"So..." an annoying, all too familiar, last-thing-she-wanted-to-hear-right-now voice drifted to her from the porch. Cassia turned back to raise her eyebrows at Ross. How had she walked past him? He was rather hard to miss, standing so intrusively on the porch like that. Cassia put a hand on her hip and leaned into it, putting her weight on it. Ross had one of his infuriating little coy smiles painted on his face, if Cassia didn't know him better than she did, she would have genuinely believed he was as disinterested in what he was speaking about as he was pretending to be, "you with Dixon, now?"
Cassia blinked, struggling to focus on and wrap her head around whatever it was Ross had just said. Eventually, she got there and put the dots together, with a shake of her head,
"No, but we're friends."
"Friends. Of course. Pardon the assumption, sweetheart."
"Don't-"
"I know, I know. I'm just having a little fun."
"What do you want, Ross?"
"In general or like, specifically... right now?"
"Either. Both. None. I don't care."
"That's not a very nice way to speak to your boyfriend. Especially after, like... how long has it been? A few months, I reckon. You thought I was dead for months and still; you treat me like dirt?"
"You don't get to talk about treatment when it comes to relationships. Also, we are absolutely not together."
"I still happen to disagree with that, actually. I never consented to the break up."
"Ross!" She accidentally snapped, speaking to him through gritted teeth. She sighed. This was exactly what he wanted. He knew exactly how to push her to her breaking point, and she was reacting to his taunting precisely the way he wanted her to. Cassia took a deep breath in and then out through her nose, eyes closing to find that relatively zen place. "Ross, I'm sorry if you were under the illusion that we were still together, but we're not. We've been broken up for months. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have things to do."
"You gonna finish what you started with that blonde chick?"
Cassia froze in her attempt to walk away. Slowly, she swiveled back around to face him,
"How do you know about that?"
"It's a small camp, Cassie."
"But you- Shane dragged you away to talk to you just before-"
"He did indeed, but I, my love, am very skilled at eavesdropping."
"You can't do that here. Don't you dare do that here. If you are here to spy-"
"Man, Cassie, you really need to chill. I'm not interested in your group's... shenanigans," He waved his hand in the space beside him in a dismissive gesture, "I came, as I said, to talk about an understanding between our groups, and to see you."
"I'm fine, so there's that dealt with. You've seen me, you've spoken to me, and now you can tick that off the list. I don't entirely trust that you're telling the truth about the other thing, but that's not for me to decide. You can talk to Shane or Rick about that, but I'm coming with you when you do."
"... You know, I think I prefer this version of you. It's hot."
Cassia only scoffed in disgust, shaking her head and finally turning to walk away. Unfortunately, Ross decided, for some reason, that he'd been invited to follow her, as he tagged along, still talking,
"Besides, I gotta stick around for the birth of my child."
Cassia stopped dead in her tracks, eyes wide. He really was deluded. She looked back to glare shrewdly at him, and then glanced back towards the camp, trying to figure out how far away they were from everyone else. Not close enough. She'd had all her knives removed from her, all hidden places had been found out, too, and now she was left weaponless. Cassia let out a frustrated huff, and walked with longer strides, more urgency, pushing to get them closer to the camp. Ross, to her surprise, waited patiently for her to speak again, following behind her. Once she was satisfied that they were close enough to the others, she turned to face him, crossing her arms over the top of her slight bump,
"It's not yours."
Ross' face went from pleasantly expectant to blank, to shocked, to disbelieving, to angry, to outraged.
Cassia immediately, instinctively, took a giant step back towards the camp. A tiny glance down to Ross' hands told her they were shaking and quaking with fury. He was clenching them hard into fists, the veins sticking out in his forearms. She'd been very right to draw them closer to the others. He was on the very edge of snapping, she could tell. One of his hands darted out to secure itself very tightly around her wrist, yanking her closer to him, all of a sudden. Cassia turned her head sharply towards the others to call for help, but his furious tone cut right across her,
"You filthy whore," he spat at her, as quietly as he could manage. It was astonishing how quickly he'd switched. Everything was sunshines and roses until something didn't go his way. Granted, it was a fairly big thing, but they hadn't been together, and quite frankly, it was none of his business. Cassia tried to hold her head high, staring him down. She refused to let herself cry, though his hand felt like a searing vice around her wrist, and she was certain he could shatter all the bones in it if he tried hard enough. "Who the fuck did you cheat on me with? Was it Dixon? I bet it was Dixon, you bitch. See what you do to me? You drive me insane, and you know what, Cassia? You've broken my heart. You're a heartless slut who wasn't satisfied with just the one key in her lock."
He was ranting, rambling now, voicing everything he was thinking. It really was the most vibrant display of his true colours. The side of him he kept very well hidden in public. She flinched, occasionally, at some of the things he said, or the way his voice would suddenly become more biting, more vicious when he said certain things, over enunciating them. She managed to keep her head high, though, and her resolve steady,
"Yes, Ross. It was Daryl. No, Ross, I did not cheat on you. Yes, Ross, there was definitely a degree of insanity in the relationship we had. No, Ross, I am not a whore, or a slut, or a bitch. I am a woman who slept with someone when I was single and drunk, and I got pregnant. It happens." She hissed back. Ross looked practically aghast. She'd never answered him back before, not like that, and not with such ferocity and confidence in her tone. Ross' face contorted into an even higher degree of anger, looking close to turning purple with it, but, at the exact moment he opened his mouth to bite back at her, a hand clamped down on his shoulder and tugged him very roughly away from Cassia. Her wrist was finally, blissfully, released, and she cradled it, hissing lightly at the sharp pain that came with him being yanked away from her when he'd been holding her wrist the way he had.
Shane delivered a quick knee to Ross' stomach, sending him sprawling and groaning to the ground. Rick appeared on Cassia's right side, placing a protective arm around her and drawing her away.
"What the hell happened, Cassie?" He murmured to her, and she just shook her head with a sniff. She could handle it. This was not more drama for the group to deal with, on top of everything else.
"I told him it wasn't his and he didn't take it too well."
Rick considered that for a moment, glancing back, and then ducking his head down when he returned it to her, nodding.
"... Alright. We're just lucky Daryl's still bedridden."
"I'm fine, Rick. I can handle Ross."
"You ain't gonna have to. It's about time we all sit down and have a talk."
Cassia nodded, uncertainly.
This wasn't going to be good.
Cassia pulled Shane to the side a little while before the meeting began, thanking him for what he did with Ross.
"You're one of us, and he's one o' them. I know who's back I got."
"Thanks."
Shortly after that, the meeting began, and her knives were returned to her. No-one had felt comfortable with letting Ross into the actual house, especially as Daryl was upstairs, and Beth and Maggie and Hershel were also inside. The less Ross knew about the farm in general, the better. So they kept it outside, using their camping chairs and stools and spare farm-house chairs to encircle the small, lawn table Dale had presented from his RV. It was the same one they had been sitting at when Sophia had asked Cassia all her questions.
Sophia.
God, she hoped they would find her soon.
Rick was positioned at what was assumed to be the head of the little square table, Shane was sat to his left, Ross to Rick's right, and Cassia sat on the other side of Shane. It had been agreed that she needed to be close enough to assist with the discussion, but also far away enough that she felt safe and comfortable. At the moment, Rick and Shane viewed Ross as nothing more than a bad ex of hers, and she'd told them that he had only lost his temper with her, and that it had never happened before. She felt she had to lie about it. A part of her was still ashamed of how weak she'd been, that she'd let it go on for four whole years, and another part of her knew that, on top of everything else they had going on, the group didn't need this on top of all that. Rick was the one to start,
"Cassie tells us your name is Ross, is that correct?"
"Yessir, and who might you be?"
Rick licked his lips, about to reply when Cassia cut in, shooting him an urgent look,
"You don't need to know anyone else's names just yet."
Ross shot her a baleful glare, rolling his eyes. Shane inclined his head in silent agreement, beside her,
"She's right. He don't need to know any more than he already does. Keep it that way."
Cassia wasn't sure who Shane was talking to. Was it Rick? Probably. Rick didn't look like he much appreciated being ordered around like a lackey, but he was the one who was the most diplomatic between the two, and that was why he'd been chosen to lead the talks with Ross. He nodded in concession.
"You don't need to know my name."
"You believe everything Cassie tells you? Don't trust a word-"
"Shut up." Rick dismissed him very promptly, fixing him with a hard look. "We're not here to talk about Cassie."
Ross heaved a sigh and ran a hand through his short curls,
"Fine."
"Now... why are you here?"
"I was sent to propose a... treaty." Cassia did not trust that for a second, especially considering the amount of time it had taken Ross to actually decide on what he wanted to call it.
"A peace treaty?" Rick questioned, skeptical, just as Cassia had hoped he would be.
"Yes, boss," Ross was definitely taunting them now, "an understanding, a co-operative partnership; whatever you wanna call it."
"What are your terms?" Andrea spoke up from across the circle. Shane straightened up a little, arms crossed across his chest, drawing his now very prominent muscles to Ross' attention. It was an impressive intimidation tactic, but being as cocky as Ross doesn't allow for fear of many things, and so he reacted by merely clucking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. Shane tilted his head up, the image of superiority and arrogance. Cassia rolled her eyes. This was why she preferred Daryl.
... Not like that.
"We're set up in one of the farm houses in this area. 'Bout north-east from where we're sitting now. We can access this land through the forest, it takes a while to get here, but we can get here," Ross was very clear when he was being threatening. Subtlety had never been a strong point of his. "We would like to offer you a deal. Both groups co-exist peacefully, but we share resources and, seeing as we were here first-"
Rick cut him off, harshly, "I think you'll find the Greene's have been here longer than all of us."
"Yeah, but the Greene's aren't a threat the way you are."
"We're a threat? We're just survivin'. We're hurtin' nobody." Rick was positively outraged at the implication.
"So far, no. But the future is an uncertain thing, pal, and-"
Ross frowned and abruptly cut off the end of his sentence, something had caught his eye over by the main house. A figure was making it's way towards the group. One that both Cassia and Ross recognised immediately, long before the others did. Daryl was stalking towards them, crossbow slung over his left shoulder, as it always was. Ross' jaw set and locked, his adam's apple bobbing and his eyes widening that tiny, dangerous bit. He clenched the arms of the plastic lawn chair Dale had assigned to him, his knuckles turning white. Rick cleared his throat, trying to garner Ross' attention once again, but soon realised it was a completely pointless endeavour. Ross stood, suddenly, kicking his chair back. Cassia tried to follow him, to stop him from laying a hand on Daryl, but T-Dog stopped her, holding her down in her chair with one arm. Everyone had become fixated on the two men, watching them meet in the middle. Tension flowed like a constant stream of energy around and between them, both men sporting stony, slightly hostile expressions. Ross came to stand directly in front of Daryl, standing in front of him and glaring at him, blocking his way. It looked, for a moment, as if Ross was going to headbutt Daryl, but he didn't. To his credit, Daryl reacted by simply passing him, bumping their shoulders together, roughly, as he passed. He made his way directly towards Cassia, and, with a much gentler grasp than Ross, hauled her out of her chair. He pulled her over to the head of the table, where Rick was seated, somehow managing to avoid pulling her along too harshly or gripping her too tightly while he did it. He said nothing but reached across, tugging her sleeve up once again, like he had the previous night. Slowly, he turned her around to reveal the extent of the scar and the littering of small bruises below it, on her back. Cassia winced, struggling to swallow with confidence, due to the lump that had formed in her throat. She'd never felt so embarrassed and ashamed and vulnerable her whole life. Not in front of a small crowd, like this, before.
There was a heavy silence around the table, everyone staring at the scar. She could only see a certain amount of the group, as the others were out of her field of vision, beyond the maximum rotation of her head. Someone she quickly identified as Lori had gasped the moment the scar had been revealed.
Daryl was speaking now, his voice gruff and quietly furious, but impatient and urgent.
"He did this to her."
Daryl had never mentioned a name, but everyone immediately knew who he was referring to. The group's attention slipped, as a whole, from Cassia and Daryl to Ross. The man was still frozen where Daryl had bumped past him, quietly seething. Cassia knew from experience that he was trying to keep a lid on his temper, to rein it in. All of that effort went to waste, however, as Daryl's short statement had been the last straw. Ross stormed forward, pointing an accusing finger at Daryl. Certain members of the group darted out of their seats, hovering about to assist if a fight were to break out.
"She's a common whore, " he bellowed. Cassia blinked in astonishment, her mouth hanging open. She pushed Daryl's hand away and rolled her sleeve back down, pivoting on the spot to face what was going on. Ross carried on with his tirade, "She deserves everything I've done to her, and believe me, she pushed me to the point of losing my mind so often that I had to. That bitch doesn't care about anyone but herself, she cheated on me with you, and got knocked up like the slut she is. God help us, we don't need more redneck trash like you in this world." Ross roared, but Daryl never flinched, not once. His calm, poker-faced facade didn't slip once. Not once.
It didn't even slip when he suddenly angled himself slightly forward and elbowed Ross in the face. Blood spurted from Ross' nose, and he screamed in something that seemed to be some sort of fatal mixture of fury and pain. He scrambled, trying to go for Daryl, but Daryl had already moved, angling himself out of the way. To Cassia's surprise, Andrea appeared by her side and urged her back, tugging at her shoulders, moving her from where she'd been rooted to the spot. Cassia looked to the blonde woman in shock, suspicion and trepidation filling her as her mind presented her with conclusion after conclusion, trying to figure out what Andrea got out of this.
Andrea didn't do anything more, removing her hands from Cassia's shoulders. She would have asked questions, but there was still a fight going on.
Daryl had tackled Ross to the ground, securing him in a headlock. Rick and Shane and everyone else were lingering on the outskirts, clearly assuming Daryl could handle it, but were visibly ready to offer assistance should he need it. Carol's hand closed around Cassia's hand, offering her support from the right of her. She squeezed it, numbly.
Suddenly, Ross growled and threw Daryl off of him, he flipped them round, pinning Daryl to the ground, securing his brutish, now very discoloured hands around Daryl's neck. Cassia moved to lunge forward, but was held back by an unknown captor. She opened her mouth to yell or scream or anything, but no sound came out. The other members of the group had no such problems, as a cacophany of shouting and screaming and bickering persisted around them. Rick sprinted forward to tackle Ross off of Daryl, and Lori cried out in terror, fearing for her husband. Carl was nowhere in sight, and Cassia was endlessly grateful for Lori's over protective nature, in that moment. He was with The Greene's, back in the main house. He could have gotten hurt. She doubted she would have been able to forgive herself, if that were to have happened. Daryl choked and wheezed, but made it back up to standing on his feet.
Ross and Daryl were quickly separated. Ross was tied up to a tree, and Daryl was allowed to go free, as long as he kept clear of Ross.
Andrea kept a constant guard by Ross' tree. A solid, unwavering soldier. Amy would have been proud to see her sister be so strong.
Daryl had some lingering redness, and maybe a little bit of bruising around his neck, but apart from that he was fine. Cassia had cleaned him up and bandaged any cuts.
"Sorry I jus' went ahead an' showed the whole group," he murmured, suddenly, examining the tip of one of his crossbow bolts. Cassia turned to blink at him in surprise. An apology? What did he need to apologise for? She shook her head, a confused frown disrupting her previously motionless features,
"No... no, Daryl. That's fine. No need to apologise."
"I just... I couldn't let 'em fall for the shit he says."
"I know."
Eventually, she wandered over to where Andrea and Ross were. He was clearly trying to talk to Andrea, to plead with her or to flirt. She wasn't sure which it was. Cassia got the vague and distinct impression that he had been straining himself to do this for a while, and that Andrea had stopped responding some time ago. Ross turned his head very sharply towards her the moment she appeared in his field of vision. Andrea simply sighed and raised an eyebrow, a hand going to her gun. Cassia shook her head at Andrea, communicating silently that she wasn't here to cause any trouble. Andrea's hand didn't move. Ross spat in Cassia's direction,
"It's a little cruel, don't you think? Refusing to leave me alone when I can't even get away from you?"
"Think of it as an insight into my life for the past four years."
"Don't try to play the fucking victim."
"I don't have to play anything, Ross. I'm not a victim, not anymore."
"Bullshit," Ross sneered, "it's what you do, you're vile, the way you parade yourself around, acting all innocent and warm and kind, but no-one sees through it until it's too late, until you've got what you wanted and left everything ruined and dead in your wake."
"You do an impressive job of convincing yourself of that."
"It's not me who needs to worry about being convinced. It's the people around you right now," at this point, he turned his head towards Andrea, addressing her, "you don't even know what she's like. She attacked you, didn't she? You out of all of them should know better than to believe her bullshit. To trust the-"
Andrea let out a lengthy sigh, and stepped forward to hit Ross over the head with the butt of her gun. Both women watched as he slumped to the ground, unconscious.
Cassia let out a low whistle, and Andrea shrugged,
"I had an asshole, abusive ex like him once." She offered as an explanation, and Cassia nodded, shifting uncomfortably. She had something she needed to say.
"Look... Andrea..."
"I get it. You're sorry."
"I really mean-"
"Cassie," Andrea cut her off, cocking her head, a curly strand of her loose, blonde hair falling to follow the motion, "you thought your beloved Daryl was dead. I get it. I would have done the same if I were in your position. Hell, I might have even killed you."
"That doesn't mean it's okay."
"Of course it doesn't, but it's also not okay that I almost killed your boyfriend."
"He's not my-"
"Sure he isn't."
Cassia rolled her eyes, but grinned, and found herself wrapping Andrea up in a hug. It wasn't exactly a comfortable one, as it had been unexpected, and Andrea was still sporting her gun, but it was an accepted one, so it was worthwhile.
Dinner was very awkward that night. Nobody spoke more than a few sentences or words to each other, and the only activity Cassia could notice was Glenn and Maggie passing each other notes when they thought no-one else was looking. To be fair to them, no-one else was looking, but Glenn was sat right next to Cassia, and so she couldn't not see what they were doing. Well, at least they weren't trying to play footsie under the table. That could go too wrong too quickly, when so many others were sitting around the same damn table. Daryl sat across from her, as silent as anyone else, but she couldn't take her eyes away from the bruises around his neck for long. They stood out to her rather blatantly and painfully. It was like a reminder of everything she'd done to damage his welfare and his life. He caught her looking once or twice, but didn't seem too bothered. He raised his eyebrows as a response, but that was about it. Cassia couldn't tell if he was moody, because he always looked like he was moody. Daryl freaking Dixon.
Ross was moved from his tree to the chicken coup. He'd whined and yelled and complained and threatened people (mostly Daryl and Cassia, and now Andrea, as she'd knocked him out) - but nobody cared. He deserved worse than the chicken coup. Glenn even showed Shane a more advanced kind of knot to tie him up with. Cassia had been taken aside after the fight and gently questioned about the fours years of abuse she'd undergone while dating Ross, and Daryl had stuck with her, adding on to the parts she tried to leave out. He really wanted the group to know just how bad Ross had been to her. Still was to her, and she could understand why. Ross was a very charismatic, persuasive individual, and Rick had been falling for his act before Daryl showed up and showed them all her scar. Cassia had refused to cry, and remained solemn the entire time. They all came across impressed with her endurance.
Nothing happened until what she supposed must have been just after midnight, judging from the positioning of the moon in the dark, blanketing night sky.
Honestly, Cassia hadn't slept at all that night. She'd just been lying there, staring out of the vast window across from the bed.
There was a noise out on the landing, the slightest creak of a floorboard being the only thing to alert her to anything being out of the ordinary. Not that anything was really ordinary anymore. It was the kind of accidental creak you would make if you were trying to get to your room without waking up your parents, after staying out past your curfew. Cassia was very much regretting not keeping her knives by the bed. Instead, they were still hidden away in the sheathes sewn into the waistband of her jeans.
Jeans which were now discarded on the floor a bit away from the bed.
Another creak from outside the door made her sit up ram-rod straight in the bed, flattening her spine against the headboard.
It was very plausible that it could be Beth or Maggie, or someone else coming to check up on her, but then again... why would they feel the need to creep around and keep quiet like that?
They wouldn't. That was the problem.
As slowly and as quietly as she could manage, she slipped off the bed and started making her way towards her jeans. She only managed to swing her legs off the bed when the door creaked, and was flung open gently enough to bump very quietly against the wall. In the very poorly illuminated doorway, stood Ross. She should have known. Something glinted as the light filtered through the big window and passed over it.
A gun.
Ross had a gun.
He leveled it at her head, a nasty sneer on his face. It was so difficult to see him properly in the darkness, but the moon was bright enough outside that if she squinted she could just about make him out. Luckily, she could make the gun out very clearly. Cassia froze, her hands going to her stomach to shield her bump as her first instinct. This was the wrong move, though, as it brought his attention straight down to it, and the gun followed.
No. Not her baby.
"Please-"
"Shut your mouth."
Cassia shut her mouth with a snap and almost whimpered. She briefly considered screaming, but it would be no use. No-one would hear her in time, not when all the rooms were as far apart as they were, and especially when the rest of the group were all camped outside. When Daryl was camped that far away from the house.
This was it, surely. This was the end. The oddest thing was... she wasn't afraid for herself. She didn't fear death. It was hard to in a world such as this one. What she did fear was the death of her baby. Her baby, which was still only about as big as the palm of her hand. Her baby, which hadn't even been given the chance to live before it would never get the chance to.
Ross took another step into the room, closing the door softly behind him, and she started trembling. Fear the living, was what Merle had quoted to her a while back, when they'd set off as a trio for Atlanta. She'd never agreed with anything Merle had said before. Cassia slowly held her hands up to show Ross she was unarmed, and stood up from the bed, with a deep breath she turned to face him, head held high.
The look on Ross' face and in his eyes was manic, his teeth were clenched together and his eyes were wide open, as if he couldn't quite believe what he was doing. He'd been tied up. How did he get free?
It didn't matter now. She was going to die.
Wait. No.
It was like those movies, the ones where you saw the police officer held at gunpoint during a bank robbery, a hostage situation. They'd keep the criminal talking, keep them distracted until they could save themselves.
She wasn't too far away from the jeans. She could do this.
"I still love you," she whispered, loud enough for him to hear, but still quiet enough to make it appear like she had been ashamed to say it. Ross twitched a little, frowning, shaking his head in a slow, furious motion. Cassia took a single step back, and he followed, gun still pointed right at her stomach.
"Then why do this to me?"
"I was mad at you. I'd been losing my mind for three months thinking you were dead."
"... I don't believe you."
She took another step back. He took another step forwards.
"I need you to, and- and I'm willing to ch- to change... for you." This was exactly what Ross wanted to hear, she knew it was. He'd always been stuck in the philosophy that she treated him so badly and manipulated him at every opportunity. It blinded him to his own abusive behaviour.
"You'd... change?" That seemed to hit home for him, as he paused when she stepped back, staring off towards the window as he thought it over, but then his expression hardened, and he held the gun with more conviction; perfecting his aim, "Yeah? Then why'd you sleep with Dixon?" Ross seethed.
"That... that was a rebound. A mistake. He took advantage of my vulnerable state after you moved into the hotel." Cassia had to keep herself rigid, crushing her hand into a harsh fist, digging her nails into her palm behind her back as she lied about Daryl. It was painful, even as a lie, and she hated herself for ever allowing the words to leave her mouth. I'm sorry, Daryl. I'm keeping our baby safe.
"So... so- so you..." For the first time, it became horrifyingly clear to Cassia just how unstable Ross was. He was... a wreck. If they weren't living in the middle of a... a zombie apocalypse, she would have tried to get him some help. It was a terrifying thought, that there was no help for him now, no peaceful solution to his problems. She had to kill him. She knew she did. Cassia would never be able to restrain him by herself, and he would be very likely to overpower her and murder herself and her unborn child. There was no way she could even permit the risk of that happening.
"We were drunk," she held her hands out, as if trying to compel him to believe her. Ross looked like he was doubting himself now, he looked out of the window, again, at the moon. Cassia took the last, vital step back, and crouched down, scrambling as quietly and swiftly as she could to retrieve one of her knives. She wasn't quick enough, though, and Ross caught her, darting straight over and putting the gun to her head.
"You bitch."
"I was- no-"
"You must think I am remarkably stupid." And then he slapped her, straight around the face, altering the gun's positioning from her temple down to her bump, pressing the gun right up against it. Cassia didn't dare scream. There was absolutely no hope for anyone to reach them in time now.
But she didn't need them. Cassia had managed to get a knife. Granted, she was just about managing to keep her grip on it, by the very tips of her fingers. Such was the fashion she'd succeeded in getting it. Ross clearly hadn't noticed, but his eye was twitching now, every now and then, making him look like the deranged lunatic he was very swiftly becoming. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes to try and settle himself down enough to actually speak. Cassia took this opportunity to pass the knife behind her back into her other hand, a much better grip on it this time. She had a chance, now. It was a slim one, and it would be a close one if she could pull it off, but it was there. Cassia just had to... do it.
"... You have two options here, Cass. You can-" Ross sighed again, dragging a dangerously shaky hand down his face, trying to compose himself, "you can come with me, back to my group, and we can... the child can be mine. Or..." He stepped back a little bit, seemingly satisfied that she wasn't going to be able to attempt an escape, taking the gun away from her stomach, still aiming it at the bump, but putting some distance in between them now, "you can choose to stay here, with him and you and your redneck trash baby can die."
Cassia felt herself shivering, though it was a humid night. This was not a side of Ross she knew. This was like nothing she had ever seen before. It was terrifying, to say the least. Chilling.
There was a distinct clinking of Ross' ring against the gun as his hand began to tremble violently.
"I need an answer. The fucking silence is driving me insane."
"You. I choose you."
Ross made an odd half-choking sound, his breath evidently catching in his throat, and he dropped the gun, holding his arms out to embrace her with this crazy, giddy, insane smile spreading across his features. Cassia took a deep breath and then made herself smile back, she swooped forward to embrace him, keeping the little knife tucked up against her palm. She realised he was trembling in a different way, now, tiny sobs emanating from him to imply he was crying. Cassia made comforting little hushing noises and stroked his hair. Her hand was right there. Her hand was in position.
She had to.
She had to.
Cassia slid the knife down with her thumb, against her palm, until it was in her grip. She raised her arm as subtly as she could, and brought it down, with a sharp gasp at the force she put behind it.
A hand came up to crash against her arm, holding her bicep in a vice grip and squeezing.
Ross let out a near silent roar and punched her so hard that she fell straight to the ground, the knife was thrown out of her hand and almost disappeared under the bedside table. Ross scampered over to the jeans, which were half under her, and tugged them violently out from under her body, throwing them with a not-so-quiet thump against the door. How had nobody heard them yet?
It was okay. She could still do this. She could still live. The baby could still live. Cassia took the opportunity while he was distracted and gathered her strength, throwing herself across the floor and over to the dresser and landed on her back. Ross whipped back around and, eyes blazing, and ducked back down and across to her, but she kicked at his shin, and he fell, a furious growl leaving him as he scrambled to regain his balance. Cassia reached up and behind her to reach the knife, but she accidentally nudged it instead, and the knife disappeared completely under the table.
No.
NO.
Cassia felt a scream tear it's way through her, ready to escape, but she held it back, determined to be as stubborn as Basil had always teased her for being. Basil. He was someone who would absolutely not approve of what she was about to do. He was a pacifist, her eldest and only brother. Ross was spitting swear words at her, as loud as he dared to. She had no knife. So what could she use? She needed to think quick.
Come on, Cassia. THINK.
The lamp. She strained immediately, arching her back and reaching up, desperately trying to reach the lamp up on the table. Damn it, Hershel. Why did you have to buy such tall end tables?
Something clicked above her, and she almost screamed again, her fingers finally securing around the cord that connected the lamp to it's plug in the wall. Ross had picked up the gun again, and was once again pointing it directly at her stomach. Panting, she tugged as hard as she could, and the lamp came flying off the table, it was wrenched from the wall, and she caught it just before it hit her, and smacked it hard enough in it's flight that she pulled something in her arm, and diverted it's course. The lamp did it's job and shattered right over Ross' head. He yelled out and fell to the floor, clutching at his head. Cassia grabbed for the bed, dragging herself up from the floor. Someone had to have heard them now. Surely. Regardless, she didn't have enough time to wait for them, and she flung herself over the bed, falling over the other side of it and landing in a crumpled heap on the floor nearer the door. Ross groaned and swore at her again from where she'd left him. She didn't pay enough attention to what he was saying because he was getting up from the floor.
No-one recovered from a lamp-over-the-head that quickly in the movies.
Cassia cried out, Ross' form hit the bed and lunged for her with a roar of fury that shook her to the very core. Come on, Cassie. Get up. Get to the door.
The jeans had been caught on the coat hook on the back of the door when Ross threw them, and were just hanging there. They were so close.
She had to get to them. This was her last chance. She'd messed up every other chance and opportunity that had been offered to her. She simply couldn't afford to mess this up. It wasn't just her life depending on this.
Come on, Cassie. Get to the door. The jeans. Get yourself to that door and get the last knife. You know it's in there.
Ross caught her by the ankle, yanking her back. She hit the floor face first and only just managed to push herself up onto her hands in time, to keep her torso elevated off the floor and save the baby. Her arms shook and trembled while she kicked out as hard as she could. Come on, get free. Get. Free.
She did it, her ankle made an odd, sickening sound when she finally managed to yank it out of Ross' grasp, but she had no time to even consider the pain that shot through her leg as she dived for the door. Ross was getting to his feet.
The sheathes, she'd gotten to the sheathes, but which one was it?!
Ross rushed towards her and she turned, her hair flying out around her and brought her arm down.
A knife was sunk, with frightening strength, into his temple. Cassia couldn't tear her eyes from his as she did it, and she knew his expression would haunt her for the rest of her life. His mouth was hanging open, his eyes wide and bulging and overflowing with tears. His face had been a terrifying shade of red, veins popping out and muscles twitching. He never blinked, not once, not even when the dagger was buried deep into his head, destroying his brain. Not even when the blood trailed down his forehead and diverted over his nose, running down the right side, disappearing down under his sharp jaw.
Cassia sobbed and her legs almost buckled but she held on tight to the knife for a moment, watching as the life left her ex-boyfriend's eyes. She felt her body start to go into shock, to shut down and prepare to faint, or whatever her reaction was due to be, but she fought it, struggling with the knife to wrench it out of his forehead. Cassia laid him down on the floor, as gently as she could manage with her shaking and all her trembling, her shock. She brought a violently quaking hand down to close his eyes, and then she collapsed back against the door, finally allowing the break to take over.
Cassia passed out.
