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Really, it's a beautiful night. The midnight-blue sky is dotted with stars. Tiny specs of light against the darkness. That's a metaphor, the kind she'd use in a song. No. That's too cheesy for her.
She'd use it in a pop song, sure—she's willing to do what the job takes—but she's more clever, when she has the room for it.
"Is this what you're going for?" Daphne interrupts my messy thoughts with a tap on the arm. "The quiet, brooding type?"
"Maybe… or maybe he's an agent." Cassie shifts away from the topic of our fake relationship to their favorite topic, sci-fi movies. She refers to the villains in The Matrix, the computer programs that take over humans in the simulation. "Maybe the program glitched."
"What do you think, Damon?" Daphne follows Cassie's lead, happy to move away from sensitive issues like deception, sex, love. "Do you crave pasta or electricity?"
"Does not compute." I play their game. Easy is better. Jokes are better. "I mean, humans enjoy carbohydrates. Of course, as a human, I prefer pasta."
"I buy it." Daphne smiles with an ease I haven't seen in ages.
Then Cassie laughs and warmth fills the air.
It does things to me. Things inappropriate for the dinner table. Things I can't handle. It threatens to melt the ice around my heart.
She's just so fucking… Cassie.
Daphne is right. It's easier having someone here, having a distraction. If I can find a way to contain the lust racing through my veins. And the warmth spreading through my body.
At best, Cassie and I are frenemies. At best, we leave this full-blown friends. There's no room for the sort of affection that leads to whispering sweet nothings under the stars.
Daphne plates the food—big cheesy squares of lasagna—and passes them around the table. Cassie, me, her. She motions to the water glasses in front of each of us. "I told Cassie Mom and Dad don't keep alcohol here. So there's no wine to go with dinner." Her expression stays neutral, but I feel the charge under it. Don't make me into a liar. Don't make this complicated.
It's already complicated, though. That's what other people don't get.
In the abstract, it's simple. I don't ingest mind-altering substances. Nothing stronger than caffeine.
But going back to any sort of life without that coping mechanism? That's not simple or easy.
And expecting me to share by the way, I'm an alcoholic, and I finally realized it with everyone I know—
That's like asking Daphne to introduce herself to everyone with I'm Daphne Webb and I'm still not over my ex-boyfriend. We tried to make it work long distance, but it just didn't because…
I don't know, actually. She never told me. We never talked about it. I wasn't there for her. That's most of it.
But some of it is her too. She doesn't walk around with her scars on display. She doesn't invite everyone she knows to pick at the scab.
Why should I, just because my affliction involves a substance everyone pretends it's normal to abuse?
"Really?" Cassie looks at me with apprehension. "No secret bottles of whiskey in the sock drawer?"
There's no accusation in her voice, but I feel the implication anyway. This is who I am to everyone I know. The guy who doesn't know his limits.
Cassie knew me when I was a kid, before I was that guy, but she still doesn't see the Damon who loved music first.
She sees the asshole with a problem.
My throat tightens. My eyes go to my sister. I don't know what I expect her to say anymore.
I'm asking her to split her loyalty. It's not fair. I know that. I just don't know how to do anything else.
Daphne looks back at me, frustration in her dark eyes. She nods okay, and I know exactly what she means. It's like when we were kids and we could transmit anything via a single glance. We had the sorta sibling telepathy people only expect in twins.
She doesn't want to lie to her friend, and she won't lie if she's asked directly, but she'll cover for now.
Daphne turns her attention to Cassie. She shrugs, as if the topic is casual, but she doesn't quite sell it. "I know it's hard to believe," Daphne says, "but Damon follows the rules now."
"That is hard to believe." Cassie looks between us with suspicion in her green eyes. Because that's the situation. The possibility of Damon Webb not drinking—unlikely. My sister selling it as casual—equally unlikely.
Daphne leans into the reality of the situation. "It was one of Mom and Dad's terms for him staying here. No alcohol in the house. And he promised me he'd follow it."
That's true. All of it is true. Mom and Dad don't keep alcohol in either of their homes (they're rich enough to have more than two, but they "only" have their place in Malibu Hills and this place, which Dad inherited from his uncle. I think that's why they haven't sold it. Because it's supposed to be a family place. It's supposed to be ours.
