The Bitter Glass
994 Words
Cassian’s POV
Sleep finally claimed me, but it wasn't relieving. It was a trap.
In the dream, the estate was silent. The air smelled of rain and something sweet, Aria’s scent.
She was standing by the window, her back to me, the moonlight catching the silver threads and beads adorned in her hair. I moved toward her, my heart hammering against my ribs with a desperate, aching crave. I reached out, my fingers grazing the soft skin of her waist, pulling her against my chest.
My lips caressed her shoulders, her hair brushing against my face. I needed her. I needed the heat of her to drown out the cold void that had been hollowed out inside me.
She turned in my arms, but as she leaned in to kiss me, the scent changed. A scent of vanilla came through, stripping away Aria's. The face looking up at me wasn't Aria’s wide, haunting eyes; it was Elena’s mocking smirk. She pressed her lips to mine, a cold, possessive brand that felt like a curse.
I bolted upright in the dark, my breath coming in panicked gasps. My skin was crawling. The taste of her was still on my tongue, bitter and wrong.
"Damn it," I hissed, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. The anger I felt was a hot, liquid fire that scorched away the remnants of the dream. I couldn't stay in this room. Every shadow felt like Elena watching me, laughing at the mess she had made.
I made my way down to the estate’s bar, the heels of my boots echoing like gunshots against the marble. I didn't turn on the lights. I didn't need them. I grabbed a bottle of bourbon from behind the counter and drank. I drank until the burn in my throat started to compete with the burn in my chest.
I wanted Aria. I craved the way she looked at me, even when she hated me. But all I could see was Elena’s smug face and that faint heartbeat in her that shouldn't exist.
"You're drinking alone, Cassian. That's a dangerous habit."
The voice made me freeze. I didn't even have to turn around to know she was there. Elena stepped into the bar, her silk nightgown clinging to her curves in a way that was meant to be an invitation.
She walked toward me, her eyes filled with hunger and lust.
"Get out, Elena," I growled, my hand tightening around the neck of the bottle.
"You don't mean that," she whispered, sliding her hand up my arm. She leaned in, her breath ghosting against my ear, her body pressing into mine. "You're angry because you know I'm the only one who truly belongs to you. Not that little toy upstairs."
The disgust boiled over. I shoved her back, hard. Elena stumbled, her heels catching on the rug, and she let out a sharp gasp as she hit the edge of a table. She instinctively clutched her stomach, her face contorting with a flash of genuine pain or practiced manipulation; I couldn't tell anymore.
She looked up at me with pure distaste. "You excuse of an Alpha," she spat, her voice dripping with venom. "You’re so afraid of your own blood that you’d rather chase a ghost."
I was so angry that I raised my hand, my claws beginning to tear through the skin of my knuckles, my wolf screaming to silence her. I held it there, trembling; the air between us was thick with the threat of violence.
Then, I dropped my hand. She wasn't worth the blood.
I turned and walked away, staggering slightly as the alcohol began to cloud my vision. I didn't put the bottle down. As I left the bar, my free hand lashed out, sweeping a line of crystal decanters off a side table. They shattered against the floor, a melody of breaking glass that matched the state of my mind.
I needed air. I stumbled out of the estate, the cold night air hitting me like a slap. I saw Bella the maid hurrying across the courtyard. She took one look at my blood-stained knuckles and the bottle in my hand and ducked her head, practically running to stay out of my line of sight. I didn't care.
I stayed outside for hours, pacing the perimeter of the compound until the sun was nothing but a memory and the moon was high and cold. The alcohol hadn't dulled the pain.
When I finally headed back inside, my feet led me toward the upper wing. I told myself I was going to my room, but I knew I was lying. My body turned toward the hallway leading to Aria’s room. I was conflicted, torn between the urge to protect her and the urge to break her for what she was doing to my head.
I reached her door. My hand hovered over the wood, trembling. I meant to knock. I meant to be the brother who checked in, the one who offered some kind of stability. But I didn't knock. I pushed the door open.
The sight inside felt like a knife to my throat.
My brother had her pinned against him, his hand firm on her waist, his face inches from hers. She was in nothing more than a robe; I could see her cleavage from where I was standing, and their lips were just a hair’s breadth apart.
The bottle in my hand felt heavy as my vision played tricks on me. I thought maybe it was because I was drunk. I was just seeing things.
Until he turned and looked at me, but I couldn't even look at him. My eyes went straight to Aria’s as I walked in slowly, craving to touch her as I did in my dream.
- Writer
