Page 29 of As the Rain Falls (Sainte Madeleine #1)

NOVEMBER ALWAYS brINGS MORE BAD NEWS

Cassandra

“Cassandra, wake up!”

I blink twice, but everything around me stays dark and blurry. My heart skips a beat as I struggle to turn the light on. His hand is gripping my shoulder, shaking me, keeping me from falling back asleep again.I’m too tired to stay awake but also too tired to resist.

“Get the fuck up!”

“Stop shaking me!” I groan loudly, head tilting towards the nightstand. The red glow of my alarm clock tells me it’s too early to be awake. “Are you fucking nuts? It’s four in the morning!”

Nathaniel doesn’t answer.

“I know.” He drops a phone instead, and the device falls next to me in bed. “But Mom wants to talk to you.”

“Oh.”

It makes me sit upright almost immediately. My head is spinning with anticipation. The previous feeling of grogginess is being replaced by one of complete warmth in my chest.

I love my mother. I love the way she sees me.

Mom knows everything about me. She’s the glue keeping us from falling apart.

The sacrifices she’s made to keep our family together are endless, and even though she didn’t call the cops that day, I know she only meant the best for both Nathaniel and I.

It had to be that way. I have to believe it, otherwise—

I just want her to come home. Nathaniel steers away from hitting me whenever she is around.

“Mommy?”

“Cassandra?”

“Mom!” I breathe out, my voice almost shaking. “How are you? How’s grandma?”

“Abuelita está muy enferma, carino.”

My heart drops to my stomach.All the happiness evades me.

I might not be close to my grandmother like Nathaniel is, mainly because she practically raised him, but I’m still part of the family.

She loves me just as much and I don’t want her to suffer anymore.

This sickness has been going on for far too long.

“Do you think…”

My eyes search for Nathaniel in the darkness. He’s sitting at the edge of the bed, staring at the wall, face grim. The way he won’t look at me tells me everything I need to know about this call.

“Is she going to be okay?”

It takes her another full minute to answer.

My chest tightens as I wait.

When she finally does, her voice is soft, careful, “I don’t think so, sweetie.”

I almost choke with sadness at first, but the words still spill from my mouth after a quick cough.

“I… I really don’t know what to say.”

My throat burns. I press my hand against it, like that might stop the ache from spreading. It doesn’t. Everything burns, from my lungs to my eyes, and it doesn’t stop.A shaky inhale on the other end of the line is the only indication I have that this call isn’t over.

“I’ll keep you updated, okay? I just had to talk to you because I don’t think I’ll be home for Christmas this year.”

“Okay.” I nod. “I understand. It’s not like we’re doing anything special this year.”

My seventeenth birthday couldn’t have come at a worse time.

“I might go out with my friends if Dad allows me to.”

“I’ll talk to him about it, but listen, mija . I need you to be good,” Mom says gently. “Try to help your father. Keep Nathaniel in line. Take care of the house.”

“Of course.” I nod again, even though she can’t see me. I know what she means. She wants me to do what she can’t. Be strong for the family while we wait for her return. “I miss you, Mom.”

“I miss you too, so much. Cassandra,” she hesitates, like she doesn’t want to hang up any more than I do. I cling to her every word. Mom never calls me. “Tell Nathaniel to call me later, okay? I really need to talk to him about visiting us soon.”

My voice wavers as I answer, “I will. I promise.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Mom.”

The line clicks dead.

“Grandma is going to die.” I swallow hard, waiting for my brother to say something. “I don’t think she has another year left in her.”

The silence feels too loud.Nathaniel isn’t speaking. He’s just sitting there, staring at me. I set the phone down slowly on my lap. It feels heavier than it should. Neither of us moves. I don’t know what else to say.

“It should be me, not her.”

Yes .

As soon as the thought comes to me, I start pushing it down. He is my only brother. Nathaniel is my blood . No matter what happened, I can’t be wishing death on him. It’s wrong. I’m a terrible person.

“Don’t say that,” I gasp, astonished. “Nathaniel, please don’t say that.”

“It should be me,” he repeats himself, a single tear dropping from his eye. “Don’t pretend that it’s not true. I know you wish it was me too. I can see it on your face.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You hate me,” he emphasizes. “Just like she told me you would.”

It reminds me of before, if only for a minute. My brother looks younger under the poor lighting, and the lines at the corner of his eyes are softer, almost youthful. It makes something inside of me ache for the memory of the younger boy I once knew.I don’t think there are any traces of him left.

Slowly, I move towards him, setting the heavy covers aside.

“It’s not like that.” I shake my head, willing him to understand that in spite of everything, I’d never wish for him to be gone forever. “I just find it hard to trust you. You’re very mean to me.”

“But we both know why I do it. You don’t listen. You make things difficult,” he points out, drying his face with the back of his hand. “How can you hate me when I care about you this much? Is this only because of what happened that night?”

“I don’t hate you. You’re my brother,” I state categorically, mostly trying to convince myself. “And we shouldn’t be talking about this if Mom is not here. She wouldn’t like it.”

He shakes his head again, faster this time, like he doesn’t believe me. His shoulders are trembling.

“I wish it was me. Then, this would be over and I wouldn’t feel like I have to hurt you anymore. You wouldn’t hate me, and we would be okay again.”

I don’t have an answer to that, at least not one that wouldn’t make things worse. So instead, I touch his arm. My hand, small and unsure, wraps around his, and Nathaniel shudders a little but doesn’t pull away.

My thumb presses against the center of his palm, rubbing it gently.

“Why do you do this, Nathie? Why did you have to throw the Tupperware at me?”

“I don’t know.”

“I wasn’t talking to any boys,” I promise. “I… It was Kayla. I can show you the texts, if you really want to see them.”

“No, I believe you,” he murmurs, watching me. “I know you’re a good girl. You’ve been so good to us. I’m just so goddamn tired of this.”

“I know.”

“Do you even know what it’s like to be inside my head?” Nathaniel asks. “To have that itch all the time. It’s exhausting.”

Then, stop . I want to say, or maybe even beg and before I know it, I’m saying it out loud.

“Please, stop hurting me. Let’s just do better, please?”

My nerves all rise, waiting for his answer. His grip around my hand tightens, and at first it feels gentle and soft, until his fingers start pressing my knuckles together too much and it hurts. I wince a little bit which causes Nathaniel to release me.

Whatever kind of intimacy this moment holds makes him feel comfortable enough to ask an unsettling question.

“Do you ever miss it?”

“Miss what?”

“When I’d take you to the park,” he wonders, voice coated with longing. It’s too dramatic, too theatrical. His emotion feels fake. “I’ll never forget how you’d beg me to race you to the gates. We used to have fun.”

“I…” I drop his hand, as if burned. “I don’t know. I don’t even remember.”

He smiles, as if remembering something particularly funny.

“Of course, you don’t.”

Nathaniel motions to the wall beneath my mirror, and he makes a motion with his other hand that reminds me of the move he’d have to pull to grab something and slam it against the surface. I blink fast, remembering that this is where he got me and almost gave me the concussion.

The room feels colder, heavier as I realize once again that he won’t.

My brother will never stop hurting me.

It’s a matter of time before he starts hurting others or himself.

The anger he keeps inside is not something we can placate or a feeling he can control.

And it’s not a question of want; he can’t.

This is who he is, a ticking bomb, waiting to explode.

He doesn’t regret hurting me, not really.

I don’t only know that; I’m certain of it.

My parents think they can control him, keep him on a leash, but they can’t. There’s something in the way Nathaniel’s brain is wired, something that isn’t quite right. My brother isn’t normal, and he will never be.

Think about it, Cassandra. Think about what you’re ignoring.

“I think you should go back to your room, Nathaniel.”

We have rules.

He is not supposed to come to my room, ever.

Not anymore.

I’m not allowed in his, either, for that matter.

We’re not supposed to talk about it, either.

Not ever again.

The failed attempts to get him a proper diagnosis that our parents never followed through, my grandparents on my father’s side, that night.

It’s all uncharted territory.Everything needs to be forgotten, that’s what she told me.

And I did; I forgot. It’s all gone, and it doesn’t matter.

When I ask, Mom never really tells me what it was, that thing we used to do.

And what I remember of it is not true; it can’t be.

It’s not possible, because I wouldn’t do that.

I wouldn’t be that person, not ever. I wouldn’t say those things.

I wouldn’t be stupid enough to let him drag me to the park and his room and let him do those things to me, either.

It’s probably just some fucked-up way for me to deal with what happened back when I was thirteen.

It’s not real.

It’s all made up.

I’m sick in the head for even considering it.

But what if…

No. Stop.

Just… Stop .

“I will.” He presses a hand to my cheek, forcing me to look at him. His touch makes me shiver, but it doesn’t feel like anything good. “You miss Mom, don’t you?”

“I do,” I answer, swallowing nervously and trying to change the subject. My head is starting to hurt, and I can tell the headache will follow me all day if I don’t go back to sleep right now. “She told you to call her later today.”

“Okay.” Nathaniel nods, moving away from me.

“I’m sorry she’s dying, Nathie. I really am.” I sigh, pushing away the thoughts that are starting to make me nauseous.

My throat feels a little too dry.Weirdly enough, seeing him so sad, I feel this deep urge to console him, but I don’t know how to. I don’t know how to make him feel…

Make him feel good again.

It feels like I should be doing something .

I just can’t bring myself to say what that something is .

Enough.

Stop.

Stop thinking about it.

I think Nathaniel scares me more than anyone else in the world. I don’t like him or the way he looks at me. It’s too dark. It makes him look like a monster, and I feel so weak in comparison.

He doesn’t look back as he walks to the door.

“Yeah, Cassie. I know you are.”