Cassandra walked quickly along the jogging path through the park that surrounded the Annex, her red head down and not paying any attention to where she was going. She fought back tears as the harsh, cutting words she and Jenkins had hurled at each other echoed in her head. Now that she'd had some time to cool off, she was mortified by her behavior and very much regretted everything she had said and done. How could she have lost her temper like that, and with Jenkins, of all people? To the point of slapping him? What had she been thinking?! The shocked, hurt look in his eyes after she struck him was seared into her memory.
Although she was calmer and thinking more clearly now, she was still torn between her feelings of remorse for her actions and her still-smoldering anger at the Caretaker's behavior towards her. The remark about 'just sharing a bed' stung her more than anything else. She thought he loved her as much as she loved him. The thought that he'd just been using her for sex made her feel sick.
She hugged her arms close to her body as she rapidly marched on. All of those times he said that he loved her—had he been lying to her this whole time? The few stories from his past that he had shared with he, were those just to make her feel sorry for him and trick her into his bed? Were they even true stories? Had he simply manipulated her for his own purposes?
Cassandra shook her head as she sped along. NO—she refused to believe that. He was Sir Galahad, after all. Unless that was a lie, too. They only had his word for that, didn't they? Well, Morgan Le Fae sort of confirmed the truth of his real identity, but maybe she was in on the con with him somehow. But if he had been lying, surely she or one of the others would've picked up on it long before now?
The agitated young woman took a deep breath and exhaled loudly as she walked. Calm down, Cillian, she told herself. You're letting your imagination run away with you. Jenkins had plenty of flaws, but she knew in her heart that he never lied, and he would certainly never lie about how he felt about her. Honor meant everything to Jenkins; he would never treat her in such a dishonorable way.
But then again, she didn't exactly have the greatest record when it came to picking men. Her parents were always cold and distant towards her, even more so after she was diagnosed with the tumor. Cassandra couldn't even remember the last time one of them had hugged her. Not very socially adept, she'd never been able to make any real friends when she was younger; nobody wanted to be friends with the math nerd. By the time she dropped out of school she was so starved for affection and attention she made easy prey for the users and manipulators of the world. Like Rich.
Cassandra shuddered involuntarily as she remembered her ex-boyfriend. He was the one who insisted on controlling every aspect of her life, from the second she woke up in the morning until the second she fell asleep at night. Rich was the one who DID call her a whore, all of the time. Who treated her like a whore. Who decided what she wore, what she ate, who she could speak to, where she went and for how long she could stay. Who almost had her completely brainwashed into thinking that she was worthless and undesirable because of her tumor, that she was a freak of nature because of her synesthesia and her gift with mathematics. He told her constantly that she should be thanking her lucky stars that he was willing to put up with her, because no one else would. And she had been willing to put up with Rich and his abuse, because she thought that was the best she could expect. No, it wasn't the ideal, fairy-tale romance she'd dreamed of as a little girl, but it was better than nothing, better than being alone, right?
That's what she thought, anyway, until that night he came home drunk from the bar.
Cassandra began feeling a tightness in her chest as she remembered that night. Rich and that scumbag friend of his that he brought home with him. What Rich wanted her to do. The screaming, the cursing, the pain of the blows he rained down on her when she refused. The absolute terror.
The distraught woman's vision blurred as she tried to blink back fresh tears. She was lucky, she was able to get out of that relationship relatively unscathed. Rich hadn't made it easy, but she got away from him in the end. She fought back and she got out, she survived. But there were still times when her anger, hurt and resentment surfaced, even after all this time. Like today, she realized suddenly—when Jenkins said that he allowed her to share his bed and he would decide things. He unknowingly triggered all of those old fears, the still deeply-felt rage and the hatred she felt for Rich, and she lashed out blindly at him.
Poor Jenkins, she thought miserably. He was as different from Rich as day is from night, he hadn't deserved to be treated like that. And she hadn't meant to pry, she was only curious about the portrait and the woman in it. Knowing the immortal as she did, she knew there had to be an incredible story behind it. But, on the other hand, Jenkins was right—he did have a right to some privacy. If the roles had been reversed, and Jenkins had found a picture of her with Rich and asked her about it out of the blue, she wouldn't have liked it, either. I have to apologize to him. I have to make this up to him, somehow…
Cassandra was rudely pulled from her reverie by a painful blow to her shoulder. Startled out of her dark memories, the young woman stopped in her tracks and began to rub her arm as she looked up, surprised to see a tall, skinny man in his mid-20's standing in front of her, glaring at her with glazed, hazel-colored eyes. He had long, greasy-looking brown hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, and his clothes were disheveled and stank. His scruffy face was peppered with small sores, and what teeth he had left were rotten and broken. Cassandra immediately recognized he was an addict of some kind, probably meth. Then she noticed that he had a short folding knife in one hand.
"Gimme your money and your phone!" he barked.
Momentarily stunned, Cassandra only stared at him. He reached out with his free hand and slapped her sharply in the face. She cried out, her hand going to her cheek where he had struck her as she struggled to retain her balance. "I said, gimme your money, now!"
"I...I don't have any money! Or a phone. I...I didn't bring anything with me..." she stuttered, frightened now. She quickly looked around for anyone who could help her, but they were alone. She turned back to her attacker, beginning to panic. "Don't hurt me! I don't have anything, I swear...!"
"Shut up, bitch!" he hissed angrily. He struck out and smashed Cassandra's face again, this time with his fist. She fell to the ground with a yelp of surprise, the side of her head striking the pavement as she landed, her vision going dim. She struggled to get up, but the man kicked her savagely in the ribcage. She gasped loudly as she felt a sharp, stabbing pain in her side, but she stayed down, instinctively curling into the fetal position as she tried to protect her body. She felt the man frisking her as he searched for a concealed wallet or cell phone.
The feel of the thug's unwanted hands on her body caused a cold anger to suddenly flare up inside of her. Without thinking of any potential consequences, Cassandra balled her right hand into a fist, rolled over onto her back and, with a loud shriek of fury, punched the would-be thief in the crotch as hard as she could. The thief cried out and bent double in pain, then started swearing at her. He kicked at her again, this time striking her in the hip, before he stumbled off.
The injured woman lay on the ground, too dazed and frightened now to try to get up again. With every breath she took, agonizing pain stabbed her in the side where she had been kicked. She lay still for several minutes, until she was sure the mugger was gone, then she gingerly began to push herself upright with shaking arms. Pain and dizziness overcame her, however, and she slumped slowly back to the pavement.