Page 56 of Cain

“Why?”

“Because he tried to harm me. He tried to kill me.”

And then, my mind keeps revolving around one question. One question that has been bugging my mind for many days now.

“Why did you kill your brother?”

I can feel his heartbeat quickening and his body temperature increasing under the thin black cotton shirt he’s wearing. His muscles tighten, and he’s pulling me closer to him.

“Because he was a monster,” he explains, his voice low and gruff.

“That’s not enough. Dealing with a monster doesn’t mean you have to become one yourself.”

He scoffs. “I wasn’t born a monster, little rose. He made me one. He killed me. He killed everything good I had inside of me.” He pauses. “And when the time came, I simply returned the favor.”

Strangely, I feel sorry for him. I know he’s telling the truth. He always has, and he has never given me a reason to doubt him about it.

“What did he do to you?”

His body is stiff, and his breathing becomes more forced. “He killed my mother.”

What on earth did he say?

My mind races, trying to process the revelation, but his reaction and his whole mindset tell me there’s nothing left to question. I can’t justify him, but I somehow understand him.

How can someone kill his mother and make his brother suffer her absence?

I’m trying to find the right words to say, but what could be the right thing to say?

“I’m so sorry,” I sigh, letting my hand rest on his chest for the first time. I have no idea why. Maybe building a bridge between the two of us is a mistake, but at the moment, it feels right.

“Don’t say you’re sorry,” he mutters, his tone almost accusing. “You don’t owe me that.”

I try to dodge his sudden aggression. I need to know more.

“How old were you?”

“Ten.”

“No one deserves that,” I breathe.

“My mother didn’t for sure.”

I try to swallow the lump in my throat.

“Do you ever regret it?” I ask. I don’t know what I’m waiting to hear. What answer could be convincing enough to justify what he’s done?

“No. I told you I’d do it again, and I mean it.”

One more time that I don’t speak. Besides, I don’t know what to say.

He’s so much like his infamous namesake, and it’s almost disturbing. The biblical Cain was consumed by jealousy for his brother, but in this case, Cain was fueled by hatred. Hatred for what his brother did to him. To their mother. Actions so vile they carved out everything human and left only something warped and cold. He wanted to destroy him, to make him suffer, and he succeeded. He turned him into a monster.

They share only one thing in common: neither of them regrets their actions. But unlike the biblical Cain, this one never played the role of the martyr. Instead, he bears his cross in silence, alone, carrying it forso long that it seems to have become a part of him, like the crown of thorns pierced into his mind, making him suffer every day.

Perhaps all I’m asking is an excuse to justify him in my mind. To find the reasons for his terrible actions.

“Your shivers have stopped,” he says abruptly.