Ran was already standing in the booth, baton raised high, screaming like a maniac:
"FINISH HIM, GHOST! END THIS SHIT!"
The 350Z came barreling down the final straight, going all-in. Cassandra caught the move in the rearview: he was going to ram her on purpose and take them both out.
She waited. Waited until the very last possible second.
When the 350Z's bumper was inches from hers, she yanked the Impala sideways, opening a gap… and the guy plowed straight into the tire barrier. His car flipped three times, metal screeching, glass shattering.
Cassandra crossed the finish line alone.
The engine was still roaring when she pulled to the side, door opening slowly. The good leg hit the ground first. The other… she nearly collapsed. She had to brace herself on the hot hood, breathing hard behind the mask.
The crowd erupted—shouts, whistles, cups flying. Ran jumped down from the booth like a kid, Rindou trailing behind with a low chuckle.
Ran stopped in front of her, baton resting on his shoulder, shark-like grin.
"Fuck, Ghost." He held out a hand loaded with rings. "You just made me filthy rich tonight."
Cassandra slowly pulled the mask up just past her mouth. Face slick with sweat, hair plastered to her forehead, eyes glassy with adrenaline and pain, still hidden by the mask. Her lip trembled slightly, but she smiled back.
"Pay up, you son of a bitch," her voice hoarse, almost breathless. "And get me ice. A lot of ice."
Ran grinned, handed over two fat envelopes, then pulled a small bag of tiny pink pills from his jacket.
"Your knee's gonna love this little candy."
He handed it over. Cassandra quickly tucked it into her bra, lowered the mask, gave a nod, and slid back into the car. She peeled out. The car was shaking and pulling hard to the right… She stopped at the same spot where she'd left car parts earlier. In six minutes everything was back in place. Then she headed toward the Hanagaki house. All Cassandra wanted was to sleep until next Friday.
The house lights were still on. Bad sign, she thought, wiping her knee and swallowing more painkillers. Her pupils were blown wide in the rearview. With a sigh, she grabbed eye drops to tone down the damage—not for her dad or that bitch of a stepmother, but because Takemichi would be all over her trying to figure out where she'd been.
The door stuck for a second, then opened. She got out and limped to the front door. The early-morning cold actually felt comforting.
She opened the door and saw Takemichi on the couch, stirring awake. Fresh bruise around his eye, lip split lightly.
"I knew I shouldn't have left…" she started, but hurried footsteps burst from the kitchen. Airia was red-faced with rage, looking one step from a heart attack.
"Look at my son's face, Cassandra!" she shrieked, planting herself in front of Takemichi like a protective hen. The blond tried to calm her down, but it was useless. Cassandra had to bite back a laugh.
"I see it. Poor thing, ugly just like you… Good thing Hina's delusional enough to like him," Cassandra shot back with mockery, heading to the fridge for water. She wasn't in the mood for a lecture, and she wasn't sober enough either. The glass trembled slightly in her hand.
"Go to your room, son. Now," Airia said, turning to Takemichi, who shrugged and headed to bed. "I can't stand you anymore."
Airia snarled at the same moment her father stepped out of the bedroom door.
"Is this any time to come home?" Hiroshi—father to both her and Takemichi—asked, sleepy and irritated.
"Didn't notice," Cassandra fired back, voice dripping with venom.
Airia put her hands on her hips, glaring at Cassandra with disgust and cruelty.
"You're a whore just like your mother. Next thing you'll show up preg—"
She didn't finish. The cane flew toward her face. A sharp crack followed by a scream of pain was all that was heard before her body hit the floor. The blow didn't knock her out—Cassandra was too doped up and exhausted for it to be fully effective—but it still hurt. It cut.
"Wash your mouth when you talk about my mother, you filthy cow!" Cassandra screamed, cane raised, ready to swing again.
Her father, furious, yanked the cane away. Cassandra lost balance, falling forward until they were face to face. The smell of cheap aftershave and hatred made her stomach freeze. The image of her stepfather flashed, making her want to scream. Her father shoved her hard, slamming her into the fridge. Pain exploded across her back, stealing her breath. She dropped to all fours, gasping, unable to breathe properly.
"So protective of your wife, Daddy…" Cassandra still laughed, trying to stand. The dizziness from the pills was creeping in. She was shaking all over: drugs, exhaustion… fear. She didn't even know anymore. She rubbed where he'd touched her, with rage and disgust. The gesture didn't go unnoticed by his stare. He took a deep breath and grabbed a folder from the top of the kitchen cabinet.
"I'm done with this fighting every single day in this house! Cassandra, you've crossed the line! I tried to feel something for you, but I can't anymore. You're not my daughter. We just share blood… You've got your mother's pension. These papers are your emancipation… Better figure out how to take care of yourself. Next year you enroll in some shitty college and go live on campus. Get out of here. Stop dragging Takemichi into your messes, and maybe… I'll help with your tuition next year."
Hiroshi said it like he'd rehearsed it a hundred times. Cassandra blinked twice, pulling herself together, forcing the tears to stay down, and smiled.
"How many times did you practice that shitty speech, huh?"
She spat on the floor, limping to the edge of the table. At that moment Takemichi burst through the door, terrified as always.
"You guys are going too far!!" he shouted, picking up the cane from the floor and handing it to Cassandra, then turning to his mother, helping her drink water.
Cassandra stood, grabbed the papers without looking at her father or brother, went to her room, grabbed a backpack, and stuffed in her meds, medical records, her mother's jewelry, a key her godmother had given her a year ago at the funeral with an address, all the cash from her room, and clothes. As she headed for the door, she glanced at the bed. A one-eyed teddy bear, stained with oil paint—the one Takemichi gave her—made her turn back. She didn't want it thrown away. Takemichi would cry dramatically like always. She grabbed it with her good hand and left.
"Take care, blondie… Don't call me if you need anything. I'll be busy," Cassandra said, limping out, knee popping, without waiting for a reply from the blond who was calling after her while his mother yelled.
She threw herself into the Impala's seat, started the engine, and prayed it would hold until somewhere quiet.
Cassandra's hands shook on the wheel. Her chest rose and fell fast. The throbbing heat climbed her leg stronger with every second. She clenched her teeth. Even "Hells Bells" at full volume couldn't drown out the demons in her shattered mind. She focused on the car's tremor—the one that hadn't been there before the race. She turned the music down a notch and heard metal clanking, the new engine noises: knocks and chokes. Danger. Reluctantly, she eased off the gas. She didn't want a total breakdown. She was already drowning in problems.
The rest of the drive was a blur. She didn't even bother parking properly in the garage: she left the car in the driveway of the two-story blue house. With a final jolt, the engine died. She grabbed the backpack, the one-eyed bear, and the cane, and dragged her leg almost to the entrance. The two steps were an obstacle. She nearly fell, gripping the railing.
Hands still shaking, she opened the door. Cold darkness and dust-sheeted furniture greeted her coldly. Her heart pounded so hard she clutched her throat for a few seconds before dragging herself through the American-style kitchen, turning on lights. Everything so cold, so empty. She opened a cabinet; rows of canned food gleamed under the light. She shut it quickly and headed for the master bedroom, fingers buried in the plush bear.
The click-clack of the cane echoed so loudly it gave her chills. She stopped using it for support and limped instead, grateful for the high dose of meds that dulled the worst of the pain. She climbed the stairs, holding the railing. Every step made the heat surge and the nerve pull, protesting the abuse it was enduring.
"Stupid leg," she muttered through gritted teeth.
She reached the top almost falling, but kept going to the bedrooms. Four huge wooden doors lined the hallway. One was probably the bathroom, if she remembered right. She went to the largest one and opened it. The door creaked until it lightly hit the wall.
Without ceremony, ignoring the bed, she just turned on the light, grabbed her mother's robe from the closet, and headed to the bathroom. She left the lights half-on, tossed the cane to the floor, kicked off her shoes, and stepped into the tub fully clothed. She didn't want to think too much. Her father's and stepmother's voices still echoed loud in her head. She needed sleep. She grabbed the Zolpidem… and doubled the dose while the tub hissed with hot water. Her knee was now a hard, hot, throbbing mass, suppressed by a massive amount of drugs. She pulled her knees to her chest anyway and cried, hugging them.
The emptiness felt like it was choking her while her chest tore open… She was finally alone… So why did it still hurt? She just wanted silence… Why was it so… cold?
She stared at the bear on the sink. Flashes of her and Takemichi playing made the tears fall thicker. The raw sound of her throat echoed off the walls—a wounded, helpless animal's cry, one she only admitted existed in moments like this. Her nails dug into her skin. She ignored it.
"Ta-Takemichi…"
The name slipped out without permission, making her dig her nails deeper into her arms, feeling the burn. She focused on the pain until there was nothing left to hold onto...