Page 93 of As the Rain Falls
“I would’ve called you,” she exhales guiltily. “You would’ve come and picked us up.”
Accident avoided, in her head. But I know better.Luciadidcall me that night. I woke up to multiple calls and texts. I didn’t answer or call her back. At the time, I just—
“Yeah.” I look away, feeling my eyes start to sting.
Angelina shudders, hugging herself.
“I hate this town so much. I hate that I’m probably never getting out of here anymore,” she admits, barely containing her anger. I wait for her to finish her sentence, and Angelina forces a smile as her eyes flicker back to me. “At least you won’t have to worry about being alone.”
I blurt out, “What are you talking about?”
My tone is a little too sharp, filled with disbelief and shock.She rolls her eyes at me, but there’s hardly any humor in the gesture. I can tell the thought of meeting that ending bothers her, even though she’s pretending it doesn’t.
“You know how it goes. I’ll probably find myself a boyfriend if I’m lucky and my reputation isn’t entirely trashed. Get knocked up right after high school. Work at a shop or something. That’s what happens to girls like me.”
Her voice lowers at the end, some kind of resilience that is so unlike her. I try to laugh at first, thinking she’s just messing around, but nothing about what she said feels funny to me. It sounds more like a death sentence.
“No, you won’t,” I state firmly, concerned about her mental state. “Please, tell me you’re not being serious.”
Angelina smiles, daring me to argue, “Is there something wrong with being a housewife, Beckett Evans?”
“You can’t tell me you’re giving up on college and expect me to not have something to say about it,” I almost yell, my voice rising despite how hard I’m trying to control myself. She laughs, like,fully laughs. “Seriously, Angie. Stop. That’s not funny at all.”
“Oh, so you just became the biggest college advocate now? When did that fucking happen? What did I miss while I was stuck in a psych ward?”
I didn’t go to college. Never really wanted to in the first place. The whole idea of higher education feels suffocating. I don’t even know what I’d major in. Maybe one day I’ll leave this town, this place, and get a degree or something.
Who knows? But I doubt it.
It doesn’t meanshehas to stay stuck here too.
“Don’t even start, stupid head.” I roll my eyes, lightly punching her shoulder. “This is all weird talk coming from you. You’ve always wanted to go to college. What’s really going on?”
Angelina presses her lips into a thin line. I step closer, nudging her gently.
“Talk to me. Tell me what’s happening. Let me… Let me help.”
“I’m just… having a hard time; that’s all,” she explains, her voice weak. “I mean, my change of diagnosis put me on new meds, but taking them makes me feel like a zombie. I missed the whole beginning of the first semester, and we both know that’s the most important out of the two. I won’t get into any good colleges now, not anymore. It’s all stupid stuff, I know, but I can’t help but feel like such a loser.”
The words come out of me instantly, contradicting her statement.
“You’re not a loser, Angelina.”
“Yes, I am,” Angelina snaps back, her tone derisive towards herself. “You’re the one who lost a sister, but I’m the one who went all psychotic about it.”
“I have reasons to believe you’ve lost a sister too,” I say, placing my hand at the top of her head. “You were inseparable—as close as Antony and I are, or any friend can be. And you were the last person to talk to her at the very end, Angelina. That matters more than you think.”
She swallows hard, blinking fast like she’s trying to keep it together. It can’t be easy to carry all that weight, just like it isn’t easy to be under my skin as Lucia’s older brother.
Angelina and I will always be connected by both our love for her and the loss that came with it. I understand why she feels the way she feels, but she can’t let her grief drag her down like that. The grief will kill her.
“People are so mean,” she concludes, her voice barely above a whisper.
There is resentment there too, something I find relatable.
“Are they now? I hadn’t noticed,” I try to joke, but my tone is too bitter.
“They stare at it.” She touches her arm self-consciously. The skin is wrapped up with bandages. “Everywhere I go. I can’t wear anything but long sleeves anymore. All my dresses, all my shirts, everything really.”
