Page 126 of Oleander

Finn gave me a tired sort of look.

He said, “I’m not trying to fuck him, Jude. I just don’t know what you’re doing here.”

I felt my cheeks heat with something. “Eh, because it’s your birthday, and I thought we were friends.” He’d been posting about this party on his socials for the last week. I’d assumed he hadn’t invited me becausehe’dassumed I’d be here anyway. Clearly, that old saying about assuming was spot on.

“Friends.” He snorted. “Yeah, okay.”

I frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Forget it. It’s supposed to mean nothing.” He was still skittish, but now he seemed annoyed, too. Vaguely, I wondered if he was on something. But he didn’tseemdrunk or particularly out of it.

“Look, sorry, I didn’t think before coming. I should have texted—”

“You know I care about you, right?” Finn said, startling me. “I mean, I’ve made that abundantly, and some would argue,patheticallyobvious.” He laughed a little. Okay he was definitely drunk, I could tell that now. But it wasn’t the sleepy, flirty drunk I was used to. This was something else. Bitter. Thorny. “Does being with me make you feel close to him or something? Is that it? Or are you using me, because you think if he found out, he’d be pissed off about it? Or fuck, maybe it’s for some other reason you don’t even understand.”

He didn’t need to clarify who ‘he’ was. I knew.

It felt like he’d slapped me across the face. Had that been what I was doing? Was I using Finn as some way to get back at Cas? Stopping short from fucking him because it might be too much for Caspien to forgive me for. Embarrassment came first, then shame.

I struck out, blind and defensive. “Fucking hell, Finn, if you didn’t want me here you should have just told me.”

“I didn’tinvite you, Jude,” he said coldly. “That should have made it clear enough.”

I didn’t understand what had caused this shift in Finn from who he’d been when I’d last seen him. But he was right: he hadn’t invited me. I shouldn’t have come.

I nodded. “Yeah. Okay, I guess I’ll go.” I moved toward the door but stopped and looked at him again. He still looked on edge, like he was frightened of something and though I couldn’t understand why, I was terrified right then that it was me.

My voice was soft when I spoke, “Look, I don’t really understand where this is coming from, but I care about you, too. And I’m sorry if you’ve felt like I don’t. I’m sorry if you’ve felt like I’ve been messing you around, but it’s not...” I shook my head. “I just thought you were okay with how things were. Sorry for...coming.”

Sorry for everythingwas what I’d meant. I gave him a sad smile and pulled open the utility room door.

My heart stopped.

Caspien stood at the kitchen counter, pouring wine from a bottle into a glass.

I blinked a few times, convinced it was my imagination. He couldn’t be here, hewouldn’tbe here. But it was him. My heart knew it. My body knew it.

I could have closed the door, turned, and gone out the back door. But I couldn’t move. I only understood one thing: pure fear. My whole body shook with it.

And yet, I couldn’t take my eyes off him. I drank every inch of him in, thirsty for what I’d been deprived of for two and a half years. His hair was shorter at the back and sides than I’d ever seen it, though long and messy on top. In profile, I could see his cheeks were pinked and his skin a little too pale, his frame leaner than it used to be. I could barely draw breath from how much I longed to go to him, touch him, hold him.

I suppose he must have sensed the weight of that longing because he stopped pouring and lifted his head, going very still suddenly before very slowly turning around. I saw his eyes widen slightly, before his expression went very deliberately, completely neutral.

I tried harder than I ever had to let my eyes show him absolutely nothing at all.

Behind me, I heard Finn let out a sigh, then a quiet curse, and suddenly I understood everything.

Cas’s eyes never left mine, his stare pinning me where I stood. His eyes were ice blue in this light, his mouth a deep pink slash on his face. I waited for him to say something, anything, because I was utterly unable. Then another fear hit me; washehere? Had he brought Blackwell with him tonight?

I had to get out of there.

Tearing my eyes from Caspien, I forced my feet to move. I strode past him and out of the kitchen, down the hallway out into the rain. I caught someone’s arm as I pushed through the crowd of smokers on the steps, but I didn’t apologise, and I didn’t look back.

I don’t remember the walk home, the rain soaking through my clothes and my skin, running into my eyes and mouth. I just walked. I stopped at the off-licence, bought a bottle of vodka and kept walking.

By the time I got to the dorm, my hands were shrivelled and my clothes weighed a ton. I turned on the small electric heater and stripped out of them, drying myself with minimal effort, before collapsing on the floor against the bed.

I drank straight from the bottle, burning hot mouthfuls that made me want to wretch after every swallow. After the fourth or fifth mouthful, it got easier. I’d come so close. So close to being okay. To moving on. To getting over him. Had he knownand timed his re-entry so perfectly it was almost funny? If tragic heartbreak could be funny.