The Girl in the Rain (Deep Waters Book 1) Page 4

  Unfortunately, it doesn’t shed light on what will happen to his many businesses in Corlake.

  After reading the paper, I remain on the bench for a little longer. Let Ryan take care of himself tonight. He’s perfectly capable of doing that.

  I’ll not apologize for taking a huge step toward getting my life back. Even as I try to be brave, I get an inkling deep inside my heart that I’ll be paying a high price for this moment of freedom.

  Chapter 6

  Something is wrong. I know it as soon as I turn onto our street. My plan when I left the beach was to go home, jump into the shower, and head straight to bed. But I’m now getting the feeling that that’s not going to happen.

  Alarm bells go off the closer I get to our apartment. The moment I see the building, it hits me that the alarm bells are not inside my head.

  A plume of smoke is curling out of our kitchen window into the night sky. The sound I had been hearing is that of the fire alarm.

  An invisible hand tightens itself around my stomach and wrings my intestines so hard I double over.

  The pain is soon pushed out of the way by a surge of panic. Panting, I jump out of the car.

  Within a few minutes, I burst out of the elevator onto the fourth floor. By the time I reach our front door, my lungs are screaming with pain, my body tense as I jam the key into the lock.

  The moment I step into the apartment, a cloud of smoke plugs my nostrils and rushes into my lungs, which reject it, causing me to cough uncontrollably.

  My eyes stinging, I grab a handful of my still damp dress and hold it to my mouth.

  The smoke inside is so thick I can almost touch it.

  The fire alarm is still shrieking, making my head ache, but the first thing I have to do is get to the source of the smoke.

  On the stove, all the hot plates are glowing hot. On top of one of them is a pot with smoke pouring from it.

  With tears brought on by the smoke trickling down my cheeks, I turn off the stove and reach for the burning pot. I jump back when I hear something pop. I watch in horror as the bottom of the cheap pot melts off and forms a silver river down one side of the stove.

  Before the entire pot can melt away and cause damage to the stove’s surface, I grab it and toss it into the sink. I turn on the water, and the moment it hits the pot, more smoke is released into the air. I can barely breathe as I grab a broom from behind the cupboard and send it crashing into the fire alarm on the ceiling until the sound dies only to be replaced by sirens outside the building.

  Unable to breathe, my hands clench around the edge of the sink, my eyes closed tight. My fear is immediately overtaken by a rush of burning rage.

  My nails bite into my palms when I stomp out of the kitchen and crash into the living room, where I know he’ll be waiting for me.

  Through the curtain of smoke that managed to get into the room, I watch him sitting at his usual place in front of the TV, watching a film where people are shooting each other.

  I slam the door shut and lunge for him, spinning him around. My palm meets his stubbled cheek so hard it hurts even me.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” I yell in between bouts of coughing. “Are you out of your mind?”

  His smirk chills me under the skin.

  “Please ... Please tell me you didn’t do it on purpose.” The words feel painful inside my throat as I push them out.

  “Nope. And I could do worse,” he says, his tone unapologetic.

  My head snaps back as if he, too, has just struck me across the cheek.

  “Next time you don’t come home on time, something worse could happen.”

  My hand lands on his cheek again, harder this time. “How dare you say that? This is my life. I can come and go as I please.”

  My attack doesn’t even make him flinch. “Your life, huh?” First, he laughs and then he coughs, not bothering to cover his mouth. “You actually think you have a life?” His words come out like sharp darts striking me one by one, digging into my skin, headed for my heart. “What happened tonight is nothing. I promise you that.”

  “You are such a—”

  “Call me what you want. But from now on, when I call you, you answer or return my calls within an hour. If I don’t hear from you, I won’t be responsible for my actions.” He pauses to cough. “As long as I don’t have a life, you won’t have one, either.”

  “Is that a threat?” How dare he say that when I break my back every single day to support him?

  A chilled, black silence falls between us as I wait for him to respond.

  When he does, his voice drips of poison. “Does it sound like one?” He cocks his head to the side. “In that case, that’s what it is. Take what I said as a serious threat.”

  His words hit me so hard I’m lost for words. I’m almost relieved when the doorbell rings and I can get away from Ryan.

  I wipe the tears from my face first and then open the door.

  Two firefighters in uniform stand before me, ready to get to work.

  “I’m so sorry,” I say, placing a hand on my heaving chest. “It was a false alarm. A pot burned. There was no fire, just smoke.”

  “Are you sure you’re all right, ma’am?” One of the men searches my face in a way that makes me feel as though he can see right through me, as though he can see the oozing wounds etched in the fabric of my heart.

  “I’m fine.” I press my hands to my burning cheeks. “Everything is fine. I left the pot on for too long. I’m sorry for your trouble.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want us to take a look?” the other man asks.

  “There’s nothing to see. There’s no fire in here.”

  I finally get them to leave. When I return to the living room, the door is closed.

  I sway into the kitchen and barge onto the attached tiny balcony. My hands grab the cool railing. My head hits my chest.

  After counting to fifty, I hear a commotion from behind me. At first, I think he has come to join me on the balcony, but when I turn around, I notice him on the other side of the glass sliding door, his eyes cold as they move to mine.

  He winks, then turns away and leaves the kitchen.

  This is the first time I can truly admit my brother terrifies me.

  I pull in a few deeper breaths, and when I decide to return into the apartment, to confront him yet again, I’m unable to.

  He has locked me outside.

  All I can do is laugh so hard tears fill my eyes and my stomach hurts. And then panic overcomes me and I slam my fist against the glass, yelling for him to let me in.

  Someone—from somewhere in the building—shouts for me to shut up.

  I continue to hit the glass, this time with the palms of my hands until my skin screams. My knees give way and I crumple to the floor. My back leans against the glass.

  Once I run out of breath calling for Ryan, I hear a soft click. When I turn to look, I watch him wheel himself toward the kitchen door.

  I crash into the kitchen, but this time I’m too drained and frightened to walk into another fight with the monster that was once my brother.

  I grab my bag from the kitchen counter and head to my bedroom.

  My breaths burst in and out of my lungs. I wait for something to happen, something worse, for him to do something else to scare me. Sometimes I fear I might wake up one night to find him next to my bed, weapon in hand, ready to end it all.

  I wish I could kick him out for what he did tonight, but I can’t. I’m partly responsible for the man he has become.

  I have no choice but to lie in the bed I’ve made.

  Chapter 7

  When the lunchtime bell chimes and the kids flee from the classroom, I lean against the door to catch my breath.

  It’s been hard to keep it together, to go on as though my life is in one piece. It was exhausting running out of the classroom every hour to call Ryan. At times, I forced myself to remain seated, to continue doing my job without feeling intimidated by my brother, but the thought o
f what he might do next pulls me out of my chair each time.

  My heart hasn’t settled since discovering another side to Ryan, an even darker version of himself.

  But I have to breathe. That’s all I have the power to do right now.

  “You’ll get through this day one breath at the time,” I whisper to myself, but the words taste like a lie on my tongue.

  On shaky legs, I cross the classroom and sink into my desk chair, yank out the drawer and pick up my phone. The fourth text message from him is the same as the three before it. Three little words on a small screen that carry so much power.

  Be on time.

  He rang me thirty minutes ago, but since I was in the middle of a lesson, I couldn’t return his call. Now I have thirty minutes left to touch base before he goes nuts.

  My thumb trembles to the call button. “Hi,” I say, the heel of my hand pressed hard against the place between my eyebrows.

  “Just on time.” He pauses. “I’m glad you’re taking my threats seriously.”

  “I have to get back to work, Ryan,” I lie. No need for him to know I’m on a break.

  “Of course. I don’t want to keep you. As long as you call every hour, we’re all good.”

  I cut him off before he can say more.

  Making it through the rest of the day without a scratch sounds almost impossible. The scratches I carry are so many, I might as well be a living, breathing, oozing, aching wound.

  Before I can pull myself together, Thalia pokes her head around the door. The sounds of yelling kids in the hallway, spill into the room before she closes it.

  “Ready for lunch?”

  Our eyes meet from across the room.

  “Hey, Paige, are you okay?” As usual, she comes to perch on the edge of my desk. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

  I consider not telling her anything for fear of what she’ll say, but my tears break through my resistance and trickle down my cheeks before I come up with a convincing lie.

  Her brows are knitted when she slides of the desk and slings an arm around my shaking shoulders. “What happened?” Her hand moves to my hair, smoothing it down. “Did something happen with Ryan?”

  “Everything in my life always has something to do with Ryan.”

  “Is he okay?”

  “Yeah.” A sarcastic laugh bursts from my lips. “He’s doing great, actually. Having the time of his life making my life hell.”

  “What did he do this time?” Thalia goes to the door and locks it. Before she returns to my side, she grabs a chair from one of the desks and comes to sit next to me.

  “So, tell me. I’m your friend, remember? You don’t have to go through all this alone.”

  “I don’t know how to do it anymore.” Tears plop onto the papers on my desk. I shove them to the side before they get drenched. In a few words, I tell her what happened yesterday and watch as her milky chocolate eyes turn to espresso.

  “That’s unacceptable,” she breathes, her jaw tight. “You can’t let him get away with this.”

  “Every time I stand up to him, he tells me I’m responsible for his injury. He reminds me every chance he gets that I put his life on pause.”

  “But he’s the one who hung around with the wrong crowd. He was hurt by the people he chose to be friends with.”

  “That’s what I keep telling him. But he doesn’t see it that way. All he cares about is that I made a decision that landed him in a wheelchair.”

  “So he’s going to spend the rest of his life punishing you?” Thalia blows out a loud breath. “Paige, if you don’t do something about it now, it will never change.”

  “Every morning when I wake up, I tell myself this is the day things will be different. Then he goes and does something that shakes me.” I lift my hands from my lap and drop them again. “What if he harms himself … again?” Six months after Ryan was dismissed from hospital, he attempted suicide with the help of his pain meds. Fortunately, I found him in time to rush him to the emergency room.

  “Do you really think he’ll try to take his own life again just to prove a point?”

  I press my fingertips into my temples. “I honestly don’t know what to think anymore. I already feel guilty as it is. If he harms himself again, I won’t be able to forgive myself.”

  “You’ll just give up your whole life for him?”

  “I already have.” A sad smile taints my lips. “He has me in the palm of his hand, and I have no idea how to crawl out of it.”

  “You need to have a serious talk with him. Tell him if he doesn’t stop terrorizing you, you’ll send him to rehab. Frankly, I don’t think that would be such a bad idea.”

  “He’s my brother.” I swipe a hand across my cheek. “Inside the monster I see every day is still my little brother. He’s scared … crying out for help.” I yank a tissue from the box on my desk and blow my nose. “And he’s right. I made the decision that led to the shooting. If only I had given him the money.”

  Thalia shoots out of her chair and plants both hands on my shoulders. “But you’ve paid for that decision so many times over. He should be grateful that you’ve stuck by him this long.”

  I turn to face Thalia, her hands falling off my shoulders. “Trying to reason with Ryan is like pouring gasoline into a raging fire.”

  “And doing what he wants is setting your life on fire. One day you could wake up to find your life in ashes.” She pauses. “How long do you think you can go on like this? You don’t go out, don’t date anyone, and all because of him. I’m sorry you don’t want to hear this, but I think you should try harder to make him see sense.”

  “Easy for you to say. If you were in my shoes, you’d think differently.” I peel my gaze from hers. “You don’t understand. No one does.”

  Before our conversation can continue, someone knocks at the door. I wipe away the tears as Thalia goes to open it.

  Holly Burks, one of my students, walks in. Her heavily made up eyes glance at each of us in turn as she walks toward her desk in the back and picks up a cellphone. I avoid her gaze as she leaves the room.

  Not long after Holly walks out, Thalia plants a kiss on my cheek and leaves as well.

  Even though I’m doing my best to keep her words of advice from sinking in, they do. Maybe she’s right, and I should try one more time. Something definitely needs to change or the stress will break me.

  Determined to face Ryan again tonight, I leave work immediately after the staff meeting, but thanks to traffic, I make it home by six-thirty. The moment I step through the door, the hairs on the back of my neck bristle.

  The air feels different on my skin, inside my lungs. Ryan has kept his promise. He must have.

  He’s not in the living room or the kitchen. Screaming out his name, I search the entire apartment and come to a screeching halt in the doorway of the bathroom.

  He’s lying under a tub full of water, in black shorts and a red t-shirt. His eyes are closed, arms floating at his sides.

  Fear claws through me as I lunge for him, grabbing him by the shoulders out of the water. I consider opening the tub door, but that would flood the bathroom.

  With surprising strength—the kind I never knew I possessed—I transfer him from the bath onto the tiled floor, next to his wheelchair.

  I’m drenched and breathless as I call out his name and drop my head to his chest to listen for a heartbeat. I can barely hear anything through the sound of my own pounding heart. I feel for a pulse, but I’m not sure I detect one.

  “Come on, Ryan. Can you hear me?” The palms of my hands push down on his chest. No reaction. My tears are dropping onto his face now, my jagged screams cutting through my throat.

  I consider calling for help but my bag is in the other room. What if the seconds it would take for me to get it are all it takes for death to snatch him, if it hasn’t already? Instead, I close his nose with my thumb and forefinger and lower my mouth to his, sharing my breath with him, praying I can bring him back.

&nb
sp; “Don’t you dare leave me, you hear?” I cry harder. I glance behind me, still contemplating calling someone for help. When I turn back to him, my body goes cold.

  His eyes are open wide, the twisted smirk I’ve come to know so well pasted on his face.

  “Scared the hell out of you, didn’t I?” He draws in a breath. “That’s what happens when you don’t listen to simple instructions. If you disobey me again next time, things could get much uglier than this little game.”

  Chapter 8

  I’m just about done arranging some of the freshly-baked cupcakes in large containers when Ryan fills the kitchen doorway.

  No sound comes from him as his gaze searches my face. Is he trying to read my mind?

  Two weeks have crawled by and we’ve barely said a word to each other. The wall between us has hardened so much that it’s almost impossible to reach him.

  I never know what to say to him anymore, so I communicate with him only when it’s absolutely necessary. Each morning before work, I greet him. If it’s my lucky day, I receive a grunt in response. Then I remind him of his appointments and leave for work, breathing out in relief the moment I cross the threshold.

  I’ve finally found and hired another physical therapist for him. Sandy Meiers was recommended by Margaret.

  I was honest with Sandy from the start, telling her that Ryan is depressed and can be difficult at times. I was relieved when Sandy assured me she’d dealt with many clients like Ryan.

  Unlike Lin, however, she would only come to our place for the first session. Ryan has to drive himself to her practice after that. It might actually be a good idea for him to get out of the house more.

  Seven months ago, I bought Ryan a secondhand, wheelchair accessible minivan—a present for his birthday. My intention had been to give him a slice of his freedom back while freeing me from having to take time off work to drive him to his medical appointments.

  Dan Summers, a seventy-year old retired cop, renting an apartment on the second floor of our apartment building, sold the vehicle to me after his wife died of a heart attack. She had spent most of her life in a wheelchair after being involved in a car accident as a child.