Chapter Four
Disclaimer: Lyrics are from Dear Mr. Gable (You Made Me Love You) by Judy Garland. I am not using them for profit.
Follow (v.): To accompany
Two Months Later
She sat there anxiously; her fingers drumming along her crossed arms as her eyes quickly and repetitively scanned the crowd, desperately searching for her promised date, her infatuation, her everything. It was Saturday night at The Dungeon, and Stanton had promised that he would meet her there later. She had initially wanted to wait until he had returned home from whatever it was he was doing, but Tymmie and Karyl had both dragged her out to the club for some late-night celebration.
She didn't understand what there was to celebrate. It was so late at night it was turning early, and so far, Stanton had not appeared to fulfill his promise. The whole evening had been spent sulking in a corner somewhere, with a drink not alcoholic enough, while wondering just what in the hell she had done wrong to chase the blonde god away.
The music had been picking up, and she had watched the happy couples, or horny couples, enviously as they danced together. Bitter and jealous that they had gotten something she so far had not been allowed to be a part of. Her pale, long fingers clenched tighter around the plastic cup, but she could not tear her eyes away from them all, with their fake smiles, fake happiness, and more importantly, fake hope.
So absorbed was she with her analysis, that she didn't even notice he had sat down in the seat next to hers until she had felt an arm around her shoulder. "Don't touch me," Her response was automatic, and he was used to it, for both had accepted the fact that he was a physical contact person, while she was not.
He dropped his arm, not at all offended for he knew he was not the Follower she wanted, the one whose arm was okay to be around her shoulders, "You don't look like you're having much fun," He commented blithely.
"Good call," She mumbled sardonically.
"He a No-Show again?"
"Seems that way."
A pause, then, "I don't see why you wait around for someone who's not going to show up."
A huff, then, "I don't see why it matters to you who I wait around for."
There was silence for the longest time, as the pair of Followers watched the crowd, taking a few moments to be comfortable in each other's company. After a while, it happened, and it was by a mutual consent, rather than his intrusion, and they enjoyed the nonexistent silence together for a few hours.
Sometime during the watching, he put his arm around her shoulders, and she found herself too apathetic to care anymore.
The loud music began to fade, ceding to a slow number that he instantly recognized from when he was normal.
"Want to dance?" He asked, casually.
"Shut the hell up!" She growled, her voice lethally low.
He didn't understand why she was so angry with him, or the darkened look that had entered her eyes. It was just a simple question. "Cassandra, I only asked if you wanted to dance with me."
"And you ought to know why I wouldn't want to," She replied, lightening fast.
He then acquired a darkened look of his own, "Because you only want to dance with one person, is that it?"
"Yes! And we both know it isn't you!" She spat.
Tymmie stood up, knowing he wasn't going to take her misery any longer. With a considerable amount of force, his hand clamped around her wrist and he pulled her up from her seat, "We are going to have a goddamn dance and you are going to like it!"
"I don't want to dance with you!" She protested, even as she was being dragged out onto the floor.
"Too bad."
"Tymmie, you bastard!" She hissed as he put a hand between her shoulder blades and pressed his chest against hers. The hand that had been secured to her wrist moved up and interlaced her fingers with his, and that was how he began the most awkward dance in the history of the world.
They were…waltzing. In the middle of a club, surrounded by people who were grinding and dancing seductively.
"What the hell are you doing?" Her voice saccharinely poisoned as she whispered into his ear.
"This song, just happens to be one of my favorites, so shut up and stop ruining it," He replied, equally as smooth.
Cassandra gave a 'humph' of disdain, but nevertheless began following Tymmie's steps, matching them equally, "Why a waltz?" She asked suddenly.
"It's the only one that I'm really good at," He mumbled, going to the left, "Besides, my parents used to dance together to this song all the time when I was younger."
He thought he saw the barest trace of a smile on her face, but he ignored it, certain that it was a playing of the light.
The two settled into their roles, and somewhere along the lines it wasn't awkward anymore, but comfortable, almost unnaturally so. Cassandra took the opportunity to look at Tymmie, as he seemed to be concentrated on his feet. His square jaw, slightly long and skinny nose, the many facial piercings, and the ragged scare that he had across one eyebrow.
He wasn't Stanton, far from it.
He was ok though.
Cassandra was 'ok' with that.
And the music played on,
"You made me love you
I didn't want to do it, I didn't want to do it
You made me love you
and all the time you knew it
I guess you always knew it.
You made me happy sometimes, you made me glad
But there were times, Dear, you made me feel so bad
You made me sigh for, I didn't want to tell you
I didn't want to tell you
I want some love that's true, yes I do, deed I do, you know I do.
You made me love you,
I didn't want to do it."
