Page 134 of Oleander

Last night has been coming back to me in fragments. The sounds you made. Some of which I ignored, others I couldn’t hear through the suffocating need I had for you.

I know I should feel ashamed of the things I did to you. But I also feel like a deep itch has finally been scratched and that there was something so undeniably right about what I did to you. What we did to each other. It wasn’t how I imagined it would ever be between us, but maybe it was right. Maybe it had to be like that if it was ever going to be anything at all. I’d still do it differently if I could.

I remember you asking me to make it hurt, and even worse, I remember wanting to.

Christ, Cas. I thought I had almost rooted you out, and now I can feel you again, coming back to life inside me. I know you care. Deep down inside somewhere, I know that you must care what happens to me. You said that you won’t block my number because I might need you for something important and I’ve been wondering what you meant by that. What kind of thing would you deem important enough? An alibi? Money? Danger to my person? After you left the first time, I thought about hurting myself. Would that have been important enough? I’ve never uttered that out loud to another person, I don’t think I’d utter it out loud to you – though Luke read it in a letter I’d written to you – and writing it here feels okay. Like the purging of an intrusive thought.

I told you that I hated you, but you were right, I don’t. I love you.

I think I’ll always love you.

P.S I haven’t stripped the bed yet.

Love,

Jude

A

I felt free of something. That uncertainty that had held me back from Finn was no more. The line had moved.

Or rather, I had crossed it.

I couldn’t remember what I’d been afraid of to begin with; I could fuck a guy. I’d proven that I could.

I just needed to prove that I could fuck a guy who wasn’t Cas.

Code was one of only three nightclubs in Oxford city centre. It was known for its live bands and £2 shot menu. Other than that, it was a vile, sticky place that needed the sort of deep clean theygave mortuaries and hospitals after a pandemic. It was about a fortnight after Cas had left again, when I found myself at least five shots deep and talking the ear off some guy from Corpus Christi about how shit I thought Tarantino was.

Adam, tall with dark eyes and a full, fuckable mouth, agreed. Nikita had gotten some coke from a girl on his floor and I had learned last year that I had a low – okay, very low – tolerance for the stuff, so doing even half a line would mean the others would come check on me every five minutes to make sure I wasn’t having a heart attack. This particular night, thanks to that coke, I was feeling better than I had in months. If not years. I was already planning on asking Nikita to ask whoever it was to get me a batch big enough to get me through the rest of the year.

Fuck, maybe I could complete my degree high as a fucking kite. Maybe I’d never need to come down again.

“You’re so fucking hot,” Adam said, leaning into my ear.

As far as I’d been aware, I was talking aboutThe Hateful Eight. Or rather, the piece of shit, waste of everyone’s time and money, that was Quentin Tarantino’sThe Hateful Eight. I grinned at him, not at all fussed about leaving our discussion of the film there.

“Thanks, so are you,” I knocked back the bright green shot Bast had put down in front of me, thesixth of the night by my count, and leaned in to kiss the mouth I’d been staring at for the last hour.

We were in a darkened booth by ourselves, though I’m not certain I’d have cared if we weren’t, not that night, not with the fireworks going off under my skin. He sucked on my tongue like he might suck on my dick, which, coupled with the way he slid his hand between my legs, had me hard in his grip. Although since coke also made me hard, it could have been that.

“Mmm, really wanna fuck you,” he said as I broke off the kiss.

For some reason this made me laugh. “Um, yeah, I don’t do that.” I lifted my beer and drank. Or at least, I thought it was mine. The table was cluttered with abandoned drinks.

“You tried it?” he asked.

I shook my head, and Adam’s eyes lit up in the dark.

“Fuck, it’s so good. Bet you’d love it.” He put his mouth to my ear. “I’d finger you so fucking good first.”

I blinked at him, letting the image settle as I looked at his hands. Strong-looking. He was in the rowing team, which showed in the muscled outline through his t-shirt. I tried to imagine my legs spread and him between them while his fingers slid inside my arse. What was the big deal if he wanted to fuck me? Maybe I should try it? Maybe I’d love it. Maybe I’d been missing out all this time and—

Some drunken guy toppled into our table, knocking over glasses and spilling beer bottles. I stood quickly to avoid the runoff.

“Seriously, mate?” yelled Adam over the music.

“Fuck, shit, I’m sssorry,” the drunken guy said while his friends rushed in to help him back to his feet.