Chapter 6: The aftermath
The whiskey burned a familiar path down Cherry’s throat, but it did nothing to warm the icy shock spreading through her chest. Daisy’s words hung in the smoky bar air, sharp and undeniable: "Devon’s my brother."
Cherry choked, coughing amber liquid onto the polished wood counter. Simone’s hand froze halfway to her own glass, her eyes wide saucers darting between Cherry and Daisy. The low hum of conversation around them seemed to fade into a dull roar.
"Your what?" Simone finally hissed, leaning so far forward her elaborate braids almost dipped into Cherry’s spilled whiskey.
Daisy flushed crimson, fiddling with the stem of her martini glass. Her usually serene expression was replaced by profound discomfort. "My brother. Devon. The one Cherry just…" She trailed off, gesturing vaguely, unable to say the words.
"Fucked?" Simone supplied helpfully, her voice dropping to a scandalized whisper. "Yeah, that Devon. Jesus Christ on a cracker, Daisy! Why didn’t you say something?"
"I didn’t know!" Daisy protested, her voice tight. "Not until Cherry said his name! ‘Devon from college’? There’s only one Devon I know who fits that description, and he is my brother. Half-brother," she amended quickly, as if that lessened the blow. "Same dad. Different moms. We didn’t grow up together, but… yeah. He’s Devon." She looked at Cherry, genuine apology in her eyes. "I swear, Cherry, I had no idea you two even knew each other, let alone…"
Cherry couldn’t breathe. The dim lights, the scent of expensive perfume mingling with whiskey, the worn leather of the bar stool pressing against her thighs – it all felt suddenly oppressive. Devon’s face swam in her mind: the intense focus in his eyes last night, the rough scrape of his stubble, the sheer, overwhelming presence of him in her small apartment. And now… Daisy’s brother. Her friend’s brother. The universe had a truly vicious sense of humor.
"Okay," Simone breathed, recovering faster than Cherry. She snatched a napkin and mopped up Cherry’s spill. "Okay. Deep breaths, Cherry Blossom. So, Daisy’s brother. Big whoop. He’s hot, you’re hot, sparks flew, clothes came off. Happens." She patted Cherry’s arm, her touch grounding. "Daisy, you cool?"
Daisy nodded vigorously, though her cheeks remained flushed. "Cool? Yeah. Totally cool. Just… awkward? Like, really awkward? But not mad! God, no. You’re both adults. It’s… fine." She didn’t sound entirely convinced it was fine. "Just… unexpected. For everyone."
Cherry finally found her voice, hoarse and strained. "Daisy… please. You can’t tell him. You can’t." The thought of Devon knowing she’d blabbed to her friends – especially his sister – sent fresh waves of panic crashing over her. It felt like a violation of the fragile, intense bubble they’d existed in, even if she was the one trying to pop it. "He doesn’t need to know I told anyone. Especially not… you."
Simone snorted, taking a long sip of her cosmopolitan. "Honey, how exactly do you plan on hiding this? You think he won’t notice his sister hanging out with his…" She paused, searching for the right word Cherry hadn't provided. "...his friend? Especially when…" A slow, knowing grin spread across Simone’s face. It was the grin Cherry dreaded. The ‘I’m about to point out the obvious flaw in your plan’ grin.
"Oh no," Cherry whispered, dread pooling in her stomach.
Simone leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. "Especially when we’re all going to be dressed as the freaking Powerpuff Girls at the Halloween party next weekend? The party Devon is definitely going to be at? The party where Daisy," she pointed a perfectly manicured finger, "will be Buttercup? And you," she turned the finger on Cherry, "will be Blossom? And I," she finished triumphantly, "will be Bubbles, rocking this blonde wig like nobody’s business?"
Cherry buried her face in her hands. The Powerpuff Girls. The stupid, fun, group costume idea Simone had pushed for weeks. Buttercup, Blossom, Bubbles. Daisy, Cherry, Simone. It had seemed hilarious weeks ago. Now it felt like a neon sign announcing her presence to Devon. ‘Hey! It’s me! The woman who slept with you and then told your sister!’
"He’ll figure it out the second he sees Daisy with us," Simone stated flatly, popping an olive into her mouth. "Probably sooner. Daisy, you gonna pretend you don’t know Cherry?"
Daisy winced. "I… don’t think I’m that good an actress? Especially not around Devon. He reads people way too well." She sighed, swirling her martini. "Look, Cherry, I won’t bring it up. I promise. But if he asks… if he puts two and two together…"
"He will," Simone interjected. "That man doesn’t miss much. Especially not where Cherry’s concerned." She gave Cherry a pointed look, recalling the years of simmering tension Cherry had occasionally hinted at.
Cherry lifted her head, staring miserably at her half-empty whiskey glass. The ice had melted, diluting the amber liquid. Like her resolve. Like her carefully constructed boundaries. The image of Devon’s predatory smile over breakfast flashed in her mind. ‘Okay, Cherry.’ His easy acceptance of her ‘no more sex’ declaration had felt like a trap then. Now, knowing Daisy was his sister, knowing she’d be forced into proximity with him dressed in a ridiculous, brightly colored costume… it felt like the trap was snapping shut.
"So, what?" Cherry’s voice was small. "I just… show up? Smile? Pretend nothing happened? Pretend I didn’t get that text?" The crude, visceral words Devon had sent burned in her memory, a stark counterpoint to the awkwardness of this revelation.
Simone shrugged, her expression pragmatic. "Pretty much. Or you bail on the party. But you know Marcus and Lena would be crushed." Marcus and Lena were throwing the party; backing out wasn’t really an option without causing drama. "Besides," Simone added, a glint of mischief returning to her eyes, "wouldn’t you rather see his face when he realizes? Could be priceless."
"Or mortifying," Cherry muttered, tracing a bead of condensation on her glass. The cold wetness seeped into her fingertip.
"Life’s messy, sweetie," Simone said, signaling the bartender for another round. "Sometimes you gotta lean into the awkward. Own it. You had amazing sex with a hot guy who happens to be your friend’s brother. So what? It’s 2023. Nobody died." She nudged Daisy. "Right, Buttercup?"
Daisy managed a weak smile. "Right. Just… maybe warn me if he glares daggers at me? He does this thing with his eyebrows when he’s annoyed…"
Cherry groaned, resting her forehead back on the cool wood of the bar. The scent of aged spirits and faint cherry blossoms suddenly felt cloying. The low thrum of the bass from the speakers vibrated through the stool, matching the frantic pulse in her temples. One reckless night, one brutal text, one earth-shattering revelation, and now… a Halloween party dressed as a cartoon character, facing the man whose explicit words were still scorched onto her phone screen. And his sister, her friend, caught squarely in the middle.
Simone’s fresh cosmopolitan arrived, bright pink and deceptively cheerful. She clinked it gently against Cherry’s whiskey glass. "Bottoms up, Blossom. Gotta fortify yourself for the big show." Her grin was wide, infectious, and utterly terrifying. "This is gonna be epic."
The bar lights dimmed further, swallowing Simone’s ominous pronouncement whole. Cherry spent the next week oscillating between dread and a stubborn determination to pretend the world hadn’t tilted. She avoided her phone like it was radioactive, Devon’s unanswered texts – ranging from a casual "Coffee?" to the later, more blunt "Running cold, Cherry?" – piling up in a digital graveyard. The Blossom costume, a vibrant pink mini-dress complete with a skewed bow headband Simone insisted was "iconic," felt less like fun and more like a flashing target strapped to her chest.
The Halloween party at Marcus and Lena’s sprawling downtown loft hit like a wall of sound and heat the moment they pushed through the door. Bodies writhed under pulsing strobe lights, the bass thumping deep in Cherry’s bones. The air, thick with the mingled scents of sweat, cheap beer, and synthetic fog, instantly coated her skin. "Damn, they went all out this year," Simone yelled over the din, adjusting her bright blue Bubbles wig that clashed magnificently with her dark skin. Daisy, in green Buttercup attire, looked wide-eyed and slightly shell-shocked beside her.
"Okay, ladies, deep breaths!" Simone announced, digging into the tiny sequined purse dangling from her wrist. She produced three small, gummy squares, the color indistinguishable in the gloom. "Courtesy of Lena’s 'stress relief' stash. Takes the edge right off." Before Cherry could protest, Simone popped one into her own mouth, then pressed one into Cherry’s palm and another into Daisy’s. "Trust me. You need this, Blossom. Buttercup, you look like you’re about to bolt." Daisy gave a shaky nod, chewing hers quickly. Cherry hesitated, staring at the innocuous-looking square. The memory of Devon’s intense gaze, the visceral heat of his hands, the explicit text, Daisy’s revelation – it all coalesced into a knot of pure anxiety in her gut. She swallowed the gummy. What’s one more bad decision?
The edibles worked with insidious slowness. Cherry’s initial hyper-awareness of the crowd noise, the press of unfamiliar bodies, the sheer loudness of everything, gradually softened. The bass became a comforting thrum rather than an assault. Colors seemed brighter, the flashing lights tracing lazy patterns behind her eyelids when she blinked. Simone grabbed her hand and Daisy’s, pulling them towards the densest part of the dance floor. "Move it!" Simone laughed, her hips already swaying with the rhythm. Trapped in the current of bodies, Cherry found herself moving, the music seeping into her limbs, loosening the tight coil of nerves. Daisy, emboldened by the edible or Simone’s infectious energy, started to move too, a tentative smile breaking through her nervousness. For a few fleeting minutes, Cherry forgot the target on her back. She was just Blossom, sweating in pink satin, laughing with her girls as the beat pounded, the world dissolving into a kaleidoscope of sound and motion.
The shift was subtle at first. A corner of the crowd seemed to ripple, a parting wave of people shifting aside. Cherry, mid-laugh at something Simone shouted, felt the change in the air pressure, a sudden gravitational pull. Her gaze, drawn almost against her will, snapped towards the disturbance near the arched doorway. And there he was. Devon. Not in costume, just impossibly tall and solid in dark jeans and a simple black t-shirt that stretched across his shoulders, a stark, magnetic silhouette against the chaotic backdrop. His eyes, sharp and searching even across the crowded room, locked onto hers instantly. Recognition flared, hot and undeniable. A jolt shot through Cherry, the edible-induced haze evaporating like smoke. Her laughter died in her throat. He just stared, his expression unreadable but intensely focused, a hunter sighting his quarry. The noise of the party seemed to mute, narrowing down to the space between them.
He took a step forward, his gaze still pinning Cherry, utterly ignoring the gyrating bodies he pushed past. Then, his scanning eyes, tracking her position, snagged on the figure beside her. Daisy. Dressed head-to-toe as Buttercup, her green skirt swishing as she danced obliviously. Devon stopped dead. Confusion washed over his features, replacing the predatory intensity. His brow furrowed, head cocking slightly, eyes darting rapidly between Cherry in her pink Blossom dress and Daisy in green. He looked completely thrown, his confident stride faltering. He mouthed a single, silent word: "Daisy?" The sight of his sister, clearly part of Cherry’s group, in matching cartoon costumes, short-circuited his trajectory. He just stood there, five yards away, frozen in the pulsing light, staring at them like they were a complex equation he couldn't solve.
Simone nudged Cherry hard, her voice cutting through Cherry’s paralysis. "Oh, shit. Incoming. And he looks pissed confused." Devon shook his head slightly, as if clearing it, his gaze hardening as it snapped back to Cherry. The confusion morphed into something sharper, darker. He started moving again, pushing through the crowd with renewed, less graceful purpose, his eyes never leaving Cherry’s face. Daisy finally followed Simone’s pointed look, spotting her brother. Her eyes widened in pure panic. "Oh god," she whispered, instinctively stepping half-behind Simone.
The edibles couldn't touch the icy dread flooding Cherry’s veins now. The thumping music felt like a hammer against her ribs. She watched Devon carve a determined path straight towards their little trio, the party crowd instinctively yielding before the force of his focus. He didn't look away, his expression a storm cloud brewing – confusion warring with a dawning, dangerous anger. Ten feet. Five. The scent of his cologne, something woodsy and familiar, cut through the party stink just as he reached them. He stopped, looming, his voice a low rumble that vibrated deeper than the bass. "Cherry." His eyes flicked to Daisy, then back, burning into hers. "Daisy. What the hell is this?"
The thumping bass vibrated through Cherry’s pink satin dress, a frantic counterpoint to the sudden stillness that locked her limbs. Devon stood before them, a dark pillar in the swirling chaos of costumes and colored lights, his gaze a physical weight shifting between her face and Daisy’s Buttercup-green ensemble. Confusion warred with something sharper, hotter, in his eyes. "Cherry," he repeated, his voice low but slicing through the music."Daisy.What the hell is this?" He gestured sharply, encompassing Daisy’s costume, Cherry’s proximity, the undeniable fact of their shared presence.
Daisy flinched, shrinking further behind Simone’s Bubbles-blonde wig."Devon!Hey!" she stammered, forcing a smile that wobbled precariously."Fancy meeting you here! We’re… uh… the Powerpuff Girls?" Her voice pitched high with nerves. Simone, ever the shield, stepped fractionally forward, her sequined purse held like a tiny weapon."Yeah, Devon.Halloween? Ring a bell? Daisy’s Buttercup, Cherry’s Blossom, I’m Bubbles.We’re a thing." She injected a false brightness into her tone, trying to deflect.Devon ignored Simone completely. His focus remained laser-locked on Cherry, the unasked question hanging thick in the air between them: You know my sister? How?Why didn’t you say?Cherry’s mouth felt like sandpaper. The edible’s haze was gone, replaced by pure, icy panic. She saw the dawning realization in his eyes, the pieces clicking together – Cherry’s sudden avoidance, Daisy’s awkwardness, this absurd group costume. His jaw tightened, a muscle feathering along his clenched jawline. "A thing," he echoed flatly, the words devoid of inflection. He took another step closer, invading Cherry’s space, the scent of his cologne – woodsy, familiar, intimate – cutting through the party stink."Since when?"
Daisy piped up, desperate to fill the suffocating silence."Oh! Cherry and I met through Simone!At the salon, months ago! We’ve been hanging out, like, a bunch!She’s awesome!"The forced cheerfulness was painful. Devon’s gaze didn’t waver from Cherry’s face. "Months," he stated, the word a quiet accusation. Cherry felt pinned, exposed under the pulsing strobe lights.She managed a tiny, stiff nod. His eyes narrowed, the confusion hardening into something colder, more dangerous.Understanding. And betrayal. The silence stretched, thick and unbearable, filled only by the relentless thump of the bass shaking the floorboards beneath Cherry’s impractical pink heels.
Simone tried again, her voice losing its forced lightness. "Look, Devon, it’s not a big deal. Daisy’s my client, became my friend, introduced her to Cherry.Girl squad.That’s all." Devon finally flicked his gaze to Simone, a brief, dismissive glance. "That’s all," he repeated, his voice dangerously soft. He looked back at Cherry, his eyes tracing the line of her jaw, the pink bow askew in her dark curls. "Except it’s not, is it, Cherry?" The question hung, loaded, demanding an answer she couldn’t give in the middle of this swirling madness. He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a low murmur meant only for her ears, yet carrying over the thumping beat."You knew.You knew she was my sister. And you didn’t say a goddamn word."
The accusation hit Cherry like a physical blow.She opened her mouth, but no sound emerged.What could she say? I was trying to forget you existed?I was terrified of exactly this? Daisy looked stricken, guilt written plain on her face. Simone placed a protective hand on Cherry’s arm. Devon watched Cherry’s struggle, his expression unreadable now, a mask settling over the anger. He took a slow breath, his broad shoulders rising and falling. The music pounded, bodies jostled around them, laughter erupted nearby – a jarring contrast to the frozen tableau they formed. Finally, Devon straightened, his gaze sweeping dismissively over Daisy and Simone before settling back on Cherry with unnerving intensity. "We’ll talk," he stated, the words a quiet promise that felt like a threat."Later." Without waiting for a response, he turned and melted back into the crowd, swallowed by the shifting mass of costumes and noise, leaving Cherry standing rigid in her pink satin, the scent of his anger and his cologne lingering like a ghost.
The party noise rushed back in, a deafening wave that crashed over Cherry.She swayed slightly, Simone’s grip on her arm tightening. "Holy shit," Simone breathed, her eyes wide."That was… intense." Daisy looked like she might cry, her green Buttercup skirt crumpled where she’d nervously clutched it."I’m so sorry, Cherry!I didn’t know what to do! He looked furious!"Cherry couldn’t speak.Her throat was closed tight. The pink satin felt suddenly suffocating, the bow headband a ridiculous weight. She scanned the writhing crowd, searching for Devon’s dark head, but he was gone.Vanished. The thumping bass vibrated up through her legs, a mocking echo of the frantic pulse hammering in her wrists. Simone steered them towards a quieter corner near a makeshift bar constructed from plywood and draped black cloth. "Okay, deep breaths, Blossom.Sit.Drink.Now." She flagged down a passing zombie bartender."Three shots of tequila.Stat."
Cherry sank onto a rickety stool, the cheap wood groaning under her weight. The tequila arrived, salt and limes hastily arranged. Simone slammed one back, her face contorting briefly.Daisy followed suit, coughing. Cherry stared at the clear liquid in the tiny glass, the sharp, clean smell of agave cutting through the lingering scent of Devon’s cologne.She couldn’t drink it. Her stomach churned.Daisy leaned in, her voice trembling. "Cherry, listen.About Devon… back in college?He told me stuff. Not details, but… vibes."Cherry’s head snapped up. Daisy fiddled with her martini glass napkin, avoiding eye contact. "He’d mention you sometimes.This smart, gorgeous girl in his poli-sci class. He’d say you were… intense.Reserved. He’d try to talk to you after class, walk you partway to your next lecture. But you…" Daisy paused, searching for words."He said you kept your distance.Like, deliberately. You’d be polite, sure, but closed off.Uninterested. Even when he knew… he felt… there was something else."Cherry closed her eyes.Memories flooded back, sharp and unwelcome. Late nights in the student union lounge, the air thick with stale coffee and desperation. Her, buried in textbooks, trying to focus while acutely aware of Devon sprawled on a nearby couch with his lacrosse buddies, his laugh deep and resonant. The way he’d sometimes catch her eye across the room, a slow, knowing smile curving his lips that made her stomach flip. How she’d quickly look away, feigning absorption in her notes, her cheeks burning.Daisy’s voice continued, soft, hesitant. "He said it drove him kinda crazy.This… push-pull.He’d see you at parties sometimes. You’d be talking to someone else, laughing, and he’d watch you. Then he’d try to get closer, and you’d… shut down. Ice queen mode."Daisy took a shaky sip of water. "He told me once, after some kegger junior year, he saw you sitting alone on this beat-up couch near the back, looking kinda lost. Tipsy, maybe. He said you looked like you needed… balance."
The image crystallized in Cherry’s mind: the scratchy plaid fabric of that old union couch, the muffled thump of music from the main room, the fuzzy warmth of cheap beer spreading through her limbs. She’d been trying to sober up, head resting against the wall, eyes closed.Then the cushion dipped beside her. She didn’t need to open her eyes to know it was him. His presence was a physical force, a wave of clean sweat and soap and something uniquely Devon. He didn’t say anything at first.Just sat close.Too close. His thigh pressed firmly against hers, the heat of his skin searing through her thin jeans.Skin to skin.Possessive. Claiming her space on that cramped couch. She’d kept her eyes closed, pretending composure, pretending she wasn’t hyper-aware of every point of contact. Then his voice, low and smooth, a rumble felt as much as heard, close to her ear."You look like you could use an escape route, Cherry Blossom." His breath stirred her hair."Or maybe just someone to hold you upright." His hand had brushed her knee, a fleeting, electric touch."That dress is doing things to me. Dangerous things." The words weren’t crude, just devastatingly direct, smooth as velvet, designed to unravel her.Panty-wetting.Throbbing. She’d kept her breathing even, her face a mask of tipsy indifference, while inside, everything clenched tight, molten heat pooling low in her belly. She’d mumbled something about being fine, needing air, and practically fled.
Daisy’s voice pulled her back to the noisy present. "He said you always bolted.Like you were scared.Or… not interested." Daisy shrugged helplessly."I guess he never figured out which." Cherry stared at her untouched tequila shot. The pulsing lights reflected in the clear liquid, fractured and chaotic.Just like her insides. The push-pull.The distance.The desperate, hidden wanting. It hadn’t started last week. It had been simmering for years, a slow burn she’d tried desperately to extinguish. And now, here, in this ridiculous pink dress, facing the fallout of one reckless night, the past had just collided violently with the present.Devon knew she knew Daisy. Knew she’d kept it from him.And he’d promised they’d talk. The dread solidified in Cherry’s chest, cold and heavy as stone. The party raged on around her, a blur of sound and color, but she felt utterly, terrifyingly alone.