, as if speaking of someone with a terminal disease or a dead family member. Too bad.
Casey stifled a slightly hysterical laugh, and the imaginary couple vanished from her mind's eye. Maybe she really was insane. Derek had accused her of being so enough, and it would certainly explain a few things.
Derek.
Casey stifled a sob, leaning forward to cover her face with her hands. How had things gotten so screwed up? It seemed like just yesterday that everything had seemed so perfect, so destined. Everything had just fallen into place so wonderfully, Casey could hardly believe her luck. That should've been my first sign, she thought ruefully. When something seems too good to be true, it usually is.
She sniffled several times, gaining control of her emotions. She couldn't waste anymore time here. She had left for a reason, hadn't she?
She stood on shaky feet, stumbling slightly in her ridiculous high heels. She'd always hated stilettos, but Noel's mother had bought these for her special, from one of her trips to Chicago, and she couldn't her him no. She scowled and reached down, ripping them off her feet one at a time.
Barefoot, she gathered up her huge skirt (she hated this dress! She'd never wanted it, but Noel's mother had picked it out, Goddamn it) and headed for the street. She had no money for a taxi or a pay phone, so she'd have to walk. She might get blisters, but it was better than the alternative, which was hanging out like a bum on this stupid, abandoned bus platform.
She just hoped that she was remembering his address correctly.
00
Okay, so the walking barefoot thing was a bad idea.
Casey winced, collapsing on a curb to rest her sore feet. She pushed her skirts away impatiently and rubbed the arch of her foot. The weariness of the day had started to catch up with her, and now it seemed as if her entire legs were throbbing. The strain of running around in the stilettos all day – not to mention the barefoot walking, which as stated earlier, was kind of a bad idea, yeah, but what was her alternative again? – had caused her feet, ankles and calves to ache painfully.
She remembered even more now why she'd always hated high heels, in any capacity. Her mother had told her countless times that she would get used to wearing them, but even now, at twenty-four years old, every time Casey donned a pair of heels, her ankles and calves pained her for days afterwards.
She let her foot fall to the grass and sighed. She had no idea if she was even walking in the right direction, let alone how much longer it'd take for her to get there. The sensible thing to do here would be to find a phone and call somebody and just ask, for God's sake, no money or not – but Casey recoiled at the thought of talking to anybody she knew right now. Well, anybody save for one person in particular.
Well, if I could get ahold of him, I wouldn't be wandering around Scarborough barefoot, now would I? she thought moodily.
Well, it's not like she blamed him, really. Derek had every right to ignore her calls. In fact, if he had done to Casey what she'd done to him, she was pretty sure that she would do a hell of a lot more than just pretend to be in the shower whenever he called her house.
Which is why I need to talk to him, she thought. God, he probably thinks I'm married right now. Her stomach rolled at the thought.
Thought of the wedding inevitably led to thoughts of Noel – and well, her family, too. She thought briefly of her sister, who was probably spitting mad right about now. Lizzie had never really been comfortable with Casey's relationship with Derek, as brief as it was – or as brief as Lizzie had thought it'd been – and by now, Casey knew that everyone had definitely figured out what had happened. She wasn't sure if they'd make the connection with Derek, considering that most of the people in the church had no real clue that Casey even had a stepbrother at all – but Lizzie, well. She would know. Lizzie always knew.
Casey cringed momentarily at what would happen when she finally met up with Lizzie again. She knew she was in for the scolding to end all other scoldings from her little sister. Lizzie had always really liked Noel.
She sighed. She didn't really care if Lizzie hated her, this was too important. And that had always been the problem, hadn't it?
Besides, sisters are supposed to forgive mistakes. Sisters always come around eventually. Right?
She thought of the rest of her family, most of which she knew were probably desperately confused and trying to figure out what the hell was happening. Her mother would be crying, she supposed, blaming herself. George would be mainly focusing on calming down her mom, but also bewildered and worried himself, in his quiet, reserved way. Marti was probably having the time of her life. She always had enjoyed uncomfortable situations.
Edwin, though, was a rich man right about now. He didn't know that she knew about that betting pool of his. Pfft! As if she wouldn't be naturally suspicious of anything he did by now. And all those little comments he'd been making all week didn't dissuade those suspicions either. You know Case, if you and Noel do get married – and I'm not saying that's a solid future action at all, by no means – you do realize that your initials will become CC? As in Care Copy? Do you want to be a Care Copy your whole life, Casey? A stupid email function that people ignore?
Thanks, Edwin.
Casey smiled ruefully, then quickly squashed it, realizing that a tired, dirty girl in a wedding dress with a goofy smile was probably a bit too crazy looking.
She hauled herself to her feet, wincing as the throbbing in her feet came back at full force. She smiled tightly at a mailman who was walking past her, eyeing her as if she were a rabid dog about to strike. Honestly, people. It's not like she was wearing a 'kiss the serial killer' apron or anything. Jeez.
Gathering her skirts in her arms once more, Casey sighed and walked on.
00
Was it Pine or Pinto Street?
Casey bit her lip, shifting from side to side. Who names a street after a Pinto, anyway? And why couldn't she remember which street Derek lived on? I mean, come on. He was her stepbrother, she saw him every week at the stupid family dinner thing her mom insisted on. Not to mention the fact that he was the love of her life – that was important too. So why exactly couldn't she remember where he lived, for God's sake?
Well, that answer was easy. She'd been ignoring him.
"Ugh." Casey made a sound of disgust, wincing when the guy in line in front of her turned and shot her a dirty look. "Oh, not you. It's me. I mean, something I did, not that I'm disgusting – I mean, I am kind of disgusting right now, with the dress – I tripped over a branch, that's why I'm so dirty…cuz, it's getting…dark…" Casey smiled, trailing off. "Sorry."
The guy rolled his eyes and turned back to the front without a word.
Really, would it be too much to ask to just meet someone who was the slightest bit sympathetic? Casey was beyond weary of the strange glances and wary looks she'd been getting all day. One woman had even crossed to the other side of the street when she'd seen Casey coming.
And where was her wise, inspiring, old-lady character when she needed her? Or the all-knowing best friend character who always knew what she really wanted before she did? Julia Roberts had Joan Cusack. Drew Barrymore had Molly Shannon. All Casey had was Emily Davis. The closest Emily had come to an inspirational moment was when she'd found the right shade of lipstick to match Casey's wedding dress. And Emily was the last person that Casey would ever go to for advice about Derek – especially with the whole her having a huge crush on him thing was still an issue. And didn't that suck.
She finally made it to the payphone, after the guy who'd given her a dirty look had hung up. She gave a tight smile to the exiting man, who rolled his eyes again. Great. The people here were so pleasant, she could really see why Derek loved it so much. Not.
She went straight for the phone book, cursing herself for not thinking of this earlier. What kind of runaway bride was she? Obviously a shitty one, that's what kind.
She flipped through the white pages, finding the Vs quickly. She mouthed the names to herself as she ran down the list, murmuring softly. Then, she stopped.
There was no Venturi listed.
She nearly threw the book down in frustration. Of course the bastard wouldn't be in the book! Just last week, hadn't he made Edwin and Marti laugh with a story about a crazy fan who'd been hanging around the skating rink because she hadn't been able to find his house? What pro athlete listed their address in the stupid phone book anyway? Jeez.
Casey let the book fall down on its chain, defeated. What was she supposed to do now?
She wracked her brain. She couldn't trust her memory, no way. She'd been too caught up in herself and her denial to do anything but ignore Derek the best she could the past few weeks. She knew that he'd told her his new address, right after he'd moved, but it'd been after Noel had proposed, and Casey had been too busy thinking of an escape route from the conversation with her stepbrother-slash-ex-boyfriend to really listen to what he'd been saying.
And, well, where did that leave her now? Sure, she'd left Noel at the altar, probably made lifelong enemies in the form of the Covington family, probably her own family too, braved public transportation and bummed a ride off of an unsuspecting good Samaritan – who'd thought she was running to her wedding, no less! – and walked almost ten miles, wandering around the city in a vain search for a house that she'd never been to and only heard the address of, once. And all of this left her dirty, tired, lovesick and regretful, barefoot and fed up, with absolutely no way of getting to Derek.
Ugh. This so figured.
Then, it came, in a burst of inspiration that nearly left Casey breathless.
Sam!
Sam had helped Derek move in. He'd been over there a lot – or so she figured, considering that he and Derek were as close now as they'd ever been – and furthermore, he'd made his feelings on her treatment of Derek quite clear when he'd abruptly refused to attend her wedding – though in a much ruder way than Derek had. She'd been so furious with her old friend at the time, but now Casey could only muster an amused smile at the memory of Sam ripping up the invitation and throwing it in Noel's face.
She grabbed for the phone, biting her lip and dialing Sam's home phone number. She could only pray that Sam was there, since he was conceivably, her only chance.
She called collect, waiting for the operator to cue her to say her name. When the beep sounded in her ear, she burst into hysterical speech. "Sam, it's Casey, I've left Noel and I don't have any shoes! And – " the recording cut off and she cursed. Shoes?! Shoes is the first thing she says? Jeez, she really disappointed herself sometimes.
She bit her lip in anxiety as the phone rang, praying for Sam to pick up. Finally, his voice came over the line, and Casey nearly slumped in relief. "Yeah?"
"Sam! I – "
The recording cut her off. "You have a collect call from, Sam, it's Casey, I've left Noel and I don't have any shoes! And - . Do you accept the charges?"
There was a silence, then a small shuffling. Casey worried her lip until it bled. Then, he chuckled. "Yeah, I accept."
"Sam!" Her voice broke. "Oh my God."
"Hey, Case." She could hear the repressed laughter in his voice. "Anything interesting happen to you today?"
"Oh, Sam," she said, voice cracking. "I'm so sorry. I'm such an idiot."
"You don't owe me an apology," he said, chuckling. "Everyone's freaking out, by the way."
Casey jerked. "Oh God, there's nobody there, is there? I mean, you're not waving at my entire family to shut up right now, are you?"
He laughed. "No, no. But they've been calling frantically, about every five minutes. George had to talk your mom out of calling the police. They all think you've been kidnapped."
Casey had to roll her eyes. "I left a note."
"Yeah. Your mom doesn't believe it, she says you'd never leave Noel at the altar." Sam's voice was sardonic.
Casey gave a watery laugh. "Call her back and tell her I'm fine. Tell her that I'm doing what I have to do, and that I'll contact her soon. Don't tell her where I am or why I left, though."
"I won't," Sam promised. "So you are going to Derek?"
"Of course," Casey said. "But…" she bit her lip. "Sam, I don't know where he lives," she said, immediately and intensely ashamed of herself.
"Do you want me to come pick you up?" Sam asked, concerned. "Where are you, anyway?"
"Somewhere in Scarborough," Casey said. "I couldn't get to my car keys, Lizzie and Noel's mom were in my room…anyway, I took a bus, and my heels don't fit right so I had to take them off, and everyone keeps looking at me like I'm a big freak – which of course I am, in this stupid dress."
Sam laughed. "You're wandering around Scarborough…in a wedding dress, with no shoes?"
"Shut up. This has been a very traumatic experience."
"Casey, it's almost five. It's getting dark."
"I know," Casey said. "I have a coat, though. I found it at the bus station." Sam barked a laugh. "Shut up! It's not dirty, or anything. It's nice and warm."
"Only you," Sam said. "Okay, do you have a pen or something?"
"Um. Hold on." Casey looked around the pay phone, searching for a stray pen. Then she gasped and reached down the neckline of her dress, pulling out her emergency stash of lipstick. Well that little piece of advice from her mother actually did help, who knew?
She tore out a page from the phone book to write on and picked the phone back up. "Okay, I'm here. I have something to write with."
"Okay. He lives at four-twenty-two Prince Street."
"Prince!" Casey cried. "No wonder I couldn't find it. I thought it was Pine. Or Pinto."
"Pinto? Who names a street after a Pinto?"
"Well, that's what I said." Casey scribbled the address onto the page, glaring up at her in bright red lipstick.
Sam laughed. "It's a medium-sized place, brown and green. He's got a nice, big lawn and a swing in the backyard for when Marti and her friends visit. His car will probably be in the driveway – you know what he drives."
"Is…is he home?" Casey asked, voice small.
"I dunno, Case. He's been ignoring everybody for awhile. I haven't seen him in a couple of weeks, and he hasn't been to work since Monday."
Casey felt a little short of breath and had to brace herself against the wall of the phone booth. "Oh."
"Look, just find him. Once he sees you everything will be okay. This is what he's been hoping for."
"Yeah," Casey said weakly. "I'm so sorry, Sam. I can't believe it took me so long."
"Better late than never," Sam replied, voice gentle. "Are you sure you don't want me to come pick you up? I mean…it's dark, and you are barefoot."
She laughed shakily. "No, I'm fine. I think I'm close. And…you know. I wanna do it myself."
"Okay."
"Thanks," Casey said meaningfully. "Don't forget to call my mom."
"I won't. Good luck, Case."
"Bye, Sam. And thank you, again."
00
Derek's street is pretty, Casey thought whimsically. Then she frowned, because whimsical thoughts were always a sign that she was about to fall asleep, and that would not be the best option at all.
She was so close. She'd made it to the correct neighborhood by a few very uncomfortable encounters with strangers to ask for directions. She'd finally made it to Prince Street, but apparently had been on the wrong side, because the numbers on the houses were in the nine hundreds, while Derek's house was at 422.
She passed the five hundred mark and gave a sigh. A few more blocks, at the most.
At this point, there was no point in even pretending anymore. Her hair, which had been styled and curled into an immaculate bundle of curls on top of her head that morning, was now splayed across her shoulders, sweat and hairspray making it stiff and uncomfortable. She tried not to move her head so much, so she could pretend that it didn't bother her.
Her dress, however, was a whole other kind of disaster zone. The hem was ragged and muddy, rips and tears in a few places where Casey had tripped. There were small runs and tears all over the skirt from the various places she'd walked and sit – plus the branches and feet that she kept getting caught on. A long grass stain ran up the left side from her little rest on the curb, and several muddy patches littered the bodice from where she'd absentmindedly wiped her hands. There was lipstick smudged in the sleeve, too, from where she'd tucked the piece of paper with Derek's address on it – no pockets.
Casey didn't even want to think about her face. She knew most of her makeup had to be gone – too much crying – but she dreaded the moment when she'd get a glimpse into a mirror to witness the extent of the damage.
She knew she looked horrible. Beyond horrible, she looked like a refugee, or an escaped mental patient. She was well-used to the looks from strangers by now, and had slowly noticed them growing from weird, amused, and wary to outright horrified. That was one reason why she'd declined Sam's offer of a ride – not that he'd be scared of her, or anything.
Sam was one of the nicest people she knew; he was genuinely incapable of being mean, at all. He was steadfastly loyal, too, and not just because she was his best friend's stepsister and later lover – no, because he was her friend, and that was the way Sam was. Even when he was angry with her for treating Derek horribly, he was still nice. The only outright rudeness he'd shown was to Noel and Noel's mother. After the incident with the invitation, he'd called Casey to apologize and explain. He was just…really nice. It was one of the things she remembered liking the most about dating him, and one of the things that she valued, now that he was her friend.
Which was the problem. He'd be nice, if he picked her up. He'd give her a hug and a change of clothes and he'd drop her off at Derek's with a million reassurances. Which was the exact thing that she didn't want.
In a way, this horrible afternoon had been Casey's version of penance, she figured. Because really when you got right down to it, Casey deserved all this and more. She was the one who'd gotten herself into this mess, it was only fair that she have a horrible time getting out of it.
Also, she wasn't too sure how she'd handle kindness if she came into contact with it. She felt harsh and ugly, frayed and ragged at the edges, and she didn't want to risk sullying anyone else with her nastiness.
No, she wanted to be made fun of. She wanted to be mocked and yelled at. She'd had fleeting thoughts of calling Lizzie and listening to the lecture before vetoing it in favor of Derek. Yes, she had to find Derek.
Derek wouldn't hesitate to give her hell. In fact, Casey was willing to bet anything that it'd be the first thing out of his mouth when he saw her. What happened to you? He'd say. Or God, Casey, what hurricane did you fall out of this morning? Or even your hair looks stupid. She'd take anything.
Not to mention the things he'd say when he heard her reasons for running out on her own wedding. Oh, now you find your common sense. Jesus, Casey, ever heard of the phrase, 'too little too late?'
She could imagine his face when he'd say that. The bitterness and the anger. Her chest ached at the mental image, but she kept walking all the same. She needed to hear him say it. She needed to see the full affect of what she'd done.
454. 452. 450. 448. 446. The numbers flew by slowly as she walked, her gait pained and halting, due to the overwhelming ache in her legs and feet with each step. She didn't want to think about the state of her poor feet – she was sure they were bleeding in some places. She'd caught sight of flashes of red in her footprints, though it was too dark to see clearly.
438. 436. 434. 432. 430. Would he care that her feet were bleeding? Would he let her take a shower before he reamed her? She hoped so. She'd at least like to be wearing pants when he told her he never wanted to see her again.
426. 424…422.
Wow, she thought. It looks so normal.
Then she scoffed at herself. She didn't know what she'd expected besides a normal-looking house.
It was completely dark now, and Casey shivered in her oversized coat. She looked up at the sky, which was rumbling every few minutes with the sound of thunder. She almost wished it'd started raining earlier, before she'd gotten here. It would've been fitting. Maybe it would've made her feel a little cleaner, too.
She looked back at the house, heart beating rapidly. There was a light on, somewhere inside the house, though not in the front, near a window. Casey could see the soft glow of it slightly, though it was not bright enough for her to outright see inside, like she could with every other house whose occupants were sitting stupidly in front of their TVs in the front room, huge window setting them on display for the whole world to see.
She couldn't really tell, in the darkness, but the house seemed to be in shades of brown and green, like Sam had said. It was set further back on the lot than the other houses, so that the lawn was bigger. She saw his black Versa sitting in the driveway, silent and still as stone.
She took a deep breath. No sense in waiting longer. It was time.
She walked slowly up to his door, walking through the grass so as to give her feet a break, and maybe clean them off a little. She jumped lightly to the welcome mat on his doorstep, avoiding contact with his sidewalk, in case she was leaving bloody footprints behind her. She thought of her trek down the street and cringed, imagining a crimson path, leading everyone straight to her.
She knocked on the door before she could change her mind, lifting her chin up and refusing to let her hands flutter or her face betray the ocean of trepidation that was sloshing around in her chest.
She waited several minutes, fidgeting on his welcome mat. She knocked again. She rang the doorbell. She bit her raw lip.
No answer.
Was he asleep? She checked her watch – seven pm. No way was he asleep yet. He was home, his car was in the driveway. And he hated getting rides from people, he always had to be the one driving, so he wouldn't have gone out with anyone. Was he…was he with somebody?
The thought made her freeze. No! He wouldn't…would he?
He would, the evil part of her brain whispered. He's done it before, right after you broke up. He slept with that girl from his Sociology class because he was angry.
That was different! she argued. We were in college! And I forgave him for that.
He thinks you're married, her brain whispered evilly. And Derek likes to bury his feelings in sex. It's all too possible that he's got some bimbo in there with him.
She shook her head. Well, even if he does have a girl in there, she thought, I still have to talk to him. It'll be fitting, anyway. I was engaged to somebody else up until about six hours ago, after all.
With bravado she didn't really have, Casey tried the doorknob and found it unlocked. Breathing a sigh of relief, she entered, letting the door swing shut softly behind her.
"Derek?" she called out tentatively, peering into the semi-lit hallway.
The source of light was from down the hall. She followed it, finding a brightly lit kitchen, empty of one Derek Venturi. She ran tired eyes over the empty room and turned, finding a living room, a bathroom and a dining room, all empty.
She walked quietly through the lower floor of the house, opening doors and occasionally calling out his name. One door revealed a set of stairs, presumably a basement, and filtered noise from a television drifting. She bit her lip and started to descend.
The basement was finished with cream colored carpet and sparse furniture. Casey saw a TV with a baseball game playing, volume low. There was a small lamp lit in the corner, and a wet bar was installed next to the sliding door, leading to a walk-out patio. Several empty liquor bottles were sitting lined up on the counter, and Casey spotted a smashed beer bottle on the tile.
"Derek?" She looked at the small couch, facing toward the TV and away from her.
She tiptoed forward slowly, conscious of her dirty feet on the white carpet. Sure enough, the object of her affections was on the couch, sprawled out on the cushions, completely and utterly passed out. She sighed, running her eyes over his disheveled, yet sleeping, form.
This so figured.
00
It was a policy of Casey's, one that had lasted a long time and had never failed her, that showers always made things seem a lot better than they were. It didn't let her down.
She left the door to Derek's bathroom open, letting the steam pour out and bathe her skin in its warmth. She'd debated about using Derek's bedroom or the spare bedroom she'd found down the hall, knowing that the appropriate and polite thing to do would be to use the spare, but the temptation of using the same shower as he did, the same water running over her body as it ran over his, using the same blankets and pillows that he used every night, was too much to resist. It was an intimacy that she'd sorely missed.
She felt refreshed, hair fresh and clean of hairspray and grime and sweat, soiled wedding dress now firmly in the trashcan. Sixteen hundred dollars of lace and tulle were now rotting in Derek's plastic trash bin, and Casey felt better than she had since she'd bought the damn thing.
Wrapped in a towel, she dug through Derek's drawers, searching for something to sleep in. Her long day was catching up to her, and her vision blurred as the exhaustion started to get to her head, making her movements sluggish and uncoordinated.
Finding a soft shirt and a pair of boxers, she slipped into them, not bothering with underwear. She still had her undergarments she'd been wearing – simple white cotton, she'd never found enough energy to dress up for Noel – but wearing the lingerie she'd would've worn on her honeymoon seemed all kinds of wrong. Commando was better, anyway, at least when wearing Derek's clothes. Yet another intimacy she was stealing the chance for.
She'd left Derek in the basement, after cleaning up the broken glass and covering him with a throw blanket she'd found. She'd learned in college that trying to move somebody who wasn't helping was more trouble than it was worth.
She felt slightly guilty, yet thrilled at the same time, as if she were trespassing, or sneaking out of the house. Which in a way, she was.
Still, she couldn't bring herself to care much when surrounded by bits of Derek. His clothes, his bedroom, his things…the room screamed Derek. CDs and vinyl records littered every empty space, and Casey saw his computer in the corner, post-its and bits of scrap paper littering the desk. The screen was on 'sleep,' and when Casey had jiggled the mouse, the screen had brought up iTunes, with Derek's familiar strange and obscure collection of music.
She smiled, climbing into his bed and slipping beneath the covers. She let her hair fall loose, knowing she'd pay tomorrow for not blow drying it – Derek loved it when you didn't blow dry your hair, he said it looked wild – shut up, brain!
She laid her head on his pillow, feeling her damp hair on her shoulders. She let her muscles relax, feeling the tension that'd been infusing her body for months finally dissipate.
She gasped, clutching at Derek's blanket. She felt overwhelmed, emotionally exhausted, ashamed, angry, disappointed…as if every emotion in the world had flew down and settled in her chest. She wiped at her face, feeling tears flowing steadily from her eyes.
She sniffled once, turned over to press her cheek to Derek's pillow, and quickly fell asleep.
00
"Crap. Crap, crap!" Casey jumped back, yelping as a splatter of grease caught her in the arm. She scrambled for the heater, turning the stove off. "Stupid bacon. Ow!" She grabbed a heating pad and moved the pan off of the heat, moving to the sink and running the red, inflamed skin beneath cool water.
She threw a nervous look at the basement door, hoping that she hadn't awoken Derek. Not that she was cooking for him, or anything. It was his food, but…you know. Whatever.
It was almost eleven am, and Casey had done a wondrous job of pretending that nothing was out of the ordinary.
She'd awoken from a nightmare four hours earlier, a scream tearing its way from her throat. After another shower (her policy never failed, after all), she'd occupied herself with cleaning every inch of Derek's bedroom, trying to erase any evidence that she'd even been there. She'd worked her way down to the kitchen, where her growling stomach had reminded her that her last meal had been the sparse breakfast the day before that she'd been too nervous to eat.
Obviously, the breakfast thing had been a mistake.
Her little cleaning spree had also given Casey an opportunity to explore Derek's home. She'd known that he hadn't been living here for very long, and it was obvious. What little furniture Derek did have was obviously from his old apartment, and the walls were sparse and bare. There were no touches of Derek's personality at all, save for his bedroom. Even the basement, what little of it she'd seen the night before, seemed utilitarian and cold.
Casey sighed, dumping the bacon into the trash. Well, she had toast already made. Toast was easy. Slide in and press the button.
She took her toast on a paper towel and walked backwards into the dining room, keeping her eyes on the basement door. She was too nervous to turn her back on it.
She wasn't sure how long she ended up sitting there, but her toast was gone and she'd shredded the paper towel into little paper pieces on her lap. She'd flipped through every channel Derek had on his little TV in the living room, and she'd cleaned every corner of the kitchen.
A loud thump sounded from the basement and she squeaked. What was the protocol for this, exactly? Should she go down there? He was probably awake – or he'd fallen off the couch. What was polite in this situation, really?
Well, nothing was polite, she figured. The polite thing to do would've been to leave when he didn't answer the door. The polite thing would've been to marry Noel.
She sighed, clenching her shaking hands to her chest. Time to face the music.
She listened to him moving around downstairs, sitting with her back stiff and straight on the couch. Soon enough, she heard him climbing the stairs and she rose to her feet, hands clasped so tightly that her knuckles were white.
The door opened and Derek stumbled into the kitchen, squinting. He gave a groan and raised his hand to his head, ducking his chin. Hangover, Casey thought.
He didn't notice her at first, so she took a step forward, raising her hand tentatively. She opened her mouth to speak, but no noise escaped. She took a deep breath and tried again, this time managing a small, squeaky, "hi."
Derek cursed loudly, jumping slightly in surprise. His head swiveled around so fast that he stumbled backwards. "Casey?!"
"Hi," she said, a little louder. He continued to stare at her in shock, and she gave a dorky little laugh. "Sorry. Hi."
"What are you doing here?!"
"Uh," she cleared her throat nervously. "I left Noel." He gave no outward reaction, only kept staring at her incredulously. She laughed again. "Um. I made bacon!"
00
"Um, I'm sorry about uh, breaking in," Casey said. Her voice shook and she winced. "I just…kind of needed a place to crash." Derek was lying face down on his couch, a bag of frozen peas on the back of his neck. He gave a sort of grunt, which encouraged Casey to continue. "Sam gave me your address," she said. "I couldn't remember where you'd moved to, and I kind of wandered around like an idiot for like, five hours. You should've seen me when I got here, I looked like a refugee." She laughed stupidly again, wondering somewhere in her mind why she was acting like such an idiot.
Derek turned his head slightly, moving the bag of frozen peas. "What do you mean you 'left Noel?'" he demanded.
She opened her mouth several times, slightly stunned. "Um, I left him. I mean, I left the wedding."
"You didn't get married?"
"No."
He took a deep breath, then moved his head back to its original position, letting the bag of peas fall back to his neck.
"Um," Casey said, feeling vaguely like she was wading through a minefield. "I, uh, haven't called my mom yet. Sam said that they were all freaking out, thinking I'd been kidnapped or something."
Derek made a 'hmm' noise.
"And, um…I banged up my feet." She looked down at the mentioned feet, encased in thick black socks. "I mean, I had to walk barefoot cuz my heels were horrible, and so I got here with these huge cuts on the bottom of my feet – I didn't even notice them until I woke up this morning…" why am I talking about my feet, exactly?
Derek had been so still and quiet that when he sat up suddenly, Casey jumped. "Why did you come here?"
"Um. What?"
"Why did you come here?" he asked again. She bit her lip, looking down, and he threw the bag of peas at her. "Damn it, Casey!"
She jerked sideways, narrowly missing the bag of frozen vegetables. "Hey!"
"Why do you keep fucking with my head? Seriously, is this like, a hobby? Did I miss the day in school when they taught you how to do it?"
"No!" Casey took a deep breath. "I came here because I made a mistake. I didn't want to marry Noel, and I should've listened to you." She said all of this in one long breath, hands clenching and unclenching in her lap.
"So you…came here," he said, still looking angry, but lowering his voice. "How did you get here? You didn't walk from Toronto?"
"No, I took a bus. And then I walked here."
"From the bus station?" He frowned. "That's like, ten miles away."
"Well…yeah. I didn't know where you lived, though, so I walked in circles for awhile."
"Jesus." He looked at her feet. "Your feet are really cut up?"
"Um, yeah. I wasn't really paying attention and I guess I was stepping in stuff."
He sighed. "Let me see." He grabbed her leg before she could protest, pulling her foot into his lap and pulling off the sock. "God, Casey."
She bit her lip. "It looks worse than it is."
"Were you walking around this morning? You should be laying down with ice on this." He smoothed a steady hand down the arch of her foot, looking at the swollen and cut bottom. She shivered as a wave of tingles raced up her leg.
"I can't really feel it now," she said. "It aches, but…" she trailed off on a gasp as his hands closed around her ankle.
"It'll get worse."
"Maybe." She went to bite her lip, but remembered that they were chapped and stopped. "Maybe it's already as worse as it could get."
"No. No, we've been to the very worst. Trust me."
Tears sprung to her eyes. "Derek, I'm so, so – "
"Stop." He smoothed his hands up her calf, stopping right below her knee. "I mean, you're here, in my house, your feet all cut up, wearing – wearing my clothes…"
"Sorry about that," she whispered. Her other leg moved, seemingly on its own, her thigh lining up next to Derek's knee. Her foot fell from his lap, though he kept his hands wrapped around her knee, holding her leg at the junction between thigh and shin.
"I thought you'd be on your honeymoon by now," he said softly, voice rough. "I thought you'd be Casey Covington…"
"I didn't," she said. "I never really thought it was real, I don't think. Which is why I left. I mean, I realized it was actually happening. And I just…had to leave."
Derek moved his hand up her leg, past her hip and stomach, up to her collarbone. He brushed the hair away from her neck, trying to smooth down the curls that sprung up wildly around her face. "I love your hair like this."
She shivered and bent forward abruptly, slanting her mouth over his. She pulled away just as quickly. "Sorry. Uh, sor – "
He cut her off with another kiss, pulling her forward by her neck so forcibly that she almost fell off the chair she was sitting in. They both leaned forward, almost hanging off the couch and chair they were on, until Derek pulled Casey forward too far and she collapsed into a heap at his feet.
He burst out laughing and she slapped his legs, blushing. "Oh God, thanks for that. Really."
He helped her up, laughing. "Sorry."
She shook her head, standing. "This isn't at all how I pictured it happening. Like seriously. Everything that could've gone wrong has gone wrong."
"Well, you did run out on your wedding." Derek's face had slowly started to clear up, as if he'd taken an emotional-acne remedy. He was smirking slightly, eyes deep and dark with affection.
"Yeah, I really did." Casey smiled tentatively. "And it wasn't anything like the movies. Like, at all."
"Really." He grabbed her hands.
"Well, Richard Gere wasn't drunk when Julia Roberts ran after him," she pointed out. She swallowed nervously as he bent down to kiss her neck. "And Julia Roberts had a horse. And a Fed-Ex truck. And…something else, I can't remember – oh!" she arched into him, eyes fluttering shut.
He wrapped an arm around her waist. "You know, I bet you saw a lot of the town while you were doing your wandering bride act," he murmured, pulling back slightly.
"Mmhmm," she said.
"So how do you feel about Scarborough?" he asked, smiling lazily. "I mean, just as an objective observer."
Casey blinked a few times, then smiled. "I think I like it," she said slowly. "I think a city that threats its runaway brides so horribly has to have some very good sense."
"I wholeheartedly agree."
Casey smiled and jumped slightly, throwing her arms around his neck. He winced and pulled back, "hangover! Hangover."
"Ooh, sorry." She gave him a more reserved hug, planting a kiss on the base of his neck and huddling into his chest. "I really am sorry," she whispered.
He leaned down slightly, his chin on the top of her head. "I know," he whispered back.
So, it wasn't really like the movies. Her feet hurt and her mom thought she'd been kidnapped and she'd ruined a sixteen hundred dollar wedding dress and they would really need to have a talk about all that liquor she'd found stashed in every corner of the house. But really, you know. It could've been worse.
Casey gave a relieved sigh, feeling Derek's hands on her back.
Way, way worse.
00
end.
00
Okay, well…this started out as a prequel to Child's Play. And it turned into this. Yes, it's a one-shot. I don't know if I'll do a sequel.
Hope you enjoyed.