La Douleur Exquise (n); French
The excruciating pain experienced when wanting someone you cannot have.
Friday evenings at Queen's, as at any college, tended to mean parties. If a student is persistent enough, they can find a party any night of the week. However, this particular Friday night and this specific party are of note for three reasons.
First, we see Casey McDonald here, her perfectly manicured nails wrapped around a plastic cup as she chats with her date.
Second, she is at the same party as her stepbrother, Derek Venturi, an event that has yet to happen in their short-lived college careers.
Thirdly, and likely the most important reason, this party will set both Casey and Derek on a bizarre and challenging path.
The party sucks, as far as Casey is concerned. The music is weird, her beer is warm, she's hardly moved from her spot, but she's sweating all over, and earlier, she watched someone sneeze into the punch bowl, so an alternate drink is not even an option.
And yet, she's glad to be here. At the very least, she can say that she, Casey McDonald-Keener-Extraordinaire, attends parties. She is getting the full college experience (whether she likes it or not, dammit). She will not be having a dull, forgettable time in college, regardless of what Certain People thought of her. As far as she's concerned, her college experience is going to be—
As if the thought of him crossing her mind has the power to summon him from the depths of her loathing and manifest him into being, Derek's voice sounds from behind her, cutting off her thoughts. "Are you lost, Princess? Pretty sure the library is nowhere near her."
She takes a sip from her (too warm) beer, giving herself a moment to wipe the expression of distaste from her mouth before turning to face him. "As if you even know where the library is."
How is it that after two sips of beer, there is electricity running through her veins? Some might say that it's not the alcohol but rather her interaction with Derek. Those same people might argue that she feels this same way (minus the sweat; honestly, why is it so hot in here?) when she sees him outside of parties with not a single drop of alcohol in her system.
To those people, Casey would say… something clever and witty that she will have to figure out later. Thankfully, though, the only one having this argument is her… with herself.
Derek's smirking. He's always smirking. "Of course I do. How else would I avoid it?" The smirk fades slightly, and his brows knit together. "Seriously though, what are you doing here?"
Lowering her cup, Casey levels a look in his direction. "I'm sorry, do I need your permission to be at a party?"
"No," he snaps. Immediately his fingers go through his hair, disheveling his carefully fixed look—the girls may think that his hair is like that naturally, but she knows how much time he spends in front of the mirror getting it to look like that—and fixing her with a stare of his own. "Surprised to see you out in public past nine, though." He laughs when she rolls her eyes. "Also, of all the parties you could go to, this is the worst."
"Well, thanks for the lecture." She moves to go, face now flushed and jaw clenched. It's so typical of Derek to tell her what she can and can't do. Yet, here he is at the same party he's telling her she shouldn't be attending! The nerve!
He steps in front of her blocking her way, and Casey's heart does not pick up in speed, and her breath does not hitch because he cannot—does not—have an effect on her.
"Seriously, Case. It isn't safe here."
"Then what are you doing here?"
For a moment, Derek looks pained, for he's having a bit of an internal struggle.
It ought to be noted at this point that Derek had no intention of being at this party. If he hadn't come, there's a good chance that things would have turned out differently for them. But he's here because one moment he's on the phone having a nice evening, and the next he's hearing that Casey, of all people, is coming to this party.
Since starting college, Derek's already attended a handful of parties. He's yet to see Casey at them (though she claims to have gone when he goads her about spending too much time studying). Some fraternities on campus have a reputation: a girl takes her eye off her drink for a moment too long…
Derek's presence tonight is meant to keep an eye on Casey, but he can't very well tell her that. Hence, the internal struggle.
And when it's all said and done, Derek will maintain that the whole mess is entirely Casey's fault. She will argue the opposite, claiming that it is one-hundred percent his fault.
But… that's getting a little ahead of ourselves.
"Have to look out for my sister," Derek says, his tone mocking and sarcastic. He wouldn't want Casey to think that he'd planned on being here to make sure she was safe.
Even in the dim lighting, he can see the flash in her eyes. "Step," she corrects immediately, the word cracking out at him like a whip.
"Same difference," he snaps back. It comes out too fast, too hot, and furious before Casey's mouth has even wholly closed around the 'p.' As if he'd known she would go there, turning it back around on him when it's convenient for her. Their eyes lock onto one another, and Derek holds her gaze, willing her to give some indication, any indication that she feels the same.
There had been a moment between them that night when they were talking about college. He knows there was, but things between them since that moment have been very strained, and he's had to come to terms that Casey will forever live in denial.
Casey opting to stare down her drink rather than look at him reminds Derek of his vow to move on.
Same difference, indeed.
"Right?" He presses on because he's sick and has to give her the opportunity to stick another hole through his heart.
"Derek, I—" she bites her lip. The pause lasts for one heartbeat. Two. Three. Her eyes shift away from him down to the floor, and then they're interrupted.
An arm slides around Casey, and it would be better if it were a disembodied arm rather than one attached to some smarmy-looking guy. "There you are," he says, his too-thin lips stretched into a wide smile.
Where does Casey find these people?
She lifts her head, her gaze lingering on Derek. He nods once, a sick feeling coiling in the pit of his stomach. "If you're going to insist on being here, just keep an eye on your drink, Princess," he insists, eyes flicking to the frog-lipped man with his slimy hands on Casey. "These guys have a bit of a rep."
His tone is sharp, and when Casey looks back at him, he's already gone. Instead, her gaze lands on a girl from her class, Winter. With a small smile, she gives the girl a short wave. The raven-haired woman waves back, but her eyes are focused elsewhere.
An hour later, Derek finds himself sitting next to a pretty if slightly scary-looking co-ed, trying to look like he's paying attention to what she's saying. Across the room, Casey and Frog Lips are chatting. She's leaning against a wall, trying to pretend that she's not watching him, but Derek sees her gaze flick in his direction way too often to be a coincidence. She's frowning—has been since their earlier encounter.
So, maybe he's been watching her, too.
Not for the first time, Derek wishes he knew precisely what Casey is thinking.
"What do you think?"
Derek looks up at a touch on his arm, the words registering too late. She's looking for an answer, though, and she blinks at him when he doesn't respond right away. Unconcerned, he flashes his trademark smirk. It almost always gets him out of trouble like this (it's certainly not the first time Casey has distracted him from the conversation). "The music," he waves a hand in the air, "I missed that last bit?"
Her hand is still on his upper arm, and at his response, she gives him a brief squeeze, laughing. Leaning in so he's sure to hear her this time, she says, "That proves my point, I think; do you want to go somewhere quieter to talk." There's a beat, and she leans a bit closer, letting her breath tickle his jaw. "Maybe my place? It's not too far."
Derek almost declines, but Casey's eyes are locked on them now, slightly narrowed. He smiles, nodding. "Sure." If she's not willing to admit what's between them if she's going to continue to get jealous over every girl that he talks to but deny that she feels anything for him, then why shouldn't he get to know someone like… well, he'd forgotten her name, but that's beside the point. If Casey can come to a party with a date, he can leave with one.
"Great!"
Standing, Derek offers his hand to the girl, letting her lead the way through the crowd of people. It's divine intervention that they happen to pass right by Casey.
"Winter." She cuts off whatever Frog Lips is saying, pushing off the wall and plastering the fakest smile Derek's seen since Edwin made him watch one of those Real Housewives shows over the summer.
"Hey, Case," Winter (he knows her name now!) waves at Casey, her other hand still in Derek's. She slows but doesn't stop. "Can't talk right now." He doesn't miss the way Winter's eyes flicker meaningfully to Derek.
"But—"
"Later," she promises.
The last thing Derek sees before stepping outside is Casey's frown deepening and a slight shine to her eyes that he's probably imagining. Denial runs deep with that one.
"My apartment is this way," Winter says, tugging her keys out of the pocket of her jeans with her free hand. Her other trails a finger on the inside of his palm, making her intentions clear. "That okay?"
He thinks about denying it for a moment. Now that he's here, faced with the option, it doesn't feel right. Only, he can see in his head Casey standing across the kitchen from him; she's smiling, soft, and her gaze warm as she says, "Same difference."
"Yeah," Derek says, ignoring the painful, heavy feeling on his chest, like that time Marti had jumped on him when he was on the floor, knocking the wind out of him. It's not an unfamiliar feeling as the reminder is often—unfairly—replayed in his mind. "Sounds perfect."
Casey watches Winter walk out with Derek, hand in hand, feeling tight pressure behind her eyes. It doesn't matter that he's leaving with some girl he barely knows. It doesn't.
Regardless, she's no longer in the party mood and leaves not long after that. She should never have gone to that stupid party, anyway, but it has nothing to do with Derek.
It doesn't.
It becomes abundantly clear when they enter Winter's apartment that Derek should have paid more attention to what she said at the party rather than thinking and watching specific individuals who shall remain nameless.
They walk in, and Winter flips a switch. The bulbs must be dying, or the lighting isn't great because rather than filling the apartment with light, it does nothing more than give off a dull glow. Given that it's student housing, Derek isn't entirely surprised. However, the pentagram and many, many candles he faces might mean that it's a conscious choice.
Spread around the living area are some scary art and many other oddities that Derek doesn't have time to comprehend or take in. They don't stay in the living room long. Once the door is shut and locked behind them, she retakes his hand and leads the way to her room.
Winter's bedroom is a more intense version of what he saw in the living room. There's another pentagram—this one hanging on the wall above her headboard—and more candles. Having so many candles isn't a huge concern, aside from the potential fire hazard (and he can hear a Casey-sounding voice in his head, telling him this). The ones in the living room had seemed like the kind he saw in Casey's room all the time. However, the candles in the bedroom are a different story. They're all gray and black and scattered around the room. One corner of the room looks like a shrine. There are no photos or anything—though, for a moment, Derek half expects to see his face. Instead, the candles have been neatly arranged around an empty pedestal. At the top of the dais is one of those candles that Derek wishes he knew the name of, but all that comes to mind is an evil version of Lumiere from Beauty and the Beast.
All the candles are lit, though Derek swears that the room was dark before they went inside. They provide the only light to the room, and Winter doesn't turn on the lights. There's a small part of Derek's mind that's screaming at him to get out before he's sacrificed. It feels a bit irrational and too much like a Casey reaction. So, he ignores it.
Derek has never been one for labels. People change and are never straightforward one thing or another. However, had he been the type to label a person, he probably would have called Winter a goth at the party. Now, though, standing in her bedroom, he thinks she might be a witch. This suspicion is confirmed when he spots an animal skull on her desk. Leaning closer to take a look, he picks it up and holds it out to Winter. "Is this real?"
"Yes."
Hastily, Derek sets the real bones(!) back on the desk, subtly trying to wipe his hands on his jeans as he works to repress a shudder. She's so casual about it, and he doesn't want her to think he's a wimp.
However, being a rather astute individual, Winter notices the look on his face when he turns back to face her. She laughs, just a little. "It might be a bit much," she allows.
"Nah." It's her space! Who is he to judge? He says as much, and she smiles.
"I don't worship Satan or anything if that's what you're worried about."
Derek shakes his head, thinking of Marti. "Nah, my sister is getting into the witch stuff right now." She's not this far deep, far as he can tell, and he sincerely hopes she won't be, but she's been reading about pagans, the modern-day witch, and the like.
"Wiccan," Winter corrects. "My parents are, too." She drops onto the bed, toeing off her shoes and patting the spot beside her. "Wiccans and witches aren't the same—negative connotations and all, and there are some differences. You should probably know that."
"Wiccan," Derek amends and joins her on the bed. He's surprised at how cold and soft her comforter is when he touches it, but he's unable to marvel over this too long because Winter leans over, kissing the corner of his mouth.
From there, things progress much as one might expect when going home with a girl from a party. There's a distinct lack of clothes, a lot of soft sighs and touches. Things also progress in a way he doesn't anticipate. It's not a bad time, and he has no complaints, even if the appearance of cuffs and a gag take him by surprise. There's a brief moment where he worries that she might cuff him to the bed and leave him there, but when they've both been satisfied (twice, in her case), the cuffs come off, and Winter snuggles into his side.
He closes his eyes and tries to fall asleep. He's never had a problem with staying overnight for a one-night stand. Who wants to find their way home in the middle of the night? Even with his eyes closed, all Derek sees are the bones scattered around her room and the skull on the nightstand.
Who does that?
He'll never be able to sleep, and if he does manage it, it won't be without nightmares.
Figuring that this will be a story for the books, Derek waits for Winter's breathing to even out. When he's sure she's asleep, he slips from her grasp and heads out the door. There aren't many instances where Derek has left a girl in the middle of the night, but exceptions have to be made.
Back in his dorm, Derek falls into a peaceful sleep. Up until the party, Derek has never seen Winter. He doubts that he'll see the Wiccan again after this evening.
If only that were the truth.
A/N: No offense to anyone who is a Wiccan or practices any type of witchcraft. This is not meant to be an accurate portrayal. None of the characters within this fic share views on witchcraft or Wiccans with the author.