Page 20 of As the Rain Falls
“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.
YOU'RE A VIRGIN WHO CAN'T DRIVE!
Cassandra
OCTOBER, 2016
Thunderstorms light up thedark sky, and the wind picks up at the same time. I glance behind me, checking to see if anyone is on their way to the city, but unfortunately the streets are completely empty.
The bad weather really adds a creepy atmosphere to how Port des Ondes usually looks. It makes everything overly blurry, likemy eyes are lenses with mud all over them. And yet, out of all the neighborhoods in our district, this one is the nicest. My parents pay a stupid amount of money to keep us in this house for a reason. We went from owning nothing to owning some. It’s the comeback story of a lifetime.
Tall ceilings, deep pools, and enough space to plant whatever flower housewives seem to like. Port des Ondes is worth the price. Affording these things when others can’t makes my parents look good, and in a small town such as ours, looking good means you get a free pass at everything. Shitty older son with his shitty drinking habit and all that.
“Nathaniel could be nicer sometimes,” I mutter, completely bummed out. My umbrella starts flipping around, the sides of it twisting, not resisting a single bit against the storm. “It would have taken him like twenty minutes to drive me.”
Le Port is nowhere near the fanciest place to live, but it certainly is a charming, cheaper option if someone wants to experience an exotic adventure.
I’m afraid to say not a lot has changed since my childhood days: the rich assholes are still immigrating from places like Western Europe, like they did back in the nineties. And they still gather along the privately owned parts of the coast, far enough from the insides of the island where all the noise of the city is but with easy access to all our best services.
With all the luxuries money has managed to provide us over the years, I should be able to at least afford a ride or a taxi. I really can’t ride to school in this weather. The streets leading to Sainte Madeleine get blocked by floods when it rains too much, and it becomes impossible to cross the bridge to the other side of the island without a car.
No bus is available either. Le Port is a small island located in Atlantic waters. It’s independent and isolated, and public transportation is, well, utter shit. Bus drivers never come to thispart of town, mostly because they don’t have to. Rich people always own more than one car, but apparently not my family. We’re not there yet.
I keep walking, absentmindedly trying to fix the umbrella, and don’t notice when my right foot misses the sidewalk.
“Ah!”
One second, I am standing and holding the umbrella, and the next I am falling towards the ground. It is not a steady fall, more like a harsh drop.
My eyes start to close as my right knee hits the cement, pain shooting up my leg. I wait for my face to hit the floor.
And wait and wait.
