Chapter Two
Follow (v.): To conform to
Two days later.
When he answered the door, he wasn't surprised to see her there. He had remembered her from the party. Dripping and soaking from the pouring rain, clutching frantically at an old carpetbag. Her maroon hair was plastered to her face, there were cut marks up and down her arms, fresh ones. There was a dead and icy look to her eyes now, he felt colder just looking at her.
"Yeah?" He asked, even though he already knew what she was going to ask.
"Is this where Stanton lives?" Her voice shook, trembled even. The slightest nudge could easily send her over the edge and turn her volatile.
Silence was her response and he silently wondered what the best course of action would be. She was a girl; that was the obvious thing, the only ones who lived here were himself, Karyl, and Stanton. She would be an outsider to their ways. She was inexperienced, that was also blatantly apparent. She would be a burden to their lifestyle. She was infatuated, that much was clear as well. She would be a continuous annoyance while she made cow-eyes at Stanton. She was dead inside; she would be another statistic in their happy home.
She shifted awkwardly from foot to foot anxiously awaiting his answer.
It would be so easy for him to slam the door in her face that very moment, turn her desperate, wet, self away and never have to deal with her again. He'd done it before, countless of times, it was his unofficial duty to reject Stanton's little experiments when they came knocking. Just lie, shut the door, and she would never know any better. She was weak, after all.
But she was also alone, and cold, and most likely hungry and it was the most pathetic thing he had seen for a while. He was teetering on the indecisive, wondering if it would be worth the effort, when her next words sent him over the edge.
"Please?" Came the whimper.
He sighed as he ran a hand through his bleached hair, "What was your name again?" He asked tonelessly.
"Cassandra." She seemed afraid when she spoke to him.
He stepped sideways and pressed his back against the wall, "Well, you might as well come in Cassandra, you look miserable." The double entendre of his words went unnoticed.
The tinniest of smiles flickered across her face and she stepped in, "What's your name?" She asked hesitantly.
"Tymmie," He muttered as he shut the door, and sent her a level look, "Welcome to casa de la Stanton." His voice lowered, "I hope you know what you're getting yourself into."
Her eyes glued to her shoes and she mumbled, "I had no where else to go."
"That's unfortunate."
"Yeah, it is."
And that was all that was spoken between the two before Tymmie wordlessly showed her the room she'd be occupying, which was once held by a girl named Yvonne, and left the house. Later that night, when Stanton returned and demanded why exactly Tymmie had let her stay when he was supposed to send those girls packing he simply replied,
"She was cold."
