Page 382 of As the Rain Falls
The two visions blur in my head. I feel my arms being pulled behind my back. Someone is dragging me into a car.
None of it matters.
None of it matters because my body is being lured into a sense of clarity, something I didn’t know I was missing before. The feeling is sharp, and well, just overall knowing.
The cop turns the radio on.
I blink slowly.
Empty soda cans roll beneath my feet, and I step onto them.
He tells me I should think about who to call.
“Call my dad.” I shrug. “Let’s see if he even picks up.”
I smirk bitterly after that.
Something about the sentence reminds me of my sister Lucia. It’s just something she would’ve said. But not with the same tone, no.
Lucia would’ve delivered it with a different flair, mostly because she knew how to make apathy look cool. Shedefinitelypulled off the nonchalant act way better than I just did. I never quite mastered that, I think.
My fingers are still shaking.
She called me five times that night.
I declined each call.
Red button, silence.
Then again, and again, and again, and again.
Well, there was more than just ignoring her, but I won’t bug you with the details. I don’t want to talk about me muttering curses under my breath, how sick I felt about her always needing me.
God, having a little sister wassuch a responsibility.
There’s no point in doing all that; it’s already too late.
This reminds me of the morning before I turned ten. My parents were spending all of our nights working late. Their careers were really taking off, our family back in London kept my father on a tight leash, and my mother felt as depressed as usual.
I remember, but only vaguely, how Lucia woke me up crying. She’d spilled milk all over Mom’s fancy rug.
“It’s too heavy, Becks! The milk went everywhere!”
“Where’s Mom?” I asked her, pulling the Batman-themed sheets over my head.
She didn’t answer. Just cried, small and desperate, in that pitiful way children often do. I hadn’t slept much that entire week, too bothered by… something, and I wanted to rest for another hour or so before going to school.
School felt important back then.
Getting an education at Sainte Madeleine.
Impressing Principal Rivera.
Learning about greatness, real greatness, not something phony.
“I’m so hungry,” she whispered to me, her small blue eyes staring at me.
And I’d forgotten.
