pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3 | pt. 4
“So, are you gonna tell me what happened last night?”
Jennifer’s supposedly getting ready for work, but still finds time to interrogate him while searching around for her keys. Casey sits in the corner of the living room, doddling on his keyboard, humming to himself — tuning her out. Her question goes entirely ignored as he scribbles something down in a notebook on his lap, then keeps playing.
“Allan came at me about how he’s sick of watching you,” Jennifer goes on, still ignored, but it doesn’t seem to phase her. When she’s mad, she only wants to hear herself anyway. “Did you spit in his face?”
At that, Casey smirks, but doesn’t look up; strokes of the keys become a little more deliberate, a little louder.
“Casey.” Jennifer stops her stride at the kitchen. “Did you spit in Allan’s face?”
“Yes.” Casey scribbles something else down, still not bothering to look her way, or maybe he can’t bring himself to.
“Are you trying to ruin this for me?”
Casey ignores her. Exhaustion’s catching up to him, but he’s still trying to play away her voice, the residual throbbing in his face, the haunting memory of his blood on the floor; it’s the only sense of normalcy he can cling to, and he does with as much strength as he can muster.
“Casey.”
“Can you like, leave me alone?” They finally lock eyes; hers are wide, her jaw unhinged. Casey doesn’t budge. “I’m sure Allan would love to tell you all about it.”
Jennifer doesn’t speak at first, just stares at him. Casey searches her expression for something — not empathy, but maybe realization — although he was dead wrong when he’d tried to see the same thing in Allan. Finally, she backs down, hands at eye level.“Fine, you don’t wanna talk about it, we won’t. You can sit here by yourself.”
“I will.” Point proven. Casey turns away again, fingertips finding keys again, playing her words away, playing the stinging sensation in his chest away. He hears the front door slam shut, leaving him alone again.
Had he explained, he knows she wouldn’t believe it anyway.
