Sorry for the insanely long delay - I've had exams, but they're thankfully over now so updates should be more frequent.
So.
Rachel becomes more tolerable after their after-class encounter. She keeps her mouth shut – most of the time – and works diligently, accepting all of Cassie's criticisms without complaint and actually improving. Cassie becomes accustomed to looking over to find Rachel's face set hard in focus as she bends over her leg at the barre or leaps across the dance hall, and she knows she's succeeding in her job.
But the more focus Rachel puts on her work the less she does on Cassie, and so she almost involuntarily finds herself more and more trying to attract Rachel's attention; without looking like she's lost any semblance of control. She lingers a little too long when she's critiquing Rachel's work, ignoring her other students to give some scathing advice; she can't help but step into Rachel's personal space more than is strictly necessary, to adjust her posture or push her stretch or just to whisper a sarcastic put down in her ear, which starts to become less like negative reinforcement and more and more like private jokes.
There's some weird, twisted rapport between them; a mutual recognition of their shared weaknesses, which somehow now draws out an amused eye-roll from Rachel at Cassie's cruel admonishments, rather than furious indignation – followed by an almost imperceptible smirk from Cassie.
Cassie would rather eat glass than say she likes her; but she can definitely bear her presence 30% of the time.
She catches Rachel looking, though, more and more; in the mirror when Cassie's back's turned, or through a crowd when she thinks she can't be noticed. And she doesn't miss the way Rachel reacts to her physical proximity, a light sheen of sweat glistening on her brow and her chest heaving slightly too much.
It's mostly just amusing, because whilst Rachel's still dressing like a rather preppy toddler, she can deny any vague attraction to her.
Then one day Rachel sashays in with sex hair to rival Cassie's own, make-up ready for the stage, her breasts almost falling out of her leotard and a shy smile that shows she knows exactly how sexy she looks, and Cassie, despite the fact she has one arm resting on the piano, nearly falls over.
"Looking good, Schwim," she says dryly as Rachel walks past, with a hint of a smirk tugging at her mouth. Rachel's smile broadens, and she self-consciously tugs a strand of beautifully tousled hair behind her ear as she makes her way over to warm up. Cassie glances at her own reflection in the mirror briefly, and her heart jumps when she sees how dark her eyes are.
She hurriedly turns back round to the piano, fingering her cane for a moment before she claps at her class, and, changing her entire lesson plan, says, "OK, on the floor everyone. This afternoon we are working on our flexibility, as most of you can still only lift your legs about as high as an arthritic grandmother. Splits everyone, let's go!"
She sees Rachel – possibly the least flexible in the class – making her way to the far corner and quickly intervenes. "Schwim, over here with me. You need extra help," she tells her, with a slightly wicked grin.
Rachel opens her mouth to protest, but then gamely walks over to Cassie and looks up at her expectantly.
"Right leg," Cassie tells her, nodding at the floor.
As Rachel crouches down Cassie get a full view down her top and christ who knew Schwimmer had a rack worth looking at? She licks her lips and it takes her a moment to realise that Rachel is trying to slide into the splits in possibly the most ridiculous and ineffective way possible. Of course.
"Schwimmer, what are you doing?" she asks, as Rachel lays her right leg flat on the floor and tries to push her left leg back.
"I'm-", Rachel begins, but is cut off with a groan.
"OK stop before you hurt yourself, god," Cassie says when an ugly grimace starts to appear on Rachel's face, because the only place she's heading is a torn muscle. "Seriously Schwimmer, have you never had a dance lesson before coming to NYADA?"
"I learnt how to do the splits from drunken cheerleaders," Rachel replies, so entirely deadpan that Cassie honestly can't tell if she's joking or not.
She rolls her eyes and then slides effortlessly down into her own splits, holding herself a couple of inches above the ground with her hands.
"Don't start from the ground. Keep your legs straight and use your weight to push you down." She lifts her hands up and sinks completely down to the floor, smirking as Rachel's eyes linger on her crotch.
"Your turn," she teases seductively, and Rachel blushes slightly, but then stands up and tries again.
She almost reaches the floor, and Cassie can't resist sliding her hand along the wood under Rachel. She barely brushes her crotch, but she can hear the hitch in Rachel's breath and almost feel the heat radiating from her. She lifts her eyes from her hand to Rachel, and there's something in the slight challenge in her eyes that makes Cassie wonder if she's not the only one who's let their fantasies wander.
"Almost there," she whispers, smirking again. Then she moves her hand away and jumps up, heart pounding as she barks criticism at her nearest student.
When Rachel tiptoes in a week later bearing quite possibly the tallest overgrown baby she's ever met and meekly asks if her boyfriend can sit in on the class, she is literally too shocked to say anything – which Rachel of course takes as a yes, and ushers the lump over to the back of the hall. He glances at her warily and she narrows her eyes in return, placing her hands on her hips as she tries to figure out how in the world over-ambitious, over-reaching Schwimmer ever settled for this boy.
"Just don't join in, okay?" Rachel tells the boy nervously, and Cassie has to bite down her lip to stop herself from laughing. She watches as Rachel self-consciously begins to warm-up, her boyfriend shamelessly checking out her ass, and Cassie suddenly remembers Rachel's probably slept with this boy and just why.
(It's not jealously, it's not at all; she's just disappointed in Rachel for setting her standards so low when everything matters when it comes to your career.)
She needn't have worried, though, because as soon as Rachel starts dancing she loses all her inhibitions and throws herself into her work, leaving her boyfriend forgotten and dejected at the side. He watches her mournfully in a way that suggests he knows she's too good for him and when Cassie looks over at the laughing girl in the centre of the room, playing with her hair as her partner mockingly critiques her fouette, she thinks back to the repressed, small-town schoolgirl she was just a couple of months ago and she can feel a slither of the shock at Rachel's transformation that the boy is going through.
She doesn't see him in her class again. What she does see, a few days later, is a quieter, slightly red-eyed Rachel, and she's neither surprised nor sympathetic.
She pushes her harder than usual for the next few lessons to make sure Rachel remembers exactly where her focus lies.
Cassie's on her way home one evening when she quickly doubles back to grab her flask from her studio. She's halfway across the wooden floor when she hears a rustle and looks over to see Rachel standing by the barre in the half-light, startled. Streetlight distorted by the window makes shadows dance across her face and Cassie suddenly thinks how beautiful she looks, her lips slightly partly and her chest still heaving from exertion.
"Miss July," Rachel says in shock, looking nervous.
"Schwimmer," Cassie replies, sounding much more pleasantly surprised. "What are you doing in my studio so late at night?" she asks, sauntering over.
"I- I was just practicing my rond de jambs a little more," Rachel tells her hesitantly. Cassie feels a little like she's stumbled in on a secret ritual of Rachel's, and she knows she should turn and leave, really; but secrets seem to be something they share now.
"Ok. Show me what you've got," Cassie tells her, waving with her fingers. When Rachel hesitates further she prompts impatiently, "Go on!"
Rachel obliges, and Cassie studies her carefully as she sinks down and arches one leg out and round in a slightly wobbly semi-circle.
"No, Schwimmer," Cassie interrupts, and Rachel stops mid-exercise, rising up. "Your weight is completely off centre. Pull up. Then you'll keep your balance and look less like a demented chicken."
Rachel bites her lip and tries again, but she's even more of a mess. Cassie sighs exasperatedly and wonders what the hell has gotten into her.
"Ok I'm going to show your body how it needs to form, and then you try it like that," Cassie tells her, moving forward to slide a hand round her waist to hold at her back, and press the other hard against her abdomen. Her fingers tingle on the soft fabric and Rachel's sweet perfume washes over her and for a moment her breath catches in her throat.
Rachel glances down at the barre and bites her lip again.
"Again Schwimmer," Cassie says quietly, and her voice somehow comes out an octave lower than it did before.
Rachel looks up at her determinedly, and obediently lowers herself towards the floor again, Cassie moving with her as they hold each other's gaze. Rachel sweeps her leg in a perfect arc across the floor as Cassie holds her, feeling the tremors in her body, then they rise gracefully up together.
They stop, Cassie's arms still wrapped round Rachel's waist, chests almost brushing together as they heave from the exercise. Cassie watches as Rachel's eyes ghost over Cassie's lips, and she ever so slightly raises an eyebrow at her.
The clang of a door down the corridor shakes them out of their reverie and Cassie snaps away, leaving Rachel looking disorientated.
"Better," she tells her softly, smiling. Rachel stares up at her with wide eyes and she knows Rachel's wondering if she's talking about something else entirely.
She turns and stalks back out of the studio, grabbing her flask and doesn't stop until she's out of the building and in a cab home.
She leans back against the seat and lets out a deep sigh, as she wonders if Rachel was really about to kiss her.
She doesn't know when that became something she actually wanted.
Her good mood lasts two whole days, until she spots Rachel sharing a coffee with Brody in Washington Square Park and it evaporates on the spot.
She knows there's something going on. She catches Brody dropping Rachel off before class, or waiting for her after, and it's painfully obvious that he's as much of a smarmy predator as ever; and that Rachel loves it. Cassie watches as she plays with her hair and he whispers something in her ear before they head off down the corridor together and she rolls her eyes so much they hurt.
It grates.
It grates that when Rachel dances, she shakes off her inhibitions, throws herself into her work and owns her body, smouldering or floating, whatever the dance demands and oozing confidence (often misplaced, because she's still near the bottom of the class – although that's a class of fifteen of the most of the talented Freshmen performers in the country); and then as soon as Brody appears she becomes a giggling, fourteen year old girl and it's actually nauseating, with or without a hangover.
It grates because their entire dynamic feels like some private joke, communicated only through flirtatious looks and sarcastic barbs and lingering touches, but it's there nonetheless, in a way that's completely unique and she's become… fond of; and every time Rachel bursts their bubble with a smoulder up at Brody she feels a wave of bitterness that she doesn't entirely understand.
She's never liked things that are out of her control. So she decides to put the two of them in a room together, her room, and figure out a way to get what she wants.
Whatever that is.
Rachel looks up eagerly as she saunters into the dance hall, and she feels that familiar buzz of satisfaction when she sees her unconsciously licks her lips. Oh it is so on.
"So, partner up! We're gonna go across the floor; let's start with some jetés."
And – yeah, her class is completely designed to involve as much physical contact as possible. Sometimes she wonders if any of her students notice how effortlessly she manipulates them.
(She wonders if Rachel does.)
Brody predictably heads quickly over to her and Rachel beams, hands moving straight to her hair. Cassie watches, unnoticed, from across the dance hall as Rachel gesticulates to some kind of speech she's apparently making, which Brody evidently has no interest in. He feigns a smile that is so patently see-through Cassie almost rolls her eyes.
She tries to focus on critiquing her students, but it's all pretty generic. Her eyes and ears keep being drawn back to Rachel and Brody, now moving just close enough for her to catch what they're saying.
"I know, I'm really excited. So you know the director Ivan van Hoven? He's doing this, like, amazing avant-garde production of 'The Glass Menagerie'-"
That catches Cassie's attention. She remembers Ivan; cruel, chauvinistic and power-mad, one of the most hard-to-please directors on Broadway, and also one of the most-desired. She'd sacrificed almost every ounce of dignity she had in her audition for him, fresh out of college and painfully naïve; she made it to call-backs, if only so he could torment her naivety some more.
Schwimmer, no.
She can't help a sly glance over her shoulder as they move past, and she pouts at what she sees; Rachel in all her enthusiasm at her exciting new opportunity.
"…and so he's looking for just a fresh face to play his Laura Wingfield," Rachel beams up at Brody. Cassie knows that Rachel doesn't stand a chance – and so does Brody if his patronizing tone is anything to go by – but that doesn't stop the flare of jealousy rising up inside her.
She remembers her first role, and the excitement and the promise and the many, many things she's bitterly resigned to never experiencing again.
When Brody wraps his arms around Rachel and tells her she's too hot to play Laura – and when she buys it, smiling coyly up at him despite his compliment being both misogynistic (he should damn audition for Ivan) and ridiculous – her jealously roars.
She glares as she follows them across the floor, ignoring the rest of the class as her self-control starts to slip and she has to intervene.
"Hey, some advice," she interrupts, because it's the best excuse her irrational mind can muster. "You're not ready for Ivan," she tells Rachel firmly, and when her eager little face falls she softens slightly, because Rachel's earned a little of her respect now.
"You're not tough enough yet, you don't have enough wounds," she insists, and there's truth in what she's saying; Cassie wasn't and didn't either, and she tells Rachel as much.
"Look, I auditioned for him, for his header, and he made me recite my monologue in a slip, standing on one foot, pouring tomato juice all over myself," she divulges, almost affectionately. It seems to work, because Rachel looks downright terrified. "Skip it Schwimmer, Ivan will eat you alive," she advises her, before turning away.
There's a slight pause until Rachel – predictably – fights back.
"I can take it," she insists, and Cassie momentarily has a flashback to Rachel saying exactly the same thing in her dream a few nights ago. She turns back round, biting her lip in frustration as her hands subconsciously play with her cane and christ is there no end to this girls aggravation?
"And I was thinking, maybe you should audition too?" Rachel suggests hesitantly and – what?
Cassie has to pause for a moment to check she hasn't misheard, but no, Rachel really did just say those words. Humiliation rises up harsh and raw as she instinctively ices over and honestly why does she ever try to be nice to her?
She masks it quickly with amusement. "You mean the faded southern belle?" she asks in feigned ignorance that barely masks the ridiculousness of the suggestion. "Who spends her haggy days selling magazine subscriptions over the phone?" She pouts, and waits for Rachel to take the hint. And honestly if she'd backed away Cassie would have left it at tormenting her for the rest of the term.
But she doesn't, because she's Rachel, and she just twists the knife even further when she says hopefully, "I just thought you maybe might wanna get back in the game…"
Get back in the game.
Cassie literally cannot form words to fully verbalise her rage, so she just smiles with a cold, terrifying sweetness at poor, naïve Rachel, as she visualises how to best destroy the girl who has just crossed every single possible line.
It's not even hard.
"Juniors take five," she orders the class, turning away from Rachel who realises instantly she's gone way too far, because Cassie never just dismisses her. Cassie can see how sulky and disgruntled she is, glancing back at Brody as if to say I told you so.
She gives Cassie a dark, almost warning glare as she disregards her for Brody and what, does she think she has any influence over Cassie's actions? Because she just knows her so fucking well now apparently?
Cassie pushes her anger down and slips into her most charming role as she beckons Brody over.
"But it's gonna mean a lot of late nights, a lot of time out of school, you're gonna have to help me prep lessons…" she tells him, and she can see from the eager look in his eyes he knows exactly what she means.
He's almost too easy to manipulate.
But then he says, "Ahh actually, can we start on Monday? I promised Rachel that I would-"
She freezes at the mention of Rachel's name, anger and jealousy at so many things hitting her in another huge wave. Why her? Why does everyone else love this girl so damn much? Why is Cassie being put second place to her?
(Why is he the one who gets Rachel?)
"Yep," she can barely whisper in reply, trying to keep her simmering rage pushed down until the right moment. "I understand!" She says it so sweetly he eyes her with suspicion; but he'll never care enough about her motives to stand up to her, so she ignores it.
She splits the Freshmen and Juniors up after that, and spends the rest of the lesson ignoring the worried looks Rachel throws her from across the dance hall.
She's watching West Wing reruns on her couch with Lucian, take-out on her lap, when he suddenly pauses the program and she realises she's been staring into space for the last fifteen minutes.
She sighs, shoving her food away from her as he gives her a long, hard stare.
"Cas," he says slowly, raising his eyebrows. She's silent and sulky in a way she only can be around someone she's known for fifteen years.
"What did she say?" he asks. Cassie whips round to give him a shocked glare, and he snorts.
"Well she's clearly done something," he insists, reaching forward to finish Cassie's take out. "I can't think of anything else right now that would distract you from Kristin Chenoweth."
That makes her laugh.
"You make me out to be so much gayer than I actually am," she smiles, stealing some of her takeout back.
"I really don't," Lucian replies dryly. She raises an eyebrow and then sighs again, because that just brings her back to…
"Schwimmer suggested I audition for Amanda Wingfield in some off-Broadway 'Menagerie'," she tells him darkly.
Lucian whistles lowly. "Does she want to be eaten alive?"
"I know!" Cassie exclaims, almost laughing in disbelief. "It's like she doesn't even understand that she is a Freshman in college and I'm… I was on Broadway for five years!"
"Where did that suggestion even come from?" Lucian frowns.
"She's auditioning for Laura," Cassie tells him sullenly, and then looks away when she hears the bitterness in her own voice.
"Ah," Lucian says, in a way that tells Cassie she's pretty much laid all her cards on the table as to why she's actually so… christ she doesn't even know what emotion she's feeling anymore.
"She's your student; don't you want her to succeed?" It's not really a question, and when Cassie glances over at her friend she knows she doesn't have to voice the two conflicting answers in her mind.
She looks at him completely openly for a moment, and says in a quiet, almost scared voice, "There's just something about this girl, Luce."
There is, and she hates it.
She hates the skip of her heartbeat when she hears Rachel's voice echo down the hallway from her classroom. But still, she can't help smiling when she walks in and sees her, so adorably terrified.
Then she remembers why Rachel looks so scared, and why she's probably in the studio after-hours.
(She sucks it up, because she knows her revenge will come soon.)
When Rachel's outstandingly homosexual roommate nearly salivates at the sight of her painfully well-toned abs and Rachel looks ready to throttle him, she feels a small victory, though; Rachel turns a wonderful shade of crimson and tries to avoid both her abs and eyes at the same time.
"So you were saying? Not gonna see… what?" she prompts, not because she in any way cares about Schwimmer's life, obviously, but she can definitely get some embarrassing personal anecdotes from baby face to humiliate her with in the future.
Sure enough, seconds later Rachel's breakup with the Un-incredible Hulk is confirmed to her, and it amuses her when Rachel glares at her confidante as if she was private about her emotional life.
But it does present an interesting premise to Cassie… unresolved feelings for an ex are the perfect way to lure Rachel away from her New York man candy, giving Cassie the chance to exact some sweet, sweet revenge.
"When is it?" she asks.
"This weekend."
Bingo.
"Oh," she says as casually as possible. "Well you need to go."
Rachel has a strange expression on her face at that, which Cassie can't quite read.
"I mean if you're both not over your exes it's a perfect opportunity for closure," she presses.
"I have closure," Rachel reassures her, and Cassie's not quite sure which of the three of them Rachel's trying to convince.
She tries a different tactic. "Ok, then go have fun, Schwim."
Rachel pulls a frustrated face and Cassie wonders if Rachel would rather she persuaded her to stay. With her. She can't meet her eyes all of a sudden.
"Or go because it's Grease. Go because it's your friends, it's your high school." She can't quite keep the bitter nostalgia out of her voice, and jealousy creeps back up inside her.
Gay best friend jumps in on the act, though, and his little high-school monologue actually makes Cassie pout in faux-sympathy because it's cute what these kids think is real pain.
"And even if I wanted to go – which I don't," Rachel reassures her, and Cassie rolls her eyes because she really doesn't give a fuck whether Rachel goes chasing after her pathetic ex-boyfriend for a weekend.
(She only cares if she's being chased by someone who might actually win her.)
She arches her back out as Rachel gives some monologue about her poverty (she doesn't miss the hesitation in Rachel's voice as her bum rises into the air), then looks up at Rachel from under the barre and suggests seductively, "Well, I could give you my Jet Blue frequent flier miles."
She stretches out her back again as she explains her aeroplane mis-adventures, pushing her hips as high into the air as possible, because, well, while she's got Rachel here staring, she might as well make the most of it.
"…which resulted in the hospitalization of… three flight attendants."
Baby Lucian looks more curious than concerned, and she warms to him a little.
"Don't ask," Cassie tells him, and then turns round to Rachel, "And don't go, if you don't want to."
Rachel looks like she's hovering on the precipice, so Cassie tells her more gently, "But I just think you'll… regret missing it."
She looks surprised at Cassie's kindness – rightly so – and she wonders for a moment if Rachel's smart enough yet to figure out when she's being played.
She's not, though, especially with the emotional blackmail of her roommate – who Cassie really does like – so she instructs them to forward her their details, and later that evening sends back two tickets under the name of Miss Schwimmer.
Rachel beams at her in class the next day, and she simpers back. Brody doesn't pick her up or drop her off, and Cassie can't help feeling a twinge of happiness at that.
What he does do, however, is drop into her office later that day to let her know he's free this Friday after all.
She smirks and crosses her legs and tells him she's glad.
It's not even hard.
An hour of breathless, passionate tango with lips brushing against necks and wandering hands where she lets Brody know exactly what she wants… and what he can have if it takes it. It's a game, another role she's playing and she doesn't think or feel but does what she's the absolute best at.
When she sees the song amongst her selection she smiles darkly to herself, running her fingers lightly across the table before she makes her decision. A little homage to Schwimmer, and Cassie wishes she was here to see this.
I could flirt with all the guys
Smile at them and bat my eyes
Press against them when we dance, make them think they stand a chance
Then refuse to see it through
That's a thing I'd never do
It's a role she's born to play, and she throws herself into her seduction and just forgets, just for a moment… forgets how old and tired and aching she feels, forgets the endless rejection and humiliation, forgets her career's in tatters, forgets that she's a terrible person, forgets about Rachel, forgets that she doesn't even know herself anymore. Until…
But to cry in front of you,
That's the worst thing I could do
And without hesitation Rachel's laughing form, dark eyes lifting to smoulder at her from under her lashes, flashes before her eyes, and jealously and self-hatred and guilt overwhelm her and the only thing she can think of doing to make it go away is turn her head to Brody and pull his mouth down on hers.
She puts on her best smile and gives him what she knows is pretty much one of the best nights of his life, because this is one domain in which Rachel just cannot compete, and she wants to make sure he never forgets Rachel's second-best to her.
She doesn't want anyone to ever fucking forget that.
And it's pretty fun, because he is smokin hot and knows how to move his body like only a dancer can, but when he pushes her over the edge she can't help the face that forces itself into her mind.
She shouldn't want her so badly. She shouldn't want her at all. When she sees her name flash up on Brody's phone a wave of jealousy hits stronger than anything before, and she has a sudden, overwhelming urge to show Rachel that she hasn't won. This is a game that Rachel will never win.
She smiles as she picks up the phone, drawing out her sweet, sweet victory.
"Well hello Schwimmer," she smirks. "How's Ohio?"
"Cassandra?" Rachel asks in confusion. "I… I was calling for Brody," she says slowly, and Cassie can almost hear the panicky scenarios running through her mind.
"Yeeaah, he's in the shower," she tells her, pausing to let the implication of her words sink in. "Soaping up his incredibly chiselled physique. Want me to leave him a message?" she adds casually, trying to sweep away in two sentences any notion of Rachel's that she was actually familiar with Brody, or that she ever even stood a chance.
Rachel's arrogance (and naivety) is outstanding, though, and she can't quite comprehend the idea of her precious boy-toy doing the dirty behind her back.
"I-I'm sorry I don't understand," she stammers, and Cassie relishes what comes next.
"Ah, let's see," she begins teasingly. "You blew off your play date with the hottest piece of ass at NYADA to go visit your loser ex-boyfriend. Said hot ass was lonely, distraught… didn't know what to do with himself… and was more than happy to help me choreograph a routine when I called him up. And then one thing led to another and next thing you know he's at my place and… you know…"
There's a pregnant pause, and she hears Rachel take a shaky breath on the other end of the phone, like she's playing the part of a tragic high-school heroine.
"So… you and Brody?" she says tearfully. "Why?"
Well, she asked.
And Cassie needs to spit out some of that venom, some of that sting of Rachel choosing that stupid, stupid boy and then daring to make her feel more humiliated than anyone has in a long, long time.
"Why don't we consider this one of those nasty life lessons. Auditioning for an off-Broadway play… Throwing yourself at an upper-classman?"
It's ridiculous, and she knows it. She pushes her students beyond their limits and encourages them to do the same for themselves, but she still manages to make it sound like Rachel's being idiotic. She's outright lying at the second part, but she knows Rachel's insecurities will make her believe it, if only for a moment.
"And then telling me that… I need to get back in the game?" she laughs incredulously, because it is ridiculous. Who is this girl, this aggravating, deluded, arrogant, girl to make any assumptions about Cassie's career? "I'm- I need to get back in the game?! I think you were overreaching and needed a little bit of a reminder. I am the game, Schwimmer," she tells her, and in that moment she almost believes it. "And you are what you've always been. A privileged, self-indulgent, dime-a-"
The phone goes dead. Cassandra pauses for a moment in disbelief, and then laughs.
She's won.
She lies still on the bed, heart hammering with adrenaline. She has to fight the urge to phone Rachel up and torture her some more she feels so smarted at being hung up on, but her pride stops her and she throws the phone across the room instead.
Then she leans back and smiles in satisfaction as she replays her last words to Schwimmer… how long has she wanted to throw that reality in her face, christ. Her whole body is buzzing with alcohol and endorphins and a hundred different competing emotions, but she can pick out a tiny glint of hope… that maybe she'll feel a little less shitty about herself.
Then Brody walks back into the room and it hits her how much she's just sold herself for revenge and she honestly nearly heaves and she knows she hasn't drunk enough yet to cause that.
"You need to leave," she tells him, sitting up, and she looks startled.
"OK…" he says slowly.
"I have stuff to do tomorrow," she adds, by way of explanation. "Nothing personal," she smiles. He nods, and quickly gathers his things. Cassie's breath hitches when he picks up his phone, but he notices nothing.
"You can let yourself out," she tells him sweetly, sliding back onto the covers. He looks at her strangely for a moment.
"Cassie…" he begins, and she raises an eyebrow and wonders if he's actually going to confront how much she's just used him.
(Maybe it'll make her forget how much she's used herself.)
He's always been spineless, though, so he shakes his head and says, "Nothing," then leaves.
She should probably feel victorious, she thinks, but she really just feels kind of vague and light and empty, with a dull nausea in the pit of her stomach, which is how she knows she basically just needs another drink.