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I still remember the three of us sitting on the couch in the living room, watching a cheesy sci-fi movie or listening to a new band. I remember sneaking to their dad's room to listen to him compose. Damon catching me, teasing me, asking me if I wanted to write a song with him.
Even though it's been years, I fall into the familiarity of the space right away. The nights in this bed, alone. The slumber parties in Daphne's room. The days by the pool or the beach.
And all that time with Damon.
We were both night owls, and Daphne was an early bird.
And once we started collaborating, we spent every spare minute together. We shared headphones, played each other our favorite songs, scribbled lyrics on scrap paper.
We just worked together. We fit together. We were almost as close as Daphne and I were.
He was never sweet, exactly, but he had a tender side. And with two years and six inches on me, he seemed impossibly mature and grown-up.
Then, something changed. I'm not sure what happened, exactly. It's not like there was one day when Damon woke up as an asshole. It was a little, every day. A hazy look in his eyes. A biting tone in his voice. A lack of interest in our work together.
Then I turned sixteen, and he kissed me—really, really kissed me—and told me he wanted something real with me, something big and important, and I thought I had him back. The Damon who wanted to work with me, who cared about protecting his sister, who knew what mattered.
I fell asleep in a dream. Finally, my best friend's gorgeous older brother wanted me back. Only, the next day, he didn't remember. Or maybe he changed his mind and pretended.
And that was it. The death knell. He never looked at me the same way after that. He never saw me as a friend again. Only an enemy.
He was different, too. He showed up at all of Daphne's celebrations with a buzz and a bad attitude. He didn't just tease me. He tried to hurt me.
I hurt him back. I won't lie.
I hated him for forgetting our kiss, for abandoning our friendship, for leaving my best friend alone. She needed him. She needed her older brother. I tried to show up for her, but it wasn't the same.
She doesn't share what goes on in her family with me. She's private that way. We talk about dates and work and life aspirations. Never about family.
Even though I try to avoid Damon, I see him all the time. He's just around. Until the last year or two, Daphne made an effort to invite him to dinner parties and picnics. Or maybe she kept inviting him and he stopped showing.
When did I last see him before this? All his tipsy barbs run together. The snarl on his beautiful face. The delight in his eyes, like he enjoys my pain, like he doesn't even notice how much his sister needs him.
But, hey, I'm not here to ask myself how Damon and I went from friends to enemies. I'm here to convince him to play my fake boyfriend. And that means appealing to his self-interest.
That's all he cares about now, what's best for him.
I unpack my clothes, arrange them in the sticker-covered dresser, then sit at the well-loved desk, and I try to find the thread of my thoughts. There's too much swirling inside me.
Not just my ex-boyfriend's betrayal. Or this opportunity to prove myself. Everything that led up to it.
We weren't having sex.
For months, we weren't having sex. At first, I thought I'd done something, hurt him somehow, turned him off. Then, I thought maybe it was normal. After all, no one keeps the spark alive forever.
He said it was stress.
Maybe it was.
But it was her too.
Not just the novelty of another person. The passion he felt for her. After all, he didn't say I'm sorry, Cassie, I still love you.
He said I'm sorry, Cassie, I love her.
The guy who knew me better than anyone. The guy who promised to love me forever. I shared so much with him, and still, he decided I wasn't soft enough, vulnerable enough, loving enough.
I take a deep breath and push an exhale through my lungs. Only the air isn't enough to soothe me. I need my true source of oxygen—music.
I sync my headphones, and I pick the perfect artist. A singer who does acoustic covers of Hole songs. There's something about her raw, wounded voice and the way she turns these aggressive riot grrrl songs into confessions of pain. She takes all that anger and lets it dissolve to show the pain beneath it.
She's brave. The sort of brave I want to be.
The thought of working with someone like her, who could take my words and add all this extra depth and emotion—
