Chapter 12: The Evening After Interrogation
Cass lay perfectly still, one leg hooked over Liam’s, her cheek pressed against the solid warmth of his back. His breathing was deep and even, a slow tide pulling him further out into sleep. The afternoon light had bled away into a deep blue twilight, and the single lamp by the bed painted the room in pools of soft gold and long, stretching shadows.
Her phone, face-down on the nightstand, felt like a live wire. She could feel its silent vibration in the wood.
The jar. She’d wanted to keep it in a jar, this perfect, private thing. But the urge to pour it out, to have someone else see its strange and beautiful shape, was a physical pressure under her ribs. Maya wasn’t just someone. She was the archive of every stupid crush, every bad date, every secret triumph since they were sixteen. Keeping this from her felt like constructing a lie by omission.
Liam shifted slightly, a grumble escaping him as he sank deeper into the pillow. The movement jostled her, and the waistband of her cheer sweats—the only thing she wore—rubbed against her bare skin. A sensory flashback, visceral and sudden: the rough wool of the rug, the heat of the fire, the absolute focus on his face between her legs. A shiver that had nothing to do with the cold apartment raced through her.
She carefully disentangled herself, sliding out from under the thin comforter. The air was sharp, raising goosebumps on her arms. She padded to the kitchenette, filled a chipped glass with water, and drank it leaning against the counter. From here, she could see Liam’s outline in the bed, the steady rise and fall of his shoulders. He looked peaceful. He looked… real.
Her phone buzzed again on the nightstand, a persistent, angry insect.
She set the glass down with a soft click and retrieved it. The screen bloomed with light, revealing Maya’s latest.
Maya: Okay, the silence is now officially suspicious. You’re either comatose or you’re writing a novel in your head. Either way, I require data. Start with the texture. Was it awkward? Smooth? Did he quote Kierkegaard during? I need a baseline, Cass.
Cass’s thumbs hovered over the screen. She took a deep breath, the chilled air filling her lungs. Then she began to type, not a recap, but an excavation.
Cass: It wasn’t like that.
Maya: Define ‘that.'
Cass stared at the two words on the screen until they blurred. The heater by the window clicked, groaned, and fell silent again, plunging the room into a deeper quiet. She could hear the faint, wet sound of a car tire on the street below.
She typed, deleted, then typed again, her fingers moving slowly as if through cold syrup.
Cass: It started because of you. The truth or dare thing.
Maya: My genius is a gift. Proceed.
Cass: We just started talking. For hours. About stupid stuff. My papers, his weird professor, that terrible movie about the singing volcanoes. It was easy.
Maya: The calm before the storm. My spidey-sense is tingling.
Cass: So I suggested truth or dare. The game started small enough with mostly truths being asked. What’s your favorite movie, who’s the last person you kissed…
Maya: Standard recon. Boring. Get to the good part.
Cass: It wasn’t boring. You learn things. Then he dared me to stand on the balcony. It’s cold. Like, genuinely painful. I could see my breath.
She paused, her own breath hitching now as she remembered stepping back inside, the shock of the warm air hitting her skin.
Cass: I was freezing. I asked for alcohol. Brandy comes out. This ancient-looking bottle from his dad. It tasted like fire and old wood.
Maya: A sophisticate. I’m impressed. Did he drink?
Cass: I dared him to catch up. I gave him the brandy bottle. He took three long pulls without blinking. Then he just looked at me. That’s when the air changed.
The memory was a physical thing in the room now, thickening the atmosphere. She could see the flicker of the firelight in his eyes, the subtle shift in his posture from relaxed to intent. The text box became a confessional.
Cass: Then the truths became raunchier.
Maya: classic. Respect.
Cass: He asked about my threesome history. Which, you know. With you and the defensive line sophomore year.
Maya: That was a Tuesday. What did you say?
Cass: I told the truth. That it was fun, a spectacle, but emotionally like watching paint dry. Then he asked for my best orgasm. Pre-him.
The phone was silent for a full minute. Cass watched the three pulsing dots, feeling her heartbeat in her throat.
Maya: And?
Cass: I told him it was solo. The pressure was off. It was just me. It was… efficient.
Maya: Ouch. A clinical review. Did he look wounded?
Cass: No. He nodded. Like he was filing the data. Then he said, “My turn. A dare.” The fire was just embers. His voice was different. Lower. He said, “I dare you to deep throat me.”
The words sat there in digital space, stark and undeniable. Cass’s skin flushed, remembering the brandy-fueled leap in her chest, the challenge in his calm, half-lit face. She hadn’t hesitated.
Maya: NO.
Cass: Yes.
Maya: Cassidy Blackwood. You absolute champion. Details. Now. Was it a struggle? A triumph? Did you gag?
Cass: It was slow. Intentional. My idea. I made him sit on the couch and just… watch. I took my time. When I finally took him all the way, my nose against his skin, he made this sound. Like the air had been punched out of the world.
She could still feel the strain in her jaw, the impossible fullness, the raw vulnerability in his choked-off groan above her. The triumph of it.
Cass: He held my head there for a second. Just a second. I could feel him throbbing. Then he came. So hard. Down my throat.
A full minute passed. The dots didn’t appear. Cass wondered if she’d broken her best friend. She took a shaky sip of water, the cold a shock.
Maya: I need a cigarette and I don’t even smoke. That is… artwork. But honey, that’s a one-sided dare. He didn’t just high-five you and call it a night, did he?
A soft, unconscious smile touched Cass’s lips. She glanced at the sleeping mound of Liam in the bed. Her body tightened, a warm, liquid pull low in her stomach just from the recollection.
Cass: No. He followed me down. His hands were shaking. He didn’t say a word. Just laid me down on that rug in front of the fire. And then he…
She stopped typing, her thumbs freezing. How did you describe that? It wasn’t just skill. It was linguistics. It was devotion.
Cass: He returned the favor. Maya, it wasn’t just good. It was… mapping. He learned me like a new language in real time. I saw stars. Actual, literal constellations behind my eyelids. I think I blacked out for a second.
Maya: World record setting.
Cass: Yes.
Another long pause. Cass could imagine Maya’s face, the wide-eyed, appreciative shock. The validation was a warm current in the cool, dark room.
Maya: So the quiet, beefy tutor with the dad-brandy is a goddamn sexual savant. And you’re in his bed. And you’re texting me. Why aren’t you climbing him like a tree right now?
Cass looked over at Liam. He’d rolled onto his back, one arm flung over his head, his face serene in the lamplight. The comforter had slipped low on his hips. She felt a possessive ache, tender and fierce.
Cass: He’s asleep. Really asleep. And it feels… precious. I don’t want to break it.
Maya: That’s disgustingly sweet. I’m gonna throw up. But okay. I get it. So what now?
Cass didn’t know. The future was a blank, warm page. But the present was the steady sound of his breathing, the faint smell of him on her skin, and a feeling of terrifying, exhilarating peace.
Cass: Now I wait.
The three dots pulsed, a relentless heartbeat on the screen. Cass felt exposed, the dim light of the apartment too bright, every one of her whispered confessions laid bare in digital type.
Maya’s response came, slower this time.
Maya: You’re killing me. This is puppy-dog stuff. Sweet, but concerning. We need a prognosis.
Cass smiled faintly, her thumb tracing the edge of her phone. She leaned back against the counter, the cold laminate seeping through her thin sweats.
Cass: Prognosis?
Maya: Yeah. Patient: Cassidy Blackwood. Presenting symptoms: prolonged staring, abnormal sentimentality, decreased ruthless instinct. Diagnosis: smitten. But we need to predict the course of the disease.
A floorboard creaked under the weight of the building settling. Cass froze, her eyes darting to the bed. Liam’s breathing remained deep and unbroken, his form a fortress of calm. She exhaled slowly, the tension in her shoulders unwinding a fraction.
Cass: Not smitten. Intrigued. It’s different.
Maya’s reply was instantaneous.
Maya: Intrigued shmigued. You’re in his bed wearing sweatpants and no underwear. The math is mathing, Cass. You’re practically a pioneer woman. What’s the real block?
Cass’s thumb hovered. The real block was a shape in her mind, dark and formless. She looked at Liam’s hand, palm-up on the pillow beside his head. It was a big hand, capable looking, with faint traces of ink smudges along the side. A worker’s hand. She thought of those fingers, their precise, devastating focus. Her stomach did a slow, warm flip.
Cass: It’s just new. That’s all.
Maya: New is the whole point. Spill.
Cass wrapped her free arm around her middle, holding herself. The words, once she let them form, felt too true to keep inside.
Cass: It’s the scale, okay? What he did… it wasn’t a performance. It was a diagnosis. He found parts of me I didn’t know were wired up.
She sent it, the admission flashing into the digital ether. Her breath fogged slightly in the chilled air near the window.
Maya: And this is a problem because…?
Cass closed her eyes. The fear was a cold pebble in her throat. She typed it fast, before she could stop herself.
Cass: Because if that was just the opening act, I don’t know if I’m built for the main event. I’ve had sex. A lot of it. It’s been fun, or transactional, or just… fine. This doesn’t feel like it’ll be fine.
The three dots pulsed. Cass waited, her heart a dull thud against her ribs.
Maya: So you’re scared of good sex? For fuck’s sake, Cass.
Cass: No. I’m scared of real sex. The kind that isn’t just moving parts. The kind that leaves a mark. What if I get there and I’m… boring?
There it was. The pathetic, whispered core of it. Cassidy Blackwood, head cheerleader, social sun, afraid of being a dull star in someone else’s sky. She felt a hot prickle of shame behind her eyes.
Maya’s response took its time. When it came, it was a wall of text.
Maya: Listen to me. The boy who gives a world-altering orgasm on a dusty rug and then passes out holding you is not worried about you being boring. He’s worried about waking up and finding this was a dream. You think any of the meatheads we’ve ever been with could handle the silence you’re in right now? They’d be snoring or asking for a replay. He’s letting you exist. That’s the scary part.
Cass read it twice. The truth of it seeped in, warm and unsettling. She looked from the phone to the man in the bed. His stillness wasn’t absence. It was trust. It was him, utterly unraveled. A strand of his dark hair had fallen across his forehead. The urge to walk over and push it back was so strong her fingers twitched.
Cass: I don’t know how to do this.
Cass: If his oral is that good, what will sex be like? I'm scared I'm going to fuck it up.
Maya: Finally. Honesty.
Cass: you want honesty? I want to fuck the brakes off this man.
Cass sent it.
The raw truth of it, those nine words, glared back from the screen. Her thumb had hit send before the prefrontal cortex could intervene. A hot, electric shame-flush swept from her chest to her hairline, immediate and total.
In the bed, Liam sighed in his sleep, the sound a rough, comforting anchor in the sudden quiet of her own head.
Her phone vibrated once, a sharp buzz against her palm.
Maya: YES!
The single word was a bolt. Then another.
The screen lit up with Maya’s relentless enthusiasm.
Maya: THAT'S MY GIRL. That’s the Cass I know. Now listen. You’re not gonna fuck it up. You’re gonna walk over there, you’re gonna slide those tragic sweats off, and you’re gonna get what you want. He’s already proven he’s a giver. Now go take.
Cass stared at the words. Go take. They felt like a dare, a familiar push from a world where everything was a prize to be grabbed. Her thumb moved to the glowing screen, the chill of the apartment finally seeping past her skin into her bones.
Cass: That’s the thing. I don’t want to just take.
She hit send, the sentiment feeling fragile and hopelessly uncool.
Cass: I mean, obviously I want to. Physically, I’m about to vibrate out of my skin. But if I just… pounce on him now...
Cass’s thumb hovered. The pale glow of the screen lit her knuckles, turning them bone-white in the dark. In the bed, Liam murmured something unintelligible, a soft, sleepy sound that tightened something in her chest.
She typed slowly, the words forming with terrible clarity.
Cass: If I just pounce, it becomes about that. The brandy, the dare, the...world-altering oral. Another crazy story for the vault. I don't want another story.
She hit send, the admission a small, cold stone dropping into the digital void.
Cass: I want the boring stuff. I want to know what he’s like when he’s sick, or when he’s angry at his computer, or what he orders for breakfast. I want to know what his mom is like.
Her throat felt tight. She stared at the last sentence, almost embarrassed by its plain, unvarnished need.
Maya: Oh, honey.
The two words sat there, simple and devastating. Cass blinked, her vision blurring. She swiped at her eyes roughly with the back of her hand.
Maya: You’re in deep. Like, Mariana Trench deep.
Cass: It’s stupid. It’s been one afternoon.
Maya: Time is a fucking liar and you know it. Sometimes you just know.
Cass looked over at him. The streetlight from the window had found a path across the floor, illuminating the strong line of his shoulder, the dip of his waist under the comforter. He was just a shape in the dark, but she knew the exact weight of his arm across her, the specific scent of his skin mixed with old books and cheap detergent.
Cass: I just… I don’t want the sex-fueled hamster in my mind to be the one that makes this happen. I want me and him to be a real couple eventually.
She sent it, her breath catching. It was the truest thing she’d ever typed. It hung in the space between her and Maya, vulnerable and quivering.
The three dots appeared, disappeared, then appeared again. A full thirty seconds passed, an eternity in text. Cass held the phone so tightly the plastic casing creaked.
Maya’s response finally came, not as a single text, but in three rapid, successive bursts.
Maya: Cass.
Maya: You beautiful, brilliant, idiot.
Maya: He’s already shot a load down your throat, I don’t think sex is that much of a leap.
A startled, wet laugh burst from Cass’s lips, which she immediately smothered with her hand. She glanced guiltily at the bed. Liam didn’t stir. The laugh dissolved into a shaky exhale, relief and nerves twisting together in her stomach.
Maya: Listen to me, you dumb broad.
Cass could hear Maya’s voice, that particular blend of affection and exasperation, as clearly as if she were in the room.
Maya: The hamster is part of the deal. It’s in the wiring. You think real couples don’t fuck? That’s like their main hobby. The question isn’t whether you jump him. The question is what you do after the jumping.
Cass leaned back against the counter, the cold seeping through her sweatpants. She watched him sleep, her mind turning Maya’s words over like smooth stones.
Maya: You want the boring stuff? You gotta earn the boring stuff. You earn it by surviving the not-boring stuff without freaking out and building a shrine to it. You wanna know what he orders for breakfast? Order it with him tomorrow morning. In your sweatpants. With his load in your pussy.
The words glowed on the screen, a brutal, beautiful punchline. Cass blinked, her face heating. She typed a response, deleted it. What was there to say? Maya had carved the situation down to its naked truth.
Cass stared at the glowing screen until the words bled together into a meaningless blur.
With his load in your pussy. The clinical, vulgar finality of it was a splash of cold water.
Her phone buzzed again, a gentle reminder.
Maya: Well?
Cass stared at the letters on her screen. A gust of wind rattled the windowpane, a reminder of the locked-down world outside. The silence in the apartment was a tangible thing, thick and expectant, broken only by the soft, rhythmic sound of Liam’s breathing from the bed.
Her thumbs felt clumsy, her thoughts a frantic scramble. She typed a sentence, erased it. The cold from the linoleum floor was leaching up through her feet, a grounding chill.
Cass: I'm standing in his kitchen in the dark. I'm terrified.
She sent it, the admission floating into the digital space between them. It was easier to type than to say aloud.
Maya: Of what? Spill.
Cass closed her eyes. She could still feel the phantom pressure of his hands on her hips, the searing intimacy of his mouth, the way the room had seemed to dissolve. It wasn’t the act that scared her. It was the doorway it represented.
Cass: Of what happens when the game stops. What if this is just… a really elaborate, really effective dare? What if tomorrow he looks at me and sees just another notch?
She hit send, the fear crystallizing into words. The fantasy of the quiet morning, the shared breakfast, it suddenly seemed naive, a laughable script she’d written for a movie he wasn’t in.
Maya: You think a guy who looks at you like you invented the concept of light is going to think you’re a notch? Please.
Cass: You didn't see his face after. It was… blank. Shocked. What if he’s horrified? What if he’s already regretting it?
The memory flashed: Liam slumped back against the rug, his eyes wide and glassy, his chest heaving. He’d looked utterly dismantled. She’d taken it as awe, but now the doubt twisted it. Was it horror? Disgust at his own loss of control?
Maya: Regretting the best head of his life? Doubtful.
Cass: That's just it. It was a transaction. A dare completed. A favor returned. What if that's all he wanted?
Her breath fogged in the air. She was shivering now, the cold and the fear working together. The glorious warmth of the afternoon had evaporated, leaving behind this brittle, frozen uncertainty.
Maya: You're overthinking. You're always overthinking. This is why you date linebackers. No thinking required.
Cass: This is different.
Maya: How?
Cass looked at the bed. At the steady rise and fall of the comforter. At the quiet sanctuary of his sleep. He hadn’t asked for anything more. He’d just… stayed.
Cass: Because I want it to be different.
The three dots pulsed. Cass waited, her heart a frantic bird against her ribs. The phone finally buzzed.
Maya: Then make it different. But you're standing in the kitchen having a crisis. He's right there. Go find out.
Cass: It's not that simple.
Maya: It is. Walk over. Get in the bed. See what happens.
Cass swallowed, her throat dry. The distance from the kitchenette to the bed seemed immense, a gulf of potential consequences. She thought of waking him, of seeing his eyes open, of what she might find in them. Confusion? Annoyance? Desire?
Cass: What if I do it and I regret it?
She sent the question, her final, trembling defense. It was the fear of all fears, the one that kept everything safe and sterile. Regret was a known quantity, a familiar ghost.
Maya’s reply came fast, a single line that hit Cass with the force of a physical blow.
Maya: What if you don't and he's the one?
The air left Cass’s lungs. The words glowed on the screen, simple and devastating. They bypassed all the clever anxiety, all the social calculus, and went straight to the primal, stupid hope she hadn’t let herself name.
The one.
Not for a season. Not for a story. The one.
She stared at the sentence until the pixels burned into her vision. A car alarm whooped once, far away, then fell silent. The apartment settled back into its deep quiet.
Slowly, Cass placed her phone face down on the counter. The plastic click was final. She looked at Liam.
Her feet were moving before her mind could form another argument. The cold linoleum gave way to the worn hardwood, then the threadbare rug beside the bed. She stood there, looking down at him. In sleep, his face was softer, the sharp wit and quiet intensity smoothed away. He just looked young. Tired. Real.
She lifted the edge of the comforter. The movement sent a wave of warmer air, scented with him and sleep, over her skin. She slid in, the shock of the chilled sheets making her gasp softly. She settled on her side, facing him, leaving a careful space between them.
His breathing hitched. Stopped. A sleep-thick voice, muffled by the pillow, grumbled, “You’re freezing.”
“Sorry,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
He didn’t open his eyes. One arm, heavy and warm, slid from beneath his own pillow and draped over her waist, pulling her gently across the inch of space until her back was against his chest. His body curved around hers, a solid wall of heat. He nuzzled his face into the space between her shoulder blades with a contented sigh.
“S’okay,” he mumbled. “Just warn a guy.”
His arm tightened around her, his hand splaying possessively across her stomach. His breathing evened out again, deep and slow.
Cass lay perfectly still, listening to the double rhythm of their heartbeats, his breath warming her skin through the thin cotton of her sweats. The fear didn’t vanish. It just… hushed. Out-weighed. The phantom of regret was chased away by the profound, simple rightness of his weight against her, the unthinking claim of his hand on her body.
A faint, helpless smile touched her lips in the dark. She placed her hand over his, linking their fingers together against her stomach. His grip tightened instinctively in his sleep.
She closed her eyes. The decision wasn’t a grand gesture. It was just this: staying.