Chapter 10 - Unsustainable

The elevator came to a stop at the penthouse. "It's simple," Mac was exasperated. "When you act like so much of a dick that you have to apologise, you can't then think it's ok to chance your luck at a kiss!?"

"But… some of my best apologies end in lip action… sometimes more!"

He was pouting; she wished he wouldn't, it was… annoying … yes, annoying was obviously the word she was looking for. "I'm not a make-out buddy you inadvertently called the wrong name."

"Hey, I didn't get offended when you inadvertently used my name in a derogatory manner just now."

She rolled her eyes, trying not to let him distract her with irrelevant technicalities.

"So I have to kiss you before I upset you?"

"That is not what I'm saying," Mac was infuriated.

"I notice you didn't tell me not to try to kiss you, you were just very specific about when it's inappropriate."

Logan was looking up at them from the couch as they entered the suite. He'd paused his video game, 'Hopefully after Dick's last comment,' mused Mac as her brain adjusted to Logan's presence. He had taken in their dishevelled state, and despite his calm tone it felt accusatory when he asked them, "What happened?"

"Nothing," they responded simultaneously… defensively.

Exchanging embarrassed glances Mac felt it was better to move their conversation into Dick's room. She felt guilty: Logan was obviously worried about them - about Dick - but right now she couldn't deal with an extra personality, an extra ego, an extra level of judgement. Logan could wait to hear about their day, he could have his say later; Logan and Dick could bond over bruised fists and cut lips, Logan would have Neosporin for him.

She wanted to ask Dick how he was; how he was dealing with the rejection of his high school peers; she wanted to apologise for leaving him, retreating into herself instead of standing up for a friend; but she didn't know how to start that conversation. Instead she just stood staring dumbly at Dick as the sounds of Logan's game filtered through the door.

She reverted to safe mode: bickering. "I'm just saying, when you've done something stupid we like to hear the words, you know, that tell us you know you've done something stupid, and you're sorry." She was pleased to see him smile, relaxing visibly at her chosen topic.

"You're speaking for all girls?"

"If you pick them up at a frat party, you're good to go. Anyone at a frat party has had fair warning you'll act like a dick."

He coughed, pointedly, and followed up with a pout that could only be designed to disarm… 'annoy' she corrected herself.

"Sorry!" She muttered, "Must remember that dick is not a derogatory term, and even if my friends occasionally act in a nonsensical manner I shouldn't use their name as an adjective to describe that manner." Mac wondered, uncharitably, how many of the long words Dick would comprehend in his mildly intoxicated state and smiled up at him, daring him to challenge her.

Dick shook his head, but his grin told her he accepted that her half-hearted 'note to self' was all he'd receive by way of an apology. "What about actions? Girls like actions!?" he asked.

"Thoughtful actions: like remembering we prefer liquorice to chocolate; letting us school you at halo; listening when we tell you about the important article we just read…"

"Opening doors, that rubbish?" he sank down into his bed.

"I have arms Dick, I'm perfectly capable of opening doors myself. Just don't let them swing in my face and I'm happy. Thoughtful actions, not patronising ones."

He looked up at her, his face serious suddenly, "I'm glad you came CindyMac… next year we skip the kegger…"

She nodded: she was surprised at how easy their day had been; how easy it had been to visit Cassidy's grave; how easy it had been to spend Cassidy's birthday together, well, until they'd upset one other with differing recollections of Cassidy -competing recollections. Until they'd become embroiled in a High School party where neither of them were wanted. "It's weird… going back…?" she asked.

Dick nodded, breaking eye contact.

When she moved to sit beside him he stopped her. "Don't even think about it," he waved her back, "this is my bed! If you want closer the clothes need burning, and you need a shower." His eyes were twinkling, laying it on thick, but apparently there were circumstances under which Dick Casablancas would kick a girl out of bed; or not let her sit on it, which was as close a relationship as Mac wanted with this particular bed.

"You know you can wash clothes right? You don't have to buy them new every day."

"Oh, so that's what the maid does," he smirked.

Mac tried smoothing down her top. It had dried, but crispy wasn't a vast improvement when it came to clothes.

"Shower here MackyC, you can't go home smelling like that." Getting up he pulled his 'Meh' tshirt from his top drawer and chucked it to her along with a pair of long black shorts that would probably make it to her ankles.

'Damn Dick and his taunting offer of clean clothes!'

"You're staying for food?" he asked. "I'm starved!"

Mac hadn't agreed to anything, but somehow she was in his shower; her clothes piled in his sink; a fluffy towel and robe waiting for her along with the clean clothes.

Dick was ordering takeout.

The solidity of the shower's frosted glass doors emboldened her - no shower curtain. Luckily the penthouse bore little resemblance to the room where…

Subconsciously following the instructions of her therapist she distracted herself with trivia: Playing with the shower's controls until the cascade of warm water was just right; tapping at the sound system until she was happy to hear music fill the room; sampling the miniature bottles of expensive toiletries replenished daily by busy staff.

The tiny bottles held bliss, an unsustainable environmental catastrophe in the making, but bliss. Logan and Dick were due a lecture on sustainable living: tiny toiletry bottles fill up landfill at an alarming rate, and even pampered 09ers living in the Grand's most expensive suite, could learn to take some responsibility for the environment - well, she could try, she would enjoy trying. At least they didn't have access to a minibar: until they turned twenty-one they were stuck with the ignominy of having to buy their own full sized alcoholic beverages, elsewhere, instead of relying on the hotel's vast staff to supply their every whim in environmentally unsound, prohibitively expensive, miniature form.

It's hard to fully appreciate soap until you really need it. Mac fully appreciated soap; and the fluffy robe she wore as she towel-dried her hair, and for that matter the towel; and, of course, the clean soft clothes that smelled faintly of Dick as she pulled them on. She smiled briefly at the 'heM' tshirt reflected in the vast mirror. How she was going to explain her change of attire to her mother was another question; with any luck her mom would be in bed before she got home, so she could wash her beer soaked clothes… 'Where…?'

Mac froze, her lungs stopped working, refusing to accept air, as her brain concluded that her clothes really had disappeared; looking desperately around the bathroom didn't help. How could this be happening again? What the hell was wrong with the world that people thought they could steal her clothes.

Why had she trusted a Casablancas boy? 'Good luck getting laid…' Cassidy's taunt was back to haunt her, but she couldn't hear Cassidy's voice anymore, it was Dick saying the words, sucking at the confidence she'd regained this past year, his High School leer mocking as he partied with his friends.

"What the fuck Dick," she screamed across his room. At least this was a Casablancas brother she could shout at - hurt.

He closed the lid of the pizza box and swung his legs warily from his bed; his face betraying his guilt; his mouth open, but he had no reply for her, no justifications. He moved towards her, until her harsh words halted his advance.

"No wonder you're alone. Why the frak would you take my clothes? Is this some screwed up way of getting back at Cassidy? A sick tribute to Cassidy? Hurting me, continuing where he left off?" The tears were running down her cheeks, her voice shaky as her lungs continued to fight her body, refusing to hold on to the air she gulped.

The sound of the door crashing against the wall barely registered as she continued her tearful tirade. "Cassidy took everything, there's nothing left, you can't hurt me. I loved him and he destroyed me. You, can't hurt me!" she knew it was a lie, but it was a lie she needed desperately to believe as Logan pulled her into his arms, holding her head against his chest. Shielding her from Dick; shielding Dick from her?

"What the fuck Dick?" Logan was angry, the kind of anger that's independent of tears, the kind of anger Mac could only pretend to feel. "What happened?"

"I… I don't know… I don't know…" he repeated, the wobble in his voice beginning to mirror her own.

"You must have done something!"

"No! I… I took her clothes, for the laundry service… she spilt her drink… I didn't do anything… I didn't hurt her…"

Mac felt her legs buckle beneath her and Logan allowed them to sink to the floor, holding her, rubbing her back, his steady voice trying to reach her. "It's ok Mac… It's not the same, it's not the same as before… Cassidy can't hurt you anymore… It's ok Mac, I'm here, I can call Veronica… I can call your mom… You're safe."

Dick's voice startled them, discordant against Mac's ringing ears. "What… What did Cassidy…" His words tumbled out as he gained momentum, as if he were afraid to say them slowly; afraid to listen to their power, afraid of the answer. "What did Beaver do?"

Dick waited for a response, the blood draining from his face. Backing away from them he appeared… defeated. And when neither Mac nor Logan spoke Dick came to his own conclusions; his chest rising quickly, his hand clasped to his mouth, stumbling for the safety of the bathroom, where he could empty the contents of his stomach in peace - as if it would ease the pain, remove the trauma he had conjured.

The rhythm of Logan's heart slowly grounded her, loud in her ear, its steady beat something to cling to.

"He didn't know Mac. He doesn't know how we found you."

Consciousness returned slowly as her brain rediscovered the ability to direct thought, to argue with itself, to follow a point to its conclusion. She nodded, to herself, to Logan, to the pin prick points of understanding that tumbled through her brain as they were processed.

"It's ok," she said, finally. Sitting up, pushing herself from Logan's chest to return his worried gaze.

He nodded and smiled, the kind of smile that did nothing to wash the worry from his eyes. "I… I need to check on Dick," he reminded her.

Mac was surprised to discover her limbs still worked as she watched Logan walk away. Not to the bathroom as she'd expected, but to the living room. When he returned with two fluorescent blue Gatorade bottles she tried to pull herself together. 'They have a routine, these two lost boys. They are each other's family.'

She swallowed nervously, wiping her tear stained face, "It's not what he thinks…" I'll go… I need to… we need to talk."

Logan looked unconvinced, as if she were the last person Dick needed to see right now. "He didn't mean to hurt you."

She nodded.

"Why were you showering here?"

His accusation was clear… The question she had no answer for. She could have gone home, could have avoided this situation, could have said no to Dick.

"I mean…" he added, embarrassed, "I'll be outside if you need me… leave the door open…"

"Thank you…" Mac smiled briefly as he handed her the Gatorade - a reluctant pass of the baton. "I wasn't thinking…" she added quietly, as she watched Logan retreat to the living room.

Mac knocked ineffectually on the bathroom door, before pushing it fully open. Dick was perched on the edge of the tub, bent over, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands smoothing his hair, teasing it back into place.

She caught the brief look of surprise as he took the Gatorade and found her face, instead of Logan's. He looked away, catching his breath as he opened his mouth perhaps to say something, then thinking the better of it.

"Logan's done this before!" she teased.

"Not this." Stated Dick, shaking his head briefly before his fingers tightened against the tub - holding him steady, holding the room steady?

Mac pushed herself up to sit on the marble counter, beside the sink, her hands either side of her, gripping the edge, her legs dangling.

"I'm sorry," they said it together, his words barely a fraction behind her own - a slight echo.

She continued, "It's not what you think - Cass. He didn't do anything… nothing happened."

He was looking at her with derision - deservedly, she realised, when she compared her statement to the long list of Cassidy's crimes.

"Call me sceptical" mumbled Dick, taking a swig from his bottle.

"I mean me, he didn't…"

"… terrify you? … force himself on you? … attempt to kill your friends? … betray you? … he didn't take everything?"

Dick was using her own words against her and she could feel the plump warm tears rolling down her cheeks as he looked up.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I mean we don't need to talk about this. He hurt you, and I'm sorry… if I could make it better… I don't know how to make it better." He was gulping the air, reaching for the comforting cold porcelain of the toilet bowl again.

As Dick flushed, she handed him a cool washcloth and joined him on the floor, rubbing his shoulders; tucking herself under his arm as he lent back against the tub, resting her head on his chest, trying to protect him from the destruction within.

She sat in silence, waiting for the room to calm, regain its equilibrium. "You need to know." She took his deep steady breathing for acceptance, assuring herself that the reality was easier than everything his brain would conjure.

Mac tried keeping the emotion from her voice as she began: "He didn't rape me." Dick's fingers dug through her t-shirt into her shoulder anyway, reacting to her words, she'd have bruises in the morning, but the pain was good, anchoring her in the moment. This moment with Dick, not the other moment - hours - terrified, naked, lonely, hours.

"It was supposed to be…" she paused, how much did Dick need to know? 'Reality's easier…' she reminded herself before taking a leap of faith and continuing, "It was supposed to be our first time. We were supposed to love each other. We were supposed to be happy." She remembered, "We were! but things changed… when we got to the room things were different."

Mac looked up, wiping her tear stained cheek to little effect. "A Neptune Grand bathroom," she almost smiled, "My Therapist would be proud," she noted before continuing. "Cassidy was… he didn't want to. He was a mess. He was… I thought it was me. I thought I was the problem."

Dick's fingers found her own, and twisted into them, as if he could understand her trauma by touch alone. As if he could prevent her from having to say anything.

"He didn't want to be near me, didn't want to touch me. I though he needed space, time? I took a shower."

Her breathing was heavy trying to control the emotion within; Dick's chest damp with her tears soaking through to his pounding heart beneath.

"Nothing happened. He didn't hurt me. He didn't touch me. He didn't force himself on me. He just left me… alone in the shower… and took everything. He took my clothes, he took my phone, he took my bag, he took the towels, he took the bedding, he took everything. He took a part of me. When Veronica and Logan found me I was a mess, wrapped in a shower curtain with a dead psycho for a boyfriend."

"It's stupid," she continued. "He didn't do anything. He didn't rape me. He didn't rape me," she repeated more forcibly - maybe she was trying to remind herself of that fact, sobbing into Dick's chest, shaking against him safe in his arms as he held her to him, allowing her emotions to subside, rubbing away her pain.

"I shouldn't have used your shower," she said pushing herself up from the floor, away from him. She inspected her tear stained face in the mirror before splashing herself with cold water.

"I shouldn't have taken your clothes."

"No!" agreed Mac.

Dick stood behind her, avoiding her gaze in the mirror. His hand hovering, undecided about whether to reach out to her or not. "I'm sorry… about Cassidy. I know it's not enough but I am sorry. He shouldn't have hurt you… Veronica… anyone!"

"It's not the same as Veronica," she said bluntly. Her therapist had told her over and over that she had every right to be hurt, angry, upset, but she couldn't help feeling like a fraud when she compared herself to Veronica, Meg the countless others whom Cassidy had really hurt.

"Doesn't need to be the same to be wrong."

"No" she admitted.

Dick's hand had made up its mind, claiming her own, folding her into a hug. "You loved him. You trusted him, and he shouldn't have hurt you."

"He hurt all of us that night." She stated pulling away, fidgeting, tidying the counter, lining up the tiny environmentally unsustainable bottles of toiletries. "You need to start buying full sized shower gel…" she remembered. "Is there something for your cuts?" she asked, turning back to him, reaching for his face, inspecting his lip.

Author's Note: Thanks for reading! … I hope it wasn't a disappointment, especially given how long it took me to finish! … I've no idea how long it will be before there's another update, but I'm hoping it will be soon! … it will be much sooner if you review of course … and looky, looky there's the review box! … what a happy coincidence! Love to you all! x