"How's my favorite brother?"
"I'm your only brother."
The brief memory of that exchange between the Casablanca's brothers the night of the Graduation party felt clearer and more solid than the flashing lights and clinks of glasses around them. Dick's mocking tone about it being the night Mac would make the younger Casablanca's become a man, and not forgetting to wrap it up little bro had probably been the last words they had ever shared before... It wasn't final declarations of love or anything profound, it had been a cruel jest as Cassidy had collected their room key, and she had been right there for it, witnessing a moment that she was sure his surviving brother had replayed a thousand times.
How many times had he relived that conversation? What words did he beg God and Time itself to rewind that he could replace to stop his brother stepping off that roof?
Alcohol was said to dull the senses but it also had the unfortunate side effect of grounding someone in the moment, it clouded judgement and almost always removed a person's verbal filter. Why had he chosen her for this moment? Because she had been there too? He'd yelled as much at her that night he'd shown up at her dorm room looking to hook-up with Parker.
"You know I-I never told-told him… He meant the world to me."
The words detonated clearly in the thrum of hundreds of conversations around them and he fixed her with that strange look. Almost like a challenge, as if he was daring her to call him on his bullshit and offer up a litany of counter arguments.
A man awaiting his sentencing, for someone to announce Guilty to his face.
That was all that was happening right now, except Cindy Mackenzie wasn't sure that her high school bully had ever possessed a verbal filter, at least not one that she had witnessed over their last 5 years of sharing classes.
Have you ever heard of the term liquid courage? That's what you need right now.
Silently she reached over to the irish coffee the bartender placed beside the two pitchers and downed most of it in one go. A rowdy table of Pi Sigs had taken over the karaoke with an energetic performance of Bloodhound Gangs – The Bad Touch complete with hip thrusting dance moves.
Swallowing hard she set her glass back on the counter and saw their companions winding their way through the warm bodies to where she stood at the bar.
As if we didn't already know this night would end. In pain and in chaos. A small voice taunted Mac as she watched Dick sniff back tears and straighten up.
"Makes you miss some 90s R&B!" Piz grimaced almost covering his ears.
"Pfft.. who want's to be 90? Let's show these sadsack Pre-Med academics how to feel alive. Shots lined up on the bar. Bring it!" Dick declared cheerfully taking the tequila bottle from the bartender and tossed a hundred dollar bill on the bar.
"Mac..?" Wallace asked as he approached, stalling slightly observing the obvious tension.
She gave him a weak reassuring smile and reached over one of the two pitchers of beer.
"Beta Kappa Delta says get off the stage, you losers!" a frustrated co-ed snapped, tucking her curly dark hair behind her ear. "The 'pull a pig' game has probably existed since they were cave dwellers with bad teeth."
"Looks like the knuckledraggers are out in force tonight," the redhead beside her complained snapping her textbook closed and throwing Dick a disgusted glare.
"15 points, Tiff" Dick shrugged picking up a beer.
Wallace frowned in annoyance, he was aware that the Pi Sigs kept a sadistic Scoreboard for their fraternity's hook-ups. Of course Dick Casablancas would be okay with his frat brothers latest locker room win. The man clearly had an exceedingly dark and unpalatable sense of humour.
The kind who recorded people taped to the flagpole instead of cutting them down.
He watched as she threw daggers at Dick's offer of a few shots like a casual "You need to find your own way home.'
Ander Corban, Hearst's Offensive Tackle had endured a shaved head for almost Four months straight until he successfully got the daughter of his Head of Women's Studies, Tiffany Hartfield, into bed in retaliation for his failing grade on a test.
Hearst was no stranger to the usual hook-up culture and Wallace himself had fended off many Ball Bunnies. It had been a common theme in his first few weeks until knowledge spread that a career in the NBA was not in his long term goals, but the determined and calculated way the frat boy had pursued the Chemistry Major had become a campus legend, there had been no roofies involved but it had been just as cold.
Did guys like this ever see women as more than an ornament for their bedrooms?
"I think we learned today that "humor" is subjective" Piz said uncomfortably watching the Pi Sigs deviate into a chorus of Blurred Lines while Tiffany and her companion packed up their things and left.
Wallace placed the pitcher of beer beside him, collected his basketball and study notes.
There were days he strongly questioned Veronica's choice in boyfriend, especially when he spent anytime around his friends.
He remembered the frantic calls from Veronica the night when she'd thought Cassidy Casablancas had killed her father. most of it had been spent trying to chase down information about the flight transporting Woody Goodman back to Neptune. He recalled Jackie helping him pick out clothes from the Neptune Grand gift shop that would fit Mac.
The Sheriffs department had questioned everyone in the building, leading to the grim discovery about Aaron Echolls murder. The media frenzy and his mothers relief when he got home had almost overshadowed the reality that somewhere in all that chaos, Dick Casablancas had been in a similar drunken state to this being informed his younger brother had committed suicide. Even Veronica hadn't much details about how the rest of events had unfolded for the 09er that night, by the time Logan had chased down his best friends whereabouts after leaving the Mars apartment the following morning, Dick had been bundled into a car by Kendall and sent to meet with his maternal grandparents.
It struck Wallace then, that for a guy as theatrically centre stage as Dick, it was almost as if he invited everyone so garishly to look at him so that no one really saw him.
His blonde hair and blue eyes were the perfect All American dreamboat, he was a stock model for WASPy aspirations and shallow ideals. Dick wore that frat boy swagger like a favourite coat but how much warning would anyone have if he turned into another sinkhole waiting to swallow the rest of them whole?