Cass, short for Cassidy, was worried about her best friend. Isabelle was not a naive person, but with a guy as attractive as Allen, it was easy to start making the wrong idea out of things. Cassidy didn't fully support her decision to lose her virginity with him, but was surely pissed when she found out what Isabelle's ex-boyfriend said about her best friend.
That sole reason was enough for her to just let her be, of course, after giving her the full talk on what NOT to do to avoid getting hurt. After a twenty-minute monologue, Isabelle finally finished telling the whole story. Every detail. Cassidy was out of words out of excitement. She was happy that everything turned out well for her; more than good, that it turned out so great for her.
"It was amazing, Cass." Isabelle sighed and looked at the screen. Her friend with her jaw hanging and half a smile covering her face.
"You lucky girl!" She said, starting to laugh again.
"I knew it was the right call. He was really respectful, and sweet, and hot, and intense..." The last words came out softly, catching Cassidy's attention.
"Yeah, I bet he was. You know it was just once, right?" Isabelle's eyes dropped. "Right?" Cassidy pushed, making Isabelle nod.
"I know."
"Oh boy... You have a crush on him, don't you?" Cassidy's fear, in the end, came true.
"I will get over it. I didn't know it was going to be that way, Cass. The way he looked at me, the way his hands felt on my skin... It made my heart move and I couldn't help it." She put on a small smile, but shook her head violently. "I'll be fine. I know I will. I already gave myself a good scold."
Cassidy nodded, still looking at her through narrowed eyes.
"I'll be watching you, kid."
The conversation didn't die there, though. Cassidy let her best friend hype over her first time a bit more, feeling uneasy about the whole thing. She was not about to let her best friend be hurt, and if it turned out that way, she would kill him.
His side of the story
He woke up at around 7 p.m that very day, naked, and absolutely alone. She was nowhere to be seen; her things were also gone. He reached out to his phone inside his backpack and turned on the screen; there were no new messages, but a couple of missed calls from his father. He sat up on the bed and rubbed his eyes, feeling his heart shrink inside his chest. He didn't move for about ten minutes when he suddenly heard a knock on the door.
"Yeah?" his voice still hoarse.
"Mr. Hayes, your father is on the phone." A female voice answered from the other side. His housemaid was an old woman who had been working for the family for over 15 years. He grunted and dropped on his bed.
"Tell him I'm coming." He snorted.
He stared at the ceiling a couple of seconds more before finally moving. He put on some baggy pants and a hoodie, and went downstairs. Of course, the feeling didn't go away. He couldn't stop thinking about what happened a few hours ago.
They fell asleep in each other's arms after chatting for about an hour, and for a second everything felt perfect, but waking up and realizing she was not there was beyond disappointing; it made him feel pissed. Or at least that's what he thought that uncomfortable feeling in his stomach was. One way or another, he was certainly not in the mood to talk to his father. He reached the kitchen and grabbed the phone on the counter.
"Yeah," he said neutrally.
"Fucking pick up when I call you." said the annoyed male voice on the other side of the line. He rolled his eyes. "I'll be coming home in a couple of weeks. There's an important guest that will visit our house for dinner."
"And what does it have to do with me?" he said, but immediately regretted it. The housemaid, who was moving around the kitchen preparing dinner, flinched a little while turning around to look at him.
"Don't fucking test my patience, Allen," the voice snapped. Allen flinched and looked at the housemaid, half smiling; she smiled back and continued with her things. The voice remained quiet for a few seconds before uttering something, probably talking to someone else. "Your sister is coming too, so you better keep your shit together and try not to embarrass me again."
Oh, right. The last time. The memory made him put on an ugly face, because even though it was fun at the beginning, his father beat the shit out of him at the end of the evening. He didn't know there was a gathering at his place when he arrived completely drunk, pushing a couple of guests and breaking a table full of drinks on his way upstairs. His father had important investors for a new product his company was creating, and because of that 'incident', half of them withdrew their investment. He swallowed when he recalled Mrs. Olivier, the housemaid, put ointment and ice on his back throughout the night.
"OK," was the only thing he said. His father sighed.
"I mean it. Do something useful for once." And with that, he hung up.
Allen stood there listening to the tone longer than he expected to, but not because of the usual anger and despise he felt after every call from his progenitor; this time his mind was somewhere else for a change. He hung up and turned around, sat on a stool, and started playing with the nearest object he had in front: a peeler.
"When did she leave?" He asked.
"About an hour ago," she replied, chopping some onions at the same time.
"Did she say anything or..." his voice shut down, lingering on the thought that, maybe, she left a message for him.
"No, not at all." That just deepened the feeling in his stomach, making him feel nauseous. Mrs. Olivier stopped the chopping and looked up to make eye contact. "She looked pretty embarrassed when I offered to call the driver to take her home," the old lady shrugged. "It's a shame she didn't accept."
"Why did you let her leave like that?" he raised his voice involuntarily; the desperation in his voice shocked him. She looked at him in shock, too. "Sorry."
"It's ok. I wasn't sure what to do since it's the first time you brought a girl to the—" The old lady opened her eyes in disbelief, gasping in surprise. "I'm sorry, Mr. Hayes, I didn't know she was your girlfriend!"
He chocked on his own saliva, coughing violently.
"She's n—" he cut the word, taking some air before continuing. "She was not supposed to leave just like that."
The disappointment was so obvious, Mrs. Olivier felt a sting of guilt. She looked worriedly at him and with the sweetest tone she said:
"I'm really sorry. I should've insisted."
"It's not your fault, it's mine. It's just..." he looked at her and curved his lips upwards. His smile didn't reach his eyes. "Never mind." Of course it's my fault. I'm making up shit that isn't even real. What the fuck is wrong with me. He was sure that those kinds of sweet little stories were not for him. "So, is that what I think it is you're making?"
He completely changed the subject.
This was not the first time Mrs. Olivier has seen him sulk down over things, but it's the first time she's seen him so… hopeless. Somehow, he has managed to cope with all his family issues, which are various and very unsettling, and she has always tried never to let him alone.
At a very young age, it was his sister who stood up for him whenever things got ugly, but when she got married and moved out, there was no one there to ease his father's abuse. The only thing Mrs. Olivier could do was patch him up as well as she could, and try to brighten him up with some hot cocoa milk. She knew it was not enough, but he'd always felt grateful to her because of that.
That night he had that famous hot cocoa milk before bed because it always helped him fall asleep.
Nevertheless, that night was still a sleepless night.