Page 286 of As the Rain Falls
“Cassandra.” Beckett’s voice pulls me from my thoughts, and a second later, I hear a click. The seashell-shaped lamp flickers to life, casting a soft glow beside him. “Hi.”
“You’re awake?” I whisper. He touches my hips, pulls me closer, and drags me towards him until our foreheads touch. “Beckett.”
“Cassandra.” It’s the way he says my name so gently, tongue getting stuck at the last syllable, that undoes me. “Baby.”
“Beckett.” I cry, clinging to him.
“You’re scaring me,” he admits, sounding so wounded. “What the fuck even happened tonight?”
“I… I don’t know,” I lie, my mouth going dry. I can’t handle him, his presence, and how much he cares. I can’t handle being unveiled and exposed to this extent, not when I am still so hurt and embarrassed.
“Don’t lie to me.” He cups my cheeks, keeping me close, forcing me to be present in this moment. “Please, stop lying to me.”
“I’m so sorry.” I grimace, still trying to hide. “I don’t mean to. I don’t have any other choice.”
It’s conflicting. I want to pull away, but at the same time, the feeling of being near him is so… stupidly delicate. Devastatingly tender. It makes me want to open up. I feel it coming. The question. I feel it eating at him from the inside out. It still hurts, though.
“What happened to you?”
Each word is a stab to my chest.
“I don’t think I can say it.”
I feel too exposed next to him, almost see-through.
A cold breeze drifts from the open window. Beckett brings the blankets around me, tucking me in. His warmth seeps into me, steady and unwavering. He feels like the closest I’ve ever been to safety.
“If I tell you, you won’t tell anyone else?”
That’s a lot of secrets for a single girl.
And deep down, I’m always scared of my worthlessness.
Do I get to have this?
He doesn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
“I…” I trail off, cracking a smile that I know for certain isn’t a happy one. “I’ve been acting so desperate for attention. Attention of any kind. Good, bad. I’ve been letting myself be used just to feel something. I don’t know how to stop, and it scares me.”
There’s not a single hint of judgment in his voice. His eyes remain soft, even as I break.
“Why?”
Because something bad happened to me years ago. I’ve done bad things to myself, trying to outrun it.
“Because I’m so tired,” I say instead.
Every single day I feel exhaustion in my bones, the kind that won’t go away if I rest or if I take the right amount of pills and do sports or daily affirmations.
I’m tired of wondering if I should be angry, if I can be angry, and if being or not being angry might even change anything.
The worst part is, I don’t really think it will.
I’m almost entirely certain being angry will change nothing.
“What are you tired of?” His voice is barely above a whisper against the sound of rain tapping against the windowpane.
It’s raining. I hadn’t noticed, but of course it is.
