Page 133 of Cain

He scoffs bitterly, like he’s been choking on it for years. “Yeah. I had to stay behind so you could run. There’s your fucking truth. Wrap it in a bow and call it freedom.”

My mouth goes dry. I want to punch him. Or hug him. Or scream. But instead, I sit there, stunned.

“I never asked for your protection!” I roar.

“But I fucking owed you!” he fumes back, the veins on his neck popping.

“What? You owed me nothing.”

His breathing calms as his brown eyes dart all over the room before they land softly on me.

“Atticus wasn’t a threat to me, and yet you were the one comforting me because I was afraid of him,” he says, his voice calmer now.

My eyes lower. “You said it yourself. You were scared, and you were a little boy.”

“You were a boy, too.”

I take a step closer. “I’ve been scared for too fucking long, Adam. So yeah, I was a boy, but I knew exactly what it felt like.”

We don’t talk again; we only drown in the awkward silence, letting our eyes memorize each other.

How much he’s changed.

He was the brother I cherished and cared for.

He was the light. He was good. Too good for where we came from. He used to sneak into my room at night and curl up next to me when the shouting got bad. I’d hold him close and swear it would all be over someday.

He believed me.

That was the worst part.

But now he’s not the boy who used to crawl into my bed shaking, whispering that he’d heard something in the dark. He’s not the idiot who used to jump out from behind corners like it was the funniest thing in the world.

That version of him is gone.

What’s standing in front of me now is someone harder. Someone who’s learned how to bury things deep enough they start to drown.

He’s changed.

But so have I.

We’re just two mirrors staring at each other.

Same damage. Same guilt. Same silence.

And somewhere along the way, I forgot what it meant to feel anything for anyone.

Suddenly, he talks again.

“You still have her toy.” He nods toward the Rubik’s Cube sitting on my desk. He steps forward and picks it up gently, like it might fall apart in his hand. “I was so jealous that she gave you something. I had nothing. Nothing to remember her.”

I don’t speak. My mother had a soft spot for me; I always knew it. Back then, it seemed normal to me. She was my sanctuary—the only one who protected me.

Now that I’m older, I know it’s because I didn’t remind her of her husband, while Adam did.

“Father was a monster,” he continues, tossing the cube on the desk. “But she wasn’t a saint, either. I was still her fucking child. She was the lesser of the two, so just like you, I figured she was the better one. That’s why I changed my last name, like you did.”

“The Mansons,” I mutter with a smile, pride hidden in my voice.