I have a standing appointment with Ashley for Thursdays, every two weeks. I decide I can wait till Thursday to see her. This is not so urgent that I need to make an emergency session. Everything is fine. I just haven't properly slept in three nights now. But everything's fine.

     It's just that Cas is in my head. Hasn't left it in three days. (Hasn't left it since he got here.) He's in my head and he's pressing me up against the sink of a Wawa bathroom, getting on his knees, taking the length of me with ease. And I'm thinking about how quickly your body can respond to a memory, how quickly it can respond to a familiar touch.

     Cas is in my head and he's standing, leaving before I've even opened my eyes. Leaving before I've even made sense of what just happened. I'm wondering if the Red Bull really was poisoned, if I'm not actually lying on the ground outside of Wawa dying. I would hope my last dying thought is not Cas on his knees for me.

     The foul stench of burnt cupcakes pulls me from my thoughts. I rush over to the oven, pulling it open and fanning the smoke away as I grab a mitt and remove the charred trays. It's Charles' day off, so I'm already rushing to get everything done. Burning a batch is going to set me back for the day. And all I want is to go to sleep, but all I can do is think about Cas.

     The day moves at an incremental pace. I sneak a nap in, retiring to the couch in the employee room for an hour before I have to go back to baking for the late afternoon rush. At five, Tasha heads out and Rumi takes her place.

     I'm washing dishes, starting to clean up early so I can head out as soon as we close. I'm debating on getting some sleeping pills, but melatonin gives me weird dreams and the prescription stuff I'd need Ashley to sign off on. She'd do it but I'd have to agree to weekly sessions again. Weekly sessions feels like a step backwards. I don't want to believe all the progress I've made with Ashley is being washed away in a week's time.

     "That guy is here again."

     I turn the tap off and look over my shoulder at Rumi, who's standing in the kitchen doorway. "What?" I say as I dry my hands.

     "The one you asked me about. I thought you'd want to know," she responds with a shrug.

     She means Cas.

     "Oh," I say feeling my blood shunt to my core so that my fingers go numb. "Thanks Rumi."

     I take a breath before following her out. Cas is across the room, at a two-top near the front windows. He has a laptop set up and headphones in, looking deep in work. I walk over anyway, hovering next to him until he finally looks up and removes a headphone.

     "What are you doing here?" I ask without ceremony.

     Cas gestures at his laptop. "Working, clearly."

     I frown. "Why here?"

     "Why not?" His tone is casual, too casual, considering the last events that transpired between us. Purposely casual, like he's trying to piss me off. Like he's trapped my King between his rook and bishop. I can decide which one takes me off of the board.

     I take the seat across from him, leaning forward like I'm about to divulge a secret. "What was the other night?"

     Cas takes a beat before he answers, "I believe the other night was Sunday. Unless you're talking about Saturday. But you could be referring to Friday. Interesting how weeks work, huh, just always the same sequence. Today's Monday, by the way."

     "Enough, Cas," I snap.

     "No, I don't think it is enough. I don't think we've even come close to enough."

     I don't even know what to say that, warring with the part of myself that wants to fight with him and the part that knows I deserve this.

     Cas relents with a roll of his eyes. "Saturday night was nothing. So don't lose any sleep over it, the way you so clearly are."

     "Right," I say after I've let his words sink in. After I've decided to take it, to take all of his anger, to take all his well-aimed shots. "Well, thanks for the clarification."

     I get up then, wondering how I feign walking without my tail between my legs when I so clearly have my tail between my legs.

     Later that night, after I've closed Weston's and sent Rumi home, I'm in the kitchen on the last leg of cleaning. I pay for nightly cleaners now, Roberta and Felix, but they only clean the front. I always handle the kitchen. I'm just about finished with wiping down the counters with a bleach dilution that Dolores always complains about, saying it gives her headaches. It smells like a pool to me, offers some latent comfort. Even today, after everything.

     When Cas storms into the kitchen, it's unexpected. He slams the door behind him, startling me that I drop the spray bottle I'm using and it skids across the floor. "I'm sorry, thanks for the clarification?" He repeats my earlier words back to me. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

     "I don't know," I say evenly. "I imagine the same thing as it was nothing, don't lose sleep over it."

     Cas stares at me hard, his expression completely unreadable. He's close enough that if I thought it would help, I could reach out and pull him to me. I don't, of course.

     "Do you want something to eat?" I ask because I don't know what to say and food is pretty much my answer always, especially when it came to Cas.

     "What? No." He frowns. "No, no, you don't get to just."

     "To just what?" I prompt. Maybe this is the breakthrough that he needs. The one that brings him back to his mom and eases some of my guilt.

     "To just act like it's business as usual with me. It's not, so don't offer me food. And stop looking at me like that."

     I huff. "Looking at you like what? I'm just looking. Would you like me to close my eyes?"

     His mouth pinches. I wait for the fuck you. It doesn't come. Instead, he throws out a foot and kicks me in the shin. It's not hard, but I wince, bending slightly.

     "Ow," I say but the quick throb in my kneecap grounds me more than anything. I would request another if I could but I don't think Cas is in the business of giving me what I want. "What was that?"

    "If I punched you, I'm nearly positive I'd hurt me more than you. You're a fucking tank." Coming from Cas, this doesn't sound like a compliment. I'm suddenly overly-conscious of the weight I've put on, muscle, really, but a bulk that wasn't there five years ago. My frame is larger now and being conscious of it with Cas makes me want to shrink in on myself.

     "If you still throw punches like you did five years ago, probably," I respond, tone mild.

     Cas swipes at me again with his foot but I'm ready for it and catch it, holding on. He twists, has to hop closer to keep from falling.

     "Let go," he says coldly.

     I drop his foot as I say warningly, "Don't kick me again."

     "Don't bring up our history, then," he responds and it's a kick to the teeth, so quick and blunt. It winds me. My whole face feels hot and I hope that it isn't. I'm thankful for the tattoos on my neck, praying they're doing their job of concealing my embarrassment.

     "Okay," I say finally, voice deflated. "Is that all?"

     He turns slightly towards the door, mutters, "Yeah. That's all."

     I nod, swallowing thickly.

     He starts to walk away and then whips around, rushing back at me. "And stop talking to Olivia. You two are not friends." He shoves a finger into my chest as if to make a point but winces, pulling his hand away and flexing it. "Jesus, you're a fucking brick wall."

     My eyes dart across his face, noting the redness in his eyes. He seems manic, maybe. Which is Cas, I realize. He's always been jumpy, like he lets his anxiety live outside him and walks through it, throwing it at you. This is different, though. Off.

     "Are you on something?" I ask voice low.

     He squints at me, his mouth forming a line. "Excuse me?"

     "What are you on?" I ask again, sure that this is it. This is what Olivia must have been seeing in Cas. Why he nearly failed out of school.

     His eyebrows go up. "I'm — how —."

     I cut him off. "Jesus, Cas, you know with your father's history with addiction. You can't be playing around with this kind of stuff."

     His whole expression drops into something lethal. If a look could rip your throat out, it'd be this. "How dare you. I'm not on anything and even if I was, it is none of your concern. And don't you dare bring up my fucking father — I literally just told you I don't want to bring up our history. Are you out of your mind?"

     Exasperated, I say, "Our history, Cas. That's your father."

     "I don't care! Don't mention anything about me. As far as you're concerned, you don't know me."

     "Yeah, I'm starting to get that."

     Cas shakes his head, practically snarling at me. "No. No. You don't get to fucking do that."

     And I can't help it, I'm not thinking, when I respond, tone crisp, "I see we've graduated from freaking. What an elaborate vocabulary. Is that what they teach at USC?"

     I'm not ready for the fist Cas throws this time.