Page 69 of We Already Dug the Grave

I pumped the keg, then squirted a foamy beer into my cup for the fourth time, annoyed that it was taking so long to dull my feelings.

“Hey.”

I looked up.

Casey. Shit.

“Hey,” I said, dropping my eyes to my cup. I blinked away tears, not sure why I suddenly wanted to cry.

“What happened?”

“What do you mean?”

“Milly.” There was a world of hurt in the way he said my name. “Come on. You told me to meet you, but you left. Did I do something? I thought maybe you had an emergency, because I couldn’t find Frances either, but here you—”

“Shut up.” I jerked my gaze to his face, my eyes wide and wet. There was a glass bottle abandoned on a nearby blanket, and I grabbed it and tossed my beer aside as I walked away from my lingering classmates.

“Stop telling me to shut up,” Casey said.

Lowering my voice, I said, “I never left. We were here the entire time. Both Frances and me.”

When we were out of earshot, I spun toward Casey, stumbling. He grabbed my shoulders and steadied me. I repeated myself, waving the bottle around as I spoke. “I’ve been here the entire time.”

I tipped the bottle to my lips and drained the last few swallows and coughed against the burn in the back of my throat.

“No.” Casey grabbed the bottle, pulling it from me. “No, you haven’t. I saw you tear out of here. And—Christ—what happened? Because, I’m sorry, you look… You don’t look great. And you never do this.” He shook the empty bottle. “I mean—you can do whatever you want. Obviously. But Milly, what’s going on? I know things have been weird, but this—”

My face crumpled. “I can’t talk about it.”

He pulled me close. “You can talk to me about anything. You’re my best friend. You know I’d do anything for you.”

My tears wet the collar of his shirt. I sniffed. “I really can’t.”

Each time I blinked, Mr. Fortenberry’s pulpy face was waiting behind my eyelids. Chunk of earlobe missing. Ants crawling out of his nose.

Casey touched my cheek near my ear, then looked down at his fingers. “Are you bleeding?” His voice tightened, and he looked back toward the crowd of students. “Milly, for real. Did someone hurt you? Are you okay?”

“No. I mean yes, I’m okay,” I lied.

I stepped back, the alcohol sloshed in my stomach while the world tilted. “I’m fine. It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing if you’re bleeding.” His voice was soft, but his hand clenched at his side.

“I’m not!”

“Well then talk to me, dammit.”

I shook my head, tears sliding down my cheeks. “Not here.”

“What do you mean not here? Look. If someone hurt you, and you don’t want to tell me, that’s okay. I can go with you to talk to someone if that’s—”

“No. It’s nothing like that. I just want to go home.” Hadn’t I been here long enough? Everyone had seen me.

Suddenly, all I wanted was the safety of my house. Of the women who cared for me.

Casey’s rust-colored brows arched, his face now inches from mine. The memory hit me, the smell of cinnamon on his breath, and how his lips had tasted. I leaned closer slowly, but when my lips brushed his, he pulled away.

A sob escaped. Casey hates me.