Page 105 of As the Rain Falls (Sainte Madeleine #1)

RAIN, DARKNESS, QUIET CONFESSIONS

Cassandra

Beckett wraps me in a towel. The fabric is smooth beneath my finger, reminding me of the expensive ones my mother likes to buy for herself. Unlike my mother’s, this one smells exactly like him, which comforts me somehow.

He seats me gently on the bed before handing me an old Red Hot Chili Peppers shirt and a pair of black boxers.

“I’m going to step outside so you can change.” A hand presses the towel to my face, wiping away the smudged makeup underneath my eyes. “Do you think you can manage that alone?”

I nod slowly, wetting my chapped lips. “Yes.”

He offers a tiny, tired smile in response. “Call me when you’re done.”

The door closes shut behind him.

All I can think about is how my body feels unbearably heavy. I said I could dress myself alone, but it takes everything in me to follow through and actually do it. I enter a state of exhaustion after I’m done putting his boxers on.

A faint scent of soap lingers on my skin.

I don’t know if I like it.

I press my nose against his shirt, absorbing the scent of him again. Somehow, it feels a little better.

My damn hair clings to my back, and his mattress is firmer than mine, altogether unfamiliar ground. I hesitate to lay down, unsure if he even wants me there to begin with.

Long minutes pass before Beckett knocks on the door again. I flinch, remembering now that I was supposed to call him after I was done.

He cracks the door open, eyes still so kind, seemingly not minding at all that I’m acting like a complete lunatic.

“Cass?”

“I’m done.” I pause, staring at my knees. “Do… Do I take the couch?”

He shuts the door behind him before stepping forward and kneeling before me. “The couch?”

“I…” I stall. My throat tightens. “I can take the couch.”

Beckett’s gaze softens. “Baby, you’re not taking the couch.”

“But I’m imposing.” I blink, my vision clearing out. He tucks my hair behind my ear, a glint of adoration in his eyes. My chest feels so warm. “I should leave.”

“No, you’re staying,” he interjects, stopping me before I can rise. “I want you to stay right here, right now.”

“I don’t want you to take the couch,” I whisper sadly.

His gaze makes me feel small, and I cover my face, shame curling deep inside me. I feel so ashamed for freaking out, and it only gets worse when I realize that I let him witness everything.

“What if we both sleep on the bed?” he proposes keeping it lighthearted and easy still. “Would you be okay with that?”

“I…” I glance at the bed beneath me, curling my knees to my chest. “It’s a big bed.”

“It fits both of us and Pepé.” He kisses my knuckles, nudging me to get me to lay down, and my breathing slows as I watch him manhandle me.

Beckett eases me towards the bed, tucking a pillow beneath my head. He makes sure I’m cocooned in warmth for the night before he slides into the bed, lies beside me, and turns off the lights. The covers are a bit heavier than what I’m used to, but the fabric still molds against my body perfectly.

Our shoulders brush as I shift, but the silence remains.

We’re just listening to each other breathe.

The darkness is somewhat comforting. I’m grateful he isn’t pressing me for answers. I’m terrified of what I might reveal if he ever does. I can see myself telling him things I never should. Things he wouldn’t be able to ignore.

It’s probably the thing I hate about myself the most. How I don’t hesitate when I see goodness out there. I just take it, like some kind of hungry ghoul. It reminds me too much of Nathaniel, and I feel selfish. Killing his sister wasn’t enough; now I need to drag him down with me, too.

And maybe Antony wasn’t wrong for doubting me so much. My brother and I, we’re both cut from the same cloth, aren’t we?

***

Sometime before the morning breaks, I open my eyes again. I’m tired but unable to fall back asleep. My heart always feels so restless. I’m getting really sick and tired of it.

After pulling my hair away from my face because the strands make my skin itch, I start to roll restlessly on the bed until Beckett reaches out, still asleep. His hands find the curve of my waist first, and after that, he pulls me in.

“Cass.”

My stomach tightens as he presses his nose to the back of my neck, mumbling something entirely incoherent just to calm me down.

“ It’s ohmn .”

I swallow hard, willing myself not to give in.

It makes no sense to me, this desire to be close to this boy, to disappear beneath him. I should be afraid instead. I should be completely terrified of being around him, of keeping him this close. I shouldn’t be so blindly convinced that he is different from the rest.

I feel like I should run far away from him, but I turn around instead, facing him now.

“Stop… moving.” Beckett instinctively presses his arm against my back, hugging me to keep me from moving away. It feels warm and quiet when I’m entrapped in his presence. The good kind of quiet. “Smells so good. Like me.”

I blush, knowing he must be talking about my hair.

“You’re so pretty,” I whisper, only to spend the next ten minutes memorizing his face because it feels like something important. “So, so pretty.”

The prettiest boy in town.

I realize that out of all the bad memories I keep pushing down, this is the only sad one I don’t want to forget. I don’t want to ever forget him and how his fingers trace slow, absentminded circles on my back, making my skin shiver.

How his calloused fingertips feel so familiar and steady.

Safe, even.

These hands… These hands won’t hurt me.

I thought they would.

Every boy who’s seen me naked before has.

What a sad thought to have, isn’t it? To expect pain. To endure it just to be able to say with conviction that yes, it does . It does pain you, and it makes you want to die, too.

“Cassandra.” Beckett’s voice pulls me from my thoughts, and a second later, I hear a click. The seashell-shaped lamp flickers to life, casting a soft glow beside him. “Hi.”

“You’re awake?” I whisper. He touches my hips, pulls me closer, and drags me towards him until our foreheads touch. “Beckett.”

“Cassandra.” It’s the way he says my name so gently, tongue getting stuck at the last syllable, that undoes me. “Baby.”

“Beckett.” I cry, clinging to him.

“You’re scaring me,” he admits, sounding so wounded. “What the fuck even happened tonight?”

“I… I don’t know,” I lie, my mouth going dry. I can’t handle him, his presence, and how much he cares. I can’t handle being unveiled and exposed to this extent, not when I am still so hurt and embarrassed.

“Don’t lie to me.” He cups my cheeks, keeping me close, forcing me to be present in this moment. “Please, stop lying to me.”

“I’m so sorry.” I grimace, still trying to hide. “I don’t mean to. I don’t have any other choice.”

It’s conflicting. I want to pull away, but at the same time, the feeling of being near him is so… stupidly delicate. Devastatingly tender. It makes me want to open up. I feel it coming. The question. I feel it eating at him from the inside out. It still hurts, though.

“What happened to you?”

Each word is a stab to my chest.

“I don’t think I can say it.”

I feel too exposed next to him, almost see-through.

A cold breeze drifts from the open window. Beckett brings the blankets around me, tucking me in. His warmth seeps into me, steady and unwavering. He feels like the closest I’ve ever been to safety.

“If I tell you, you won’t tell anyone else?”

That’s a lot of secrets for a single girl.

And deep down, I’m always scared of my worthlessness.

Do I get to have this?

He doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

“I…” I trail off, cracking a smile that I know for certain isn’t a happy one. “I’ve been acting so desperate for attention. Attention of any kind. Good, bad. I’ve been letting myself be used just to feel something. I don’t know how to stop, and it scares me.”

There’s not a single hint of judgment in his voice. His eyes remain soft, even as I break.

“Why?”

Because something bad happened to me years ago. I’ve done bad things to myself, trying to outrun it.

“Because I’m so tired,” I say instead.

Every single day I feel exhaustion in my bones, the kind that won’t go away if I rest or if I take the right amount of pills and do sports or daily affirmations.

I’m tired of wondering if I should be angry, if I can be angry, and if being or not being angry might even change anything.

The worst part is, I don’t really think it will.

I’m almost entirely certain being angry will change nothing.

“What are you tired of?” His voice is barely above a whisper against the sound of rain tapping against the windowpane.

It’s raining . I hadn’t noticed, but of course it is.

“Feeling like I’m carrying a lie alone.”

A single tear drops onto the bedsheets.

Others follow.

Beckett pulls back a little to get a better look, and the sadness in his gaze brings me the weirdest feeling of deja vu, like we’ve done this before, when I know for certain we haven’t.

“If it’s too hard.” He swallows hard. “You don’t have to explain what André did.”

André?

He thinks it was André.

Oh, God. I really hate this.

I hate being this broken girl with broken dreams of belonging to a different body.

“It wasn’t André, Beckett. My…” I trail off, looking for the words. My mind is chaos leading to calmness, like I’m opening the windows after a big storm. “It was Nathaniel.”

Beckett goes completely still.

Horror shows across his face, but I reach for him, needing him close. It’s not a cry for help; it’s barely even a whisper.

But the truth is still just as honest when it comes out as whispering, isn’t it? Because a whisper is still strong if spoken by someone who means every word they say. It’s valuable too.

It has to be, or else, what do I have left ?

“He raped me.”

The silence that follows is deafening.

I wait, the seconds stretching out. And then, just when I’m about to pull away, scared and rejected, I hear a broken sound from Beckett’s throat. I immediately close my eyes shut, not wanting to see what happens next.