The coldness of the concrete floor slowly eats away at the warmth of their bodies. He feels her shiver. Cold? Emotion? Hard to tell, especially for him.

He stands suddenly, causing her to jump.

“Fuck,” he mutters. He strides out, door thumping in his wake.

Not how this was supposed to go. Second chance? Shoulda been beautiful. Different club? Different girl? Not the plan. Not as it should. Not this mess. He hates messes. Dammit, Cassie.

Cassandra is still on the floor when he returns. He avoids looking at her, kicking the cage door open as he passes.

Screwdriver in hand, he walks purposefully to the wall. The rusty screws cry like infants as he forces them into motion. As the last screw skitters from sight, the electrical box falls limply to the ground.

He reaches under her arms and lifts roughly. She’s stopped crying. She’s stopped… being. When he releases her, she slumps into the metal chair. Scooping up the fallen box, he wedges himself beside her.

“Here,” he says, handing her the switch box.