The Art of Knowing [Completed]

29. • droplets •

[to all who avoid attachment, paralyzed by the fear of getting hurt eventually.]

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Cassandra's plan to open the car door swiftly was foiled once a jolt of strength shut it closed. Ryan's hand remained planted against it while the artist clenched her teeth yet again. Regardless of the interruption, her gaze was fixed on the car door as she repeatedly pulled on the handle with haste- more or less trying her best to avoid more tears to continue to stream down. For a moment, the fact that she had never mentioned her own family seemed inconceivable to think of- yet not surprising in the slightest. She knew about her ability to avoid such subjects, and it was only a matter of time before every ignored memory came rushing back to her.

"Let me open the door, Ryan," Cassandra ordered with minimal eye contact. Her hand yanked at the handle once again, but the socialite's hand hadn't moved an inch.

"What the hell was that?" he asked almost inaudibly, referring to what had just transpired merely minutes before. Truthfully, the young man was still trying to piece together how fast things had gone downhill. And while it had all started innocently, there was no way to comprehend the abrupt ending to a subject he clearly had no knowledge of.

"Do you want to be late?" the artist challenged.

"I couldn't care less about being late," Ryan refuted immediately. It would be a lie to ignore the swift impatience within him as she continued to avoid the subject. Not long after, Cassandra walked over to the passenger side angrily, relenting at her attempts to open the driver's side door.

"Fine, then. You'll drive," she declared, only to then sit on her side as Ryan did the same. The echoes of their car doors enveloped the silence growing between them.

Cassandra's heart began to race as they remained parked for more than five minutes, and the wait prompted her to glance over at Ryan as he gripped the steering wheel without a word. As the vehicle fell victim to unbelievable tension and silence, a sudden grimace draped over the artist's face with a soft rest of her forehead against the pane. She'd never felt so vulnerable. But after a quick reflection, the brunette did recognize the unbearable pain she was experiencing within her heart at that moment, which was eerily similar to the same despair she'd felt the day she'd learned of her father's death. Cassandra could remember the day by the minute, recalling how her preteen-self nearly crumbled at the news of the fatal car accident. Of course, the young girl wasn't new to such tragedies. Nevertheless, there were many differences when it came to her mother's demise years beforehand.

Her passing was expected. At least, that was what her father admitted. Despite the heartbreaking loss at such an early age where she could barely comprehend the severity of it all, it was evident that her father's support mended the hurt a lot quicker. But when it came to the second tragedy she was meant to face, there wasn't much support to lean on when her own lifeline was the one seemingly slipping from her grasp. 

"Can you please just drive," she mumbled painfully.

"No. Not until you talk to me."

The artist took a deep breath at his words. Everything seemed to feel heavier by the second; from the air she'd been attempting to provide her lungs with to the mere action of redirecting her gaze back to Ryan. Her very own soul had been burdened with so much fear and discontent, and now she figured there would be no escape until she declared it once and for all.