Page 3 of As the Rain Falls (Sainte Madeleine #1)

brOTHER'S BLACKOUT

Cassandra

“Nathaniel? Are you here?”

The house is empty and quiet. I can even hear the sounds of the birds chirping angrily outside, annoyed that the rain is ruining their nesting. I walk to the kitchen, listening as my pink flip-flops steadily clap against the cold marbled floor.

I don’t like the silence.It makes me oddly nervous.

Mentally considering my options, I bite my lower lip until it starts to hurt. I could drive my father’s car if only I knew how to actually do it. It’s parked in our garage, catching dust.

Dad is traveling for a conference overseas, and my mother had to move back to Spain a couple of weeks ago to look after my dying grandmother. Leukemia is a bitch.

“Fuck my life,” I curse out loud, rubbing my hands together for warmth before I take the stairs and knock on my brother’s door. “Are you up?”

Silence.

“Nathaniel?”

Nothing.

I push the door and step into his office.

The candlelight is still burning, piles and piles of documents and books both old and new are scattered everywhere, and his used cigarettes rest over our family portraits.

Beer cans, snacks, leftovers of a burger he didn’t get to finish last night, and soggy fries on the floor.

The windows are locked shut, and the sound of the raindrops falling against the ceiling is almost soothing.

“Ew!” I turn my nose up, raising a half-rotten apple and letting it fall to the ground. “Disgusting!”

I stare at him, my throat closing with nerves.

My brother sits on the leather chair. His sleeping face is smashed against the keyboards of our father’s old computer, wide forehead gleaming under the light that is still turned on. Sweat slides down the sides of his face and disappears in the curve of his neck, saliva dripping down his mouth.

“Nathaniel?”

I tentatively shake him.

He groans in response.

“Wake up!” I shake him again, harder this time. “I need your help… Wake up, you ogre!”

I shake him again. He pushes my hands off him before his left eye pops open. A slow smile stretches across his lips.

“What’s up?”

“You have to drive me to school.”

I tell him more quietly, spinning around to walk out of the room and finish getting ready. His hand closes around my wrist, pulling me back. I almost trip and fall on his lap then, but manage to steady myself by holding the corner of the table.

“I didn’t see you last night.” He pulls me again, more forcefully this time, forcing me to sit down.

My stomach tightens uncomfortably as I shift against him, trying to rise.

“Because you came home late and I had to have dinner alone. Will you let go of me now?” I deadpan, wanting him to let my wrist go. “I’m being serious.”

Nathaniel yawns, stretching his arms around me and pulling me into what I guess is supposed to feel like a hug. His touch makes my skin crawl.

“I’m going to be late, dickhead!”

“Is that so?” I roll my eyes. He snorts, “O-kay.”

“And you reek of…” I inhale deeply, my face twisting into a grimace as I do so. “Booze!”

The rain is still coming down strong.He shifts slightly to lay his head against the crook of my neck and breathe me in. I count down five seconds, knowing if I push him away too soon, he might feel rejected.

“Nathaniel!” I squeak when he tries to press a kiss right below my ear. “If you don’t let me go right now, I swear!”

“Jesus, Cassie. You’ve gotten so fucking grumpy.” He pushes me off, and I rise again before his brute ways send me to the floor.

It takes everything in me not to gag.

I cry, “I’m going to be late!”

His face softens, making him look a few years younger. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry!”

“This will bruise, you know?” I cry, walking up to the window and pulling the curtains. I keep my wrist close to my chest, massaging it as a red mark starts to show on my skin. Staring at him again, I somehow manage to grit out, “I’m not made out of steel!”

“I said I’m sorry. What else do you want me to do?”

There is some laughter in his voice, but it quickly dies down.

“Can’t you ride?”

“It’s raining.”

I open the window to show him what I’m talking about. The light comes in and blinds him for a second.

“Fuck!” Nathaniel opens his dark green eyes again, teary, and tired, before pushing himself to a standing position. “I’m sorry, Cassie. I can’t.”

My face falls.

He notices.

Nathaniel always notices everything .

“I would, but I’m too out of it,” he yawns.

“But I can’t miss any more school.”

It’s common knowledge that my attendance levels are really low. My not going to school is never done on purpose, I swear; I just can’t show up sometimes.

Dad brushes it off as bad period pain, and the teachers reluctantly let it go.

I guess that’s one way to put it. Back in first year of high school, Nathaniel beat me up so hard I thought he’d fractured my left rib or something.

I missed three weeks of school, and without Kayla by my side, I would’ve never been able to catch up.

This year is more important than the first year was. Good third year results are my key to freedom. I have a test with Mrs. Yun coming up soon, and she’s supposed to give us special hints today.I can’t afford to miss her classes.I suck at math.

It’s like Nathaniel knows about that.

“Can’t you ask Beckett to drive you there? He is going to have to take Lucia anyway.”

“That’s really not ideal.” I shrug, dropping my arm against the side of my body. “I don’t want to bother him.”

Nathaniel makes a grim face, starting to get annoyed.

“And why not?” he snaps, quickly losing patience with me. “Stop being difficult. He drives you to school all the time, doesn’t he? Why can’t he do it now?”

Maybe because I asked you to do it.

I was told that a few months before my third birthday, back when I still believed in Santa and felt oddly scared of the dark, my father got promoted and became a private school principal.

Financially, everything had been a bit touch-and-go for a while.

His new job really turned things around for our family, and my mother insisted on us moving to a house built in Port des Ondes.

The Evans moved into the four-bedroom house next to ours a couple of months after we did. Gregory and Susan were strangers to Le Port, much like my parents were, and my father took a special liking to Beckett Evans, their all-boxy-smiles-and-curious-glances oldest son.

The five-year-old boy grew up to become Sainte Madeleine’s certified golden boy who could do no wrong in my father’s eyes.

Things have changed a lot since his graduation two years ago.

Beckett got a job at Old Well’s farm further away from the city instead of going straight to college. Dad got really mad about it.

I like Beckett.I like that he works at a farm instead of doing what’s expected of him. It’s far from easy work, but it’s admirable, really. The kind of job I’d never be able to do, not even in a million years.

In fact, Beckett Evans is just so cool, I wouldn’t dare go against him about anything. He smells of chocolate candy bars, masculine cologne, and mint gum. And of course, he drives me to school whenever my brother can’t.

I don’t know.I’ve just always liked him.How could I not?

Beckett just has the kind of quality that’s very… manly.Something that screams I know what to do, what to say, and who to call.

Nathaniel must have forgotten about Lucia dying, or that she was a year older than me, for that matter. We wouldn’t have been going to school together anymore if she’d been alive.

“I…” I trail off, my hand still lingering against the corner of his desk.

Ideally, I really don’t want to bother a grieving brother.I want Nathaniel to be nice enough to take me to school, but I know he’ll get angrier if I press the issue.

“I guess I’ll see if he can take me.”

“Good.” Nathaniel’s eyes drift lower, eyeing my uniform with newfound interest as if he’s checking for something.

I blink hard, trying to not let him unsettle me. It’s always worse when I do show him that I’m scared. Nathaniel gets the most satisfaction out of terrifying me; by now I know every single one of his tricks.

“Is Dad coming home tonight or not?” I ask, swallowing hard. “I really need to talk to him.”

I don’t.

I just need him to come home.

Each day spent with my brother inside the house is another day of anxiety and another sleepless night.

I get restless when I’m alone with him, forcing myself to watch his every move just so I don’t manage to piss him off.

It gets to the point where coming back to the house after school is the last thing I want to do.

Nathan doesn’t answer. He takes a step forward, then another, and crosses his arm over his chest, frowning at how my skirt rests right above my knee.

I press my hands to my sides, not liking the inspection.

He needs to stop.

My uniform is just fine.

Everything is fine.

I clear my throat and say, “So?”

He shakes his head and yawns again, looking more bored than anything now. “Not yet. The academy must be beating his ass over the budget again. Dad wants the new project to work, but it won’t be easy.”

I nod in understanding.

My father is working tirelessly to introduce more optional classes in our program. Better options also mean higher college acceptance rates, and that’s what the academy ultimately wants.Of course, money is always the lingering issue.

“Jesus, I’m really fucking tired. I think I’m going to bed now.”

“Okay.” I add quietly, “I’ll text you when I get there.”

He waves me off and says, “Fine by me.”

I watch as he leaves, a feeling of bad premonition settling in my chest.It sounds too mean to say it out loud, but there’s always some kind of relief in knowing my brother looks nothing like me.

We might share the same blood and same DNA, but our faces are totally different. It’s better this way—it gives us some much needed distance. He takes after our mother, and I don’t, and maybe that’s the reason why she likes him best.

Mom is stubborn.She is convinced that I have nothing to be afraid of, not when it comes to him. I don’t have any reasons to be scared of my brother because Nathaniel’s brain is all fixed up. What happened between us was just a drunken mistake, and he didn’t even mean it.

Nathaniel was born with the capacity of never meaning anything.

Not even all the bad shit he often does to me.

In fact, he regrets it so very much.And yet, he has been drinking more as of late.

He comes home late and passes out in his office or in our living room before he can even reach his bedroom.

What happens if one day he doesn’t?

What happens if he comes to my door again?

Stop thinking about it, Cassandra.

“Can’t find the boots anywhere,” I mutter, trying to remember where I last placed the pair.

Everything in this house is old, and every room is crowded. Mom won’t throw anything away; she’s a real hoarder.I don’t like living with my parents.It’s too messy.

I get my favorite pink umbrella from the closet underneath the stairs, put my sneakers on, and tie my hair into a high ponytail before I leave the house. With all the humidity outside, my blonde waves tend to get frizzy, and I don’t need hair flying on my face.

The only solution I have left is to walk. I won’t knock on my neighbor’s door. It wouldn’t be fair to ask for favors now, especially not on such short notice.