5 Ways to Ruin Casey Brandt

o n e

♡ BRIAR ♡

I was eighteen when my life went from shit to absolute shit.

Only twenty six days into my college career—into my fresh start—when Casey Brandt stuck that microphone right in my face. One thirty second video and I went from Briar Elliot the nobody to "Crier Briar" the laughingstock.

It didn't matter that I'd just received the call that changed my life, and not for the better, or that I was already red-faced and crying when he came over to me. No one cared that if anyone was worthy of hate, of being regarded as something terrible, it was Casey.

None of it ever matters, and it doesn't to me anymore, even if it still stings every time the familiar autumn air hits my lungs. I've decided this year is going to be different. I'm going to change my ways. I'm no longer going to bite back. Instead, I'm spending my sophomore year with my head down and ears shut. It only took all of last year glaring at anyone who looked at me, scolding girls who whispered about me as I walked past, and commenting back ruthless things on my own posts to realize how pointless it all was.

They were only going to stop if I let them.

So I did.

I went home for the summer. I played board games with my Dad, practically followed around his nurse, and let everyone cool off. I was laying low. If I didn't have a plan, a dream to make reality, I might've let myself stay there.

Now, I walk into the market with my head held high. It feels almost nice to be back on campus. I dreamt of attending my father's alma mater since I was 13, to finish what he couldn't. It was as perfect as I'd imagined for those first 25 days. Until the phone call. Until the interview. Until everything that happened the rest of that semester.

The line of my favorite coffee shop—due to the amazing but overpriced pastries—is moving surprisingly fast this morning. Bluefields is usually pretty busy, but, the line moves fast and baristas make the drinks even faster. I get up to the counter and I order an iced latte with no lingering stares or jabbing comments from the cashier.

No one in line says anything when I say my name. I try not to whisper, but I do, and have to repeat it again. Still no reactions. I watch as the boy in the yellow apron uses a marker to scrawl it onto the side of the blue cup. I don't receive any looks as I wait on the other end of the counter. Or when a girl in a matching apron calls out my name and order. I grab my drink with a hopeful warmth in my chest.

It's almost a clean getaway.

Almost.

I turn around to leave and run into something. My newly acquired drink spills everywhere. Onto my carefully chosen outfit, all over the cover of my new textbook I had to pay full price for, and him. Him. I stop pointlessly wiping the milky coffee from my soaked textbook as soon as our eyes meet.

Casey fucking Brandt.

He seems to notice that he ran into an actual person, shoving his phone into his front pocket and crouching down to help in one swift movement. I feel my head shake from side to side.

No. Get away.

Apologies fly out of his mouth immediately. He runs a hand through his hair, using the other to scoop the ice back into the cup. I flinch back but can only continue staring. He looks the same as that morning. Shaggy golden hair, stabbing blue eyes. His green and white button-down looks about as soaked as my textbook. I allow myself to feel a little good about that.

But nothing about this feels good. At all. I've spent an entire year hating him, cursing him, avoiding him. It's easy to hate someone you can't see. To form a grudge against that demonized version in your head. It's completely jarring to see that thing you created right in front of you. Especially when he's on the disgusting floor of the campus coffee shop looking at you with a sheepish smile on his face.

"God, I'm so sorry," He's saying as he accepts a pile of napkins from someone to our right. He begins trying to mop the latte out from between the pages. "I didn't see you, I swear."

I shrink back and pull the book away. I can't speak. Nothing is coming out. What am I supposed to say, anyway?

Hey, don't apologize about the coffee. I'll accept one for ruining my life, though!

He furrows his brows as I move farther away, falling flat onto the coffee-covered floor. God, everything about this is embarrassing. And infuriating. All I want is for him to go away. To be the bad guy in the back of my mind, the star of the dreams that shock me from sleep. He can't be real. He can't stand there in front of me with an apologetic look on his face. It almost looks genuine. That's not the Casey Brandt I want to know.

"I really am sorry about the coffee. I'm more than happy to buy you a new one." He's already stepping back toward the line. His wallet is out. I see a flash of an American Express card.

"Go to hell." The words come out hot and shaky, tasting sour. Like a year worth of pent-up anger.

He glances up, wearing a shocked expression that seems only an inch away from irritation. He doesn't even seem to care about his ruined shirt. Honestly, he seems a little relieved as he checks the time on his phone. I sulk at that, wishing my five dollar coffee I didn't even get to drink could've at least ruined his day.

"It's just a coffee. I can get you a new one. I'll even buy you a new book. What class—"

"Go. To. Hell." I practically snarl.

It's then I realize how many eyes are on us. This is Casey Brandt, and everyone knows it. While my life went downhill his went up. He made quite a name for himself much to my dismay. His following only grew. So much that I'd heard rumors he wasn't coming back. I guess I allowed myself to hope that was true. I started stupidly believing it. It's only a matter of time before the students surrounding us recognize me next to him. Then it will start all over again.

I spot a phone pointed at us from the growing crowd.

Oh, god.

My stomach lurches. I flick my eyes back to Casey. He has his hands up in surrender, a nervous smile on his lips. I shake my head, keeping it down as I gather my things, mostly just a damp mess now. I shove past the guy who just can't stop ruining my life and out the doors.

"Hey, hey!"

"Do not follow me."

"Listen, I'm sorry! I don't know why you're this upset but I can give you my number. You can let me know how much I owe you. I'm Casey—"

"I know who you are, and I sure as hell don't want your money." I whip around, causing him to stop short and roll back onto his heels. A humorless laugh escapes me. I'm hyper-aware of the few looks we're getting from each passerby. Through the glass window behind us, I also catch a few lingering eyes. "Stay away from me. You only get to ruin my life once, Casey Brandt."

I leave him behind me with a confused expression that only causes a burning pit in my stomach. He doesn't remember me. The person who caused my life so much hell couldn't even bother to remember my face. As bitter as it makes me, I'm why his account blew up. I gave him a career while he took everything from me.

I'd spent months wondering if I'd see him again, and what I'd do if I did. I had speeches and insults planned. I wanted an apology. An explanation. And all I'd gotten was a ruined outfit.

Casey Brandt could go to hell.