The Past

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Eight
The Past

“Cassandra!” Venus shouts, waking me up after just two hours of sleep. It would seem I’m meant to be exhausted for a few days. She’s standing out in the hall outside my door when I find her. She hands me a pair of simple, black sandals.

“Get dressed, you’re going with me, don’t ask questions.”

I nod obediently and go back into my room. I quickly throw on my dress, run a brush through my hair and pull it back, and slip into the shoes. Venus leads me downstairs to the front door. She unlocks it and gestures for me to follow her outside. I give her an odd look, but don’t question it.

Her car is parked in the driveway, though I can’t ever remember her using it, at least not when she brought me here. We climb into the little, silver Pontiac Grand Prix and she starts the car. I stare out the window, watching the countryside roll by. I don’t even know how long its been since I’ve been outside the house. A year and a half? Something like that, I believe. The last time I was out was the day Venus dragged me to the house.

“One year, seven months, and two days. That’s how long you’ve been here,” she tells me, seeing me stare at the view.

“Long time,” I muse.

“Not compared to Emily’s three years and one day or Richard’s seven years, eight months, and…thirteen days. But it’s far longer than I expected you to last,” she replies.

Almost eight years… Sometimes, often actually, I wonder how Richard handles it.

The drive is short and the area seems vaguely familiar. We pass by an old park and I realize we’re in the town where I grew up. I spent many nights sleeping in the oak tree in that park.

I bite back my curiosity. She told me not to ask questions and I know better than to disobey her.

We pull up outside an old café, one I once frequented with my parents. The area is almost entirely deserted. Tables clutter up the patio, but only one is occupied. Even from the back, I recognize the figure sitting there. The tattoos trailing down his arms are the biggest hint, but I’d probably still recognize him even if he had on long sleeves. The dyed black hair is a lot shorter than I ever recall it being, and the brown roots are more noticeable. A cigarette butt smolders in the ash tray beside him and I crinkle my nose at the bitter smell.

“I thought you quit,” I say as we approach. He jumps and turns around. Those gorgeous hazel eyes meet mine.

“I thought you were dead.”

I shrug and sit down across from him, ignoring Venus for the time being. “How’re you and…Nicole?”

“We split up. She couldn’t put up with all my shit. I don’t really blame her.”

“So what’re you doing here, Ian?” I ask.

He sighs. “Amy’s in the hospital.”

I flinch as though he’s hit me. Little Amelia… She’s…eight? Nine? now. Something close to that. “Why?”

“Pancreatic cancer runs in the family, apparently.”

My eyes widen. “No.”

He nods. “Yeah. I know. It fucking sucks.”

He pulls a cigarette and a lighter out of his pocket. I narrow my eyes at him and he reluctantly replaces them in his pocket.

“I always hated it when you did that.”

“I always hated it when you smoked.”

“What’re you doing here, Cassie?”

“Honestly? I have no idea.”

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