Page 262 of As the Rain Falls
A sob comes out of her, long, anguished and desperate. It takes me less than a second to make the final decision, and and everything feels so quiet inside of me.
“Cassandra, I’m turning the lights on.” I warn her, swallowing hard before I press the switch.
THAT'S WHERE SHE LIES
Beckett
JANUARY, 2017
The kitchen light spillsinto the room and around us.
I blink a few times, letting my eyes adjust. The walls were once freshly painted with an off-white shade, but now the surface is gathering dust. Framed pictures of a happy family are neatly placed in a row, and I catch Nathaniel’s arm lingering around Cassandra’s shoulders in a few of them.
Her childhood drawings are proudly displayed on the fridge even though the ink is starting to fade. I remember never liking to draw much as a child because picking out colors bored me to death.
The decorative tapestries are old, but there’s something charming about them. Too bad it’s all ruined by the lingering smell of cigarettes sticking to the fabric.
The antique wood floor creaks under my steady steps, making me wince a little as I step closer. It feels unsafe, ready to bend under my weight, and gives an air of both old and new to a house that’s been there for a very long time.
Everything about this home is comfortable enough but somehow not homely, put together and used just enough to look lived in, and yet there’s carelessness, too.
A faint, lingering smell of mold curls in the air. I think no one around cares about keeping it clean.
And then…
Cassandra lets out a horrible, choked-off scream, stumbling back and folding her arms over herself like she’s trying to hide.I take a step forward, my hand itching to reach for her.
The girl with golden hair and lonely green eyes—myCassandra—is hiding something from me. Her face. And my stomach ties up in knots when I begin to wonder why.
“Cass?”
“Please, Beckett!” her voice is weak. “You can’t tell anyone!”
My heart is pounding in my chest.
My palms feel cold.
There are moments in life when you can choose to look away. I’m not proud to say that I often do. I pretend things aren’t wrong. I lie to others, and even to myself, because it’s easier.
But ever since my sister died, I’ve learned something. Lies are oftentimes more painful. Unlike the truth, which hurts you to heal, like a bandaid being pulled off. Lies cause deep-rootedwounds that fester. It’s like a quiet cancer, rotting you from the inside out.
“You have to promise me you won’t tell anyone.”
Somehow, I already know it.
I know why she won’t turn around.
With a quick head nod, I do as I’m told. “I promise.”
“Remember,” she whispers, a little uncertain. “You gave me your word.”
I did.
Isodid.
But the second I see her, it makes me want to take it back.
Her small hands drop from her face, just slightly. It’s enough for me to catch the skin around her forehead swelling. Cassandra is shaking. I take the initiative to coax her closer to me, bringing my hands to her arms, guiding her face towards the light. And then, it’s obvious.
