Page 40 of As the Rain Falls (Sainte Madeleine #1)

UGLY TRUTHS AND MISPLACED ANGER

Cassandra

Dad knocked on my door around nine-ish to ask me if I wanted something to eat. I told him that I wasn’t hungry.

It wasn’t entirely true.I did feel hungry. I felt my stomach so hollow like it was gnawing at itself, but I couldn’t bring myself to eat. The idea of trying to digest any food right sat in my stomach like a stone, making me feel sick, and now it’s too late to go to the kitchen.

Pepé is snoring at my feet, his warm body rising and falling with each breath.My room is too quiet.My thoughts are too loud.The truth is surrounding me, leaving me no space to breathe. It’s choking me, strangling me from the inside out.

I can’t stay here.

Not another year.

Not with Nathaniel.

I have to leave.I have to leave this house, leave this family, because my brother will poison every little bit of happiness until there’s nothing left.I have to leave to survive, and he won’t let me.

Without saying a word, I grab my phone and type the password.

The screen burns my eyes, so I dim it before browsing online.

For half an hour, all I do is mindlessly flick through old posts, but I can’t bring myself to text back Kayla.

It kills me that I can’t. I’m failing her all over again.

She is definitely going to feel hurt by that.

My fingers move on their own, as if compelled, typing words into the search bar. To be fair, it’s not something I haven’t done before, but I never had the courage to click the links I happened to find. Maybe tonight I will.

I type each letter, hoping to find some answers.

Real answers.

What is rape?

What is consent?

How to avoid rape?

I click on the first link, leading to a Wikipedia page, because it must be the most reliable one.

My voice shakes as I read the words aloud.

“Rape is a type of sexual assault involving sexual intercourse, or other forms of sexual penetration, carried out against a person without their consent.”

The words slam into me, and for a second, all I can hear is quiet. The room goes still. My mind stops racing, my breathing slows down, and the palpitation in my chest, which had been racing moments ago, fades into a steady thud.

It feels like certainty.

It feels like unlocking whatever truth I keep avoiding.

It reminds me of waking up feeling so confused because my brother had knocked me out by hitting my head against the wall repeatedly until Mom heard me screaming.

The memory brings me a sense of discomfort, and I swallow the lump in my throat and squeeze my eyes shut, trying to fight the urge to cry.

My phone buzzes in my hand, and I’m gripping it so tightly that the pink silicone case around it starts to bend beneath my fingers.

He raped me.

I knew it then, didn’t I? It’s why I wanted to call the cops.

Because I’ve known it all along; the truth has never evaded me.

This mess is what he turned me into, but you can’t run from yourself.

There was never a question on whether it happened or not, or an ounce of doubt in my heart.

But maybe rape is such an ugly, violent word that I simply didn’t want to be part of it.

My sweaty fingers twitch against the bedsheet as I desperately reach out to touch my legs, my knees, and the spot behind my ears near my neck that I never get to see.

I’m trying to recognize myself, but I can’t.

This body doesn’t feel like mine; he made it his.

So, I touch. I touch the places he touched, remembering exactly how it felt when he dragged me down and pinned me to the bed.

I think about how his lips felt against my skin, warm and sticky, dragging spit all over me.

It is like opening a drawer inside of me and watching tiny ants—no, worms.Tiny worms crawl to the surface, digging into my body, hollowing me from the inside out.

Eating my flesh, chewing my nerves, digesting every bit of me.

Three years.

Three years, and I still smell like him.

A new feeling blooms in my chest, inside of me.

It’s not fear. It’s not sadness. It’s not even anger.

It’s disgust. Pure hatred, the bitter, ugly kind.

But not directed towards him, no.I feel hatred for myself.

I hate this body of mine. This cage that I was given at birth.

This stupid, soft body that was built smaller, weaker, and easier to hurt.

The soft curves he grabbed.

The skin he marked.

I hate it all.

I want it gone.

I want it ruined.

I want it—

Good.

Nathaniel’s so good to me, isn’t he? So good to me, like he is to no one else. So good as he held me down and spread my legs and ripped me apart.I can see him now, on top of me, inside of me.I hear him moaning, petting, and biting.Is he good now still?

Your daughter is washed up . Used. Ruined. Dirty. A secret better left buried deep in a closet. I’m a dead girl walking. They’re burying me alive, dragging me down when I’m already just a carcass.

I curl on my side, pressing my cheeks to the bedsheets, and even now, not a single tear falls.

The covers should smell of detergent, clean and floral, but they don’t.

All I smell is him, his sweat, and his breath.

All I feel is his body, his hands, and his mouth.

It’s the same ceiling, the same bed, and I am still the same girl I was at thirteen.

The same girl who thought she would grow up someday, only to wake up and realize that all the lights were already out.

“No…” I whisper, trying to push these thoughts away. But they’re eating me alive. “It’s not… It’s not true.”

But it feels like it is. It’s like pulling a thread but never getting to the end of it. It won’t ever, ever stop.

We don’t need to go to the park to play, Cassie.

We can do it here.

Come with me.

Get inside.

Stare at the screen until I’m done.

Don’t tell them.

Don’t listen to the teacher.

They’re all lying to you.

I won’t ever hurt you.

Be quiet.

Don’t you want to make me feel better?

But time went by, and his voice grew to be louder, and meaner, and she…

She became weaker.

You’re so fucking pathetic.

Say that to me again, and I’ll kill you.

You’re a fucking whore, Cassandra.

This is all you’re good for.

I need her gone, I realize.I need her dead.

I need to cut her open, pull apart her muscles, dig deep, and rearrange her bones until I find whatever it was that made him crawl into her bed because I hate her the most.I hate her stupid smile and the lightness of her laugh.

I hate the way she gets so quiet instead of speaking with her full chest. He slaps her every other day for fun, and she just laughs it off, acting like it’s nothing. It’s not nothing.

Then, I decide it.

I’ll kill her .

My fingers hover over the small keyboard. I type, delete, and type again, thinking about all the reasons why I shouldn’t do it. The thought of distracting myself with a boy feels so pathetic.

I mean, am I this desperate for attention?

Maybe.

Caleb’s name shows up on my screen, his name making my heart flutter. It’s not excitement or a crush because I know exactly where this will take me. I know what it will mean if I let him in.

I’ll kill her for good , I think again, a ghost of a smile tugging at my lips.

It’s all twisted, all wrong, and way too fucking late.

The words aren’t a whisper anymore. It’s uncontrollable rage.

He should have killed me instead. Nathaniel should have killed me instead of just taking whatever bit of innocence I had left, but he didn’t.

He didn’t, and it’s too late.I already know what I have to do to fix this.

Be good.

Be kind.

Not enough, never enough.

Not good enough for them.

I type the words, then I press send.

Me: hi. this is caleb’s number, right?

Two minutes later, Caleb texts me back.