Thanks for all the feedback so far! I've been finding it extremely difficult to give the characters depth, writing from a largely omniscient point of view. This is definitely a learning experience for me (:
Disclaimer: I do not own LWD.
III
He showed up at her door Friday night with a duffel bag and a six-pack of beer. When Casey answered she was clearly in the process of getting ready to go out. Her hair was curled and she was wearing about twice as much eye makeup as Derek had ever seen her wear. But what really gave her away was the dress – a lacy, black garment with a low V-neck and thin straps made of thick, gold curb link chains, not that he knew what those were.
What he did know was that she looked incredible.
"Going somewhere?" he managed to sputter out.
"No, Derek, I went to class looking like this," she replied with as much sarcasm as she could muster.
"Um, Case, if you're that desperate to meet guys, I can introduce you to some people…"
"Shut up, Derek," she said. "I don't have time for your crap, I'm already running late for a stupid event I don't even want to attend."
She turned her back to him on her way to her bedroom and revealed that her dress was also completely open-back.
"Uh, Case," he called after her, setting his bag down beside the couch on which he assumed he'd be sleeping. "Where exactly are you going that requires you to wear…" he gulped, "that."
"Derek," she said sternly from her room. "If you could refrain from insulting my outfit, I'd really appreciate it. I had a hard enough time deciding on this dress; I don't have time to pick a new one."
Casey hated running late. She liked to keep a tight schedule, but she knew the real reasoning behind it was that to be late implied someone was waiting for her, and Casey hated letting people down. She also hated feeling like she was annoying someone. Or that they were angry with her.
"Who's insulting?" Derek called from the sofa.
She reappeared in her doorway with a hand on her stomach and let her eyes meet his. "You think it's okay?" she asked timidly.
"You still haven't told me where you're going."
"Oh. That pretentious new club that opened up a couple weeks ago, you know… the one with the French name?"
"You go clubbing?" he asked, wide-eyed.
"Sometimes. Only when other people instigate it. It's my friend's birthday." And like that, she was reminded that she was on a schedule and slipped back into her room to dig through her jewelry.
"Why don't you want to go?" Derek asked after a minute or two of silence.
She emerged from her room again; all that was left for her to do was pick a pair of shoes and she was good to go.
"I just love it when guys grind up behind me without even asking first. Definitely my idea of fun," she stated bitterly.
"Bit of advice, sunshine," he said, reacting defensively to her bad attitude. "If you don't want guys rubbing their junk up against you, don't dress like that."
And suddenly, she could feel tears stinging her eyes; not as a direct result of his comment but from the combination of a lack of sleep, her unpunctuality, and above all, her unwillingness to discuss her own insecurity with someone who would probably just ridicule her for it. How could he possibly understand? He had been worshipped by everyone around him for – from what she understood – ever.
"I'm not discussing this with you." She'd intended for the statement to sound assertive, but her voice faltered and Derek noticed.
"Casey…" he started candidly, and she knew that if he continued in that manner that she'd start crying for sure.
"Please just drop it," she cut him off.
He didn't know how to react. He stared at her for a few moments, opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it again. Finally, he offered her a beer. For a brief instant she considered making a face, but she also knew it would take the edge off. She took it from him and chugged about half before deciding she needed a break.
"Speaking of alcohol," Derek said, "how are you going to get in tonight? You're still eighteen."
"All-ages event," she replied, and brought the can to her lips again. Derek watched her in amazement. He'd half-expected her to spit it all over him, and here she was, polishing it off within a matter of seconds. "How did you even get this?" she asked.
"Roommate's nineteen, he took a year off. This was his way of saying thank you for vacating this weekend. I thought maybe we'd share them tonight but…"
"Yeah, sorry," she interjected. "Anyway, I really have to go. Make yourself at home."
"Thanks Case." He grabbed the remote off the coffee table and started flipping through the channels. "Oh, and by the way," he turned his head to face her on her way out the door.
"Hm?"
"I'm sorry for what I said. You look amazing."
