♡ CASEY ♡

I think it's about two hours later when we decide it's time to cut ourselves off. Mik has fallen asleep on Nate's shoulder. Koda is singing to the table of basketball players to our right. I've fallen off my chair at least twice. We stumble outside the bar with our arms around each other, laughing about something that doesn't make sense but is funny anyway, when I see her.

Briar Elliot is walking across the street and she's not alone.

"Hey, guys, I'm gonna break off here," I say while Koda and Nate help Mik into the backseat of their Uber.

"You sure?"

"Yeah," I glance over the car to make sure Briar's still there, then give Koda a clap on the back. "Yeah, man, I'll be good. See you tomorrow?"

"If I'm not violently hungover, yes."

I wait for the Uber to pull out before crossing the street. There's a group of people, a girl in heeled boots throwing up and another in a purple skirt holding her hair, two guys laughing at something on a phone. Standing across from Briar is one clearly intoxicated guy.

He's yelling at her. Even as she tries to get around the group, he jumps in the way. I watch as she tucks her bag closer to her side and tries, then fails, to get through again.

"Crier Briar! Crier Briar!" he chants.

She cringes. The two with the phone are laughing. They turn the volume up and tip the screen toward her, blocking her way when she breaks off in my direction. She ignores them and continues attempting to cross the street. When her eyes meet mine, her face morphs from annoyance to anger.

I keep making my way to her anyway. The three guys begin calling after her again. I'm not sure what comes over me. If it's the guilt, the look on her face, or the beer, but when the chanter tries to follow her I shove him back. Hard.

He looks confused, even as he's looking right at me. Like he can't see me at all. I wonder how drunk he is, if that even matters to me right now with how he's treating Briar.

"Woah, dude. Chill," he says, slurring a little.

The two guys step forward to steady their drunk friend, no longer amused. I stand my ground. Briar is behind me now, walking away, but she doubles back to stand just behind my left shoulder.

"Casey, don't," she demands.

"Yeah, Casey, don't," Drunk Guy mocks. He turns to Briar again. She glares at him through her bangs. "You tell him, Crier."

I throw the punch before I can think about it.

"Casey!"

Drunk Guy wasn't very stable on his feet in the first place, but, when my fist meets his jaw he flattens onto the sidewalk. Right into the vomit. The girl holding her friend's hair gasps. She puts her arms out to catch him, stepping into the pool herself. She shrieks. The guy with the phone tries to help him up, smearing some of the rancid smelling throw up onto his pants.

Gross.

I hear the noise behind us before I see it. People jump out of line to see the commotion. I didn't see the third dude coming, either, until he'd already hit my face like a bolt of lightning.

Tiny pins and pricks erupt on my cheekbone beside my left eye, which begins watering almost instantly. Before he can hit me again, and before I can even consider landing one of my own, we're separated. 

A crowd of onlookers begins to form on our side of the street. Some are encouraging us to keep fighting. Others are trying to figure out what's happening.

"Hit him again!"

"Knock it off, guys."

"Is that Casey Brandt?"

"Twenty on Brandt."

It's moments like these when I consider whether I should think things through a little more thoroughly. If diving directly into action without leaving enough time for my head to catch up is the way I should be doing things.

Damn. This could only get worse from here.

I step back and nearly knock over Briar. She recoils as if I'm also covered in vomit. I try not to take offense.

Stepping to the side, I cover my eye with my palm. I'm not exactly new to starting fights. Or taking hits. I tend to be impulsive, starting things by not thinking through my words and actions. This punch hurt, though. The drinks from earlier aren't doing much to numb the pain.

I'm surprised Briar even stuck around. Between the chanting drunk guy and, well, me, I figured she would've gotten out of here the minute she could. It's completely feasible that she stayed to watch me get my ass kicked, which I'm sure she would've enjoyed. Spontaneity and I wouldn't have won this round—not against three guys.

My eye is still watering, but through the wetness I can see the outline of Briar. I'm almost positive—due to the pain on the left side of my face—that I'll have a bruise tomorrow. Even with one eye partially shut I can tell she's glaring, not looking. Angrily glaring. Her brows are pinched together, too.

"You're an idiot."

"Yeah, I am," I wrinkle my nose, which erupts a throbbing below my eye socket. I wince. "Worth it, though."

She rolls her eyes. Then she shakes her head and starts walking away.

I debate what to do. Staying behind to deal with the police, explain myself, and risk getting punched again don't sound all that appealing. I decide to follow her. If she notices me trailing behind, she doesn't say. She doesn't object, either, which I take as a good sign.

We leave the mess I created behind. Past the long line of the Tavern and around the block, Briar stops in front of a run-down brick building. She unlocks the bottom door and takes the stairs. I follow her up three flights despite the disagreement of the many drinks in my stomach.

She sticks a key into the lock of 3C and pushes it open.

"You live here?"

She throws her backpack down beside a pair of bright green running shoes. "Not fancy enough for you?"

I bite my tongue to keep from telling her how much time I spent trying to figure out where to drop off her new textbook. "It's wonderful. Perfect. Amazing. All the adjectives."

She turns toward what looks to be the kitchen with a scoff. I take the chance to look around. It's nice. The apartment itself isn't, with chipping paint and years of wear shining through, but the way it's decorated is nice. Cozy.

The living room has a couch and two chairs, and a decorative rug beneath a coffee table covered in books. A lot of pinks with a speckling of yellow. Sunset orange pillows. The television is paused on some reality show. Hanging on the walls are pictures, half have Briar in them.

"Do you have a roommate?"

"Yeah," she sounds reluctant in her reply. "Why?"

"This place is nice, but, it doesn't exactly scream Briar Elliot to me."

Must be all the bright colors. And the show. And the blonde girl in the other half of the pictures.

"Stop assuming things," She returns and dumps a bag of frozen mixed vegetables into my hands. "You don't know anything about me."

She's wrong, but, I can't tell her that.

I've spent a year keeping tabs on her. Checking her social media accounts daily until she deactivated them. Hoping to catch a glimpse of her on campus. Trying to piece an apology together.

I know she wants to be a doctor, I learned that today. I know that she likes coffee (but not when it's spilled on her) and seems to only read old books. The latter I learned through her Instagram. Brave New World, The Old Man and the Sea, Little Women. Quotes and yellowed pages decorated her profile. I know she has a tendency to come off harsh, even if I don't know why, and even if I'm the one to blame.

She breezes past me to sit on the couch, sinking into it with relief. She's wearing black-rimmed glasses and her hair is pulled back into a messy knot at the base of her neck. Maybe she was studying.

Now that sounds like Briar.

I sit beside her and place the makeshift ice pack on my face. I try not to wince at the cold. She tucks her feet beneath her and inches away.

"Then tell me something."

She looks at me like I'm crazy. I get the feeling that the last thing she'd ever want to do is let me get to know her. I feel that familiar stab wound in my chest.

"Okay," I counteroffer. "Answer three questions. Easy, right?"

"No."

"Two questions."

"Do you ever give up?"

"One question," I say. "Final offer."

She sighs, closing her eyes tiredly, "Fine."

I realize then that she's opened the door, ever so slightly, and that I have to be careful what I ask otherwise she might slam it on me. I adjust the bag against my face. She squints at me, her mouth screwed up in irritation.

I grin. "Did I look badass when I threw that hit?"

She throws a circular beaded pillow at my face. Thankfully I saw this one coming and dodged it just in time.

"No," she replies. "You looked like a dumbass fighting a battle that wasn't yours."

"Wasn't it?"

We hold each other's gaze. My chest caves in. It's too much. My eyes flicker to the TV. Two girls are frozen on the screen, one waving a blurry finger and the other with an open mouth. Maybe screaming, maybe yelling expletives. Probably saying something close to what Briar spit at me this morning.

Out of the corner of my eye I see her turn away with no reply. She's already gotten up from her side of the couch. I hear her moving around in the kitchen.

I think back to that drunk guy chanting that ridiculous nickname. The memes spread with the same one. His friends with the video, pulling it up as if Briar hasn't had to watch it a million times. The satisfying feel of my fist against his face.

It doesn't matter how guilty I feel. Or that I deleted the interview a week after posting it; when it was clear it wouldn't stop. When the comments made me feel sick. Because nothing on the internet ever goes away.

And as stupid of an interview as it was, I know that it wasn't just my video that ruined her freshman year. It was everything after. Everything I was somehow able to begin but not keep from spiraling out of control.

I take the ice off my face. I deserve the throbbing in my temple.

When she returns, she carries pain pills and a glass of water, which she places on the coffee table beside a copy of Pride and Prejudice.

"Listen—"

"Briar, I'm sorry," I blurt out.

She sighs and flicks the switch on the wall beside her. The only light left is the TV that casts a blue glow on the right side of her face. I can tell she wishes I would just leave. Not just her apartment, but her life. Probably forever.

"I'm going to bed. You need to sleep off whatever you drank, and because I'm not as terrible as your fans say, I'm letting you crash on my couch." She starts walking down the hallway. "Demi might wake you. She gets up with the sun."

With that she heads down the hall. I listen as she closes her door, leaving me with a thawed-out bag of chopped vegetables and an ache in my chest.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

☺ A/N ☻

i really am sorry for leaving y'all on a cliffhanger last chapter LOL i hope this makes up for it.

i told you guys Briar isn't too mean! look at her! letting Casey sleep on her couch and giving him her roommates frozen veggies to use as an ice pack. what a sweet girl :)

(p.s.) sorry i haven't been posting on tiktok a lot, i'm genuinely running out of ideas for vids and i don't wanna spoil too much !!

💌
xoxo, Jill