Page 46 of Even Angels fall
“It’s nothing like that,” I try to assure her, but somehow, it doesn’t come out the way I want, and Cassiopé’s gaze hardens as she stands.
I grab her arm with my left hand and stop her.
“I’ll explain, but stay here until I’m done, okay?” I ask.
I don’t know what propels me to come clean to Cassiopé. She’s been nice to me since I arrived, but we’ve only known each other for a week. I shouldn’t feel the need to explain or confide in someone, but as much as I love Léandre like a brother, he’s never been good at listening, not in the way I would have loved it.
He’s always been there for me, but he always sees the good side of everything, and sometimes, I just needed for him to understand the harsh truth I was living in.
Maybe what prompts me to explain to Cassiopé is just that: I need a harsh truth to be sent my way.
Because I can’t understand where I’m at right now.
Cassiopé nods before sitting again.
Before I understand what she’s doing, she removes the hand that was holding her arm and turns it so that my palm is up.
It’s healed, yes, but there’s also an angry red line still, where the dagger pierced my skin. It’s on the other side, too, but there was less damage on the top of my hand. The line there is thinner and isn’t as obvious as the one inside my palm.
She slowly traces the reddish scar before looking at me.
“This doesn’t look like a broken wrist,” she says with a mocking smile.
At least she’s smiling. I’m not sure that smile will stay, though.
And I’m right. As I start telling the story of how I attacked Elhyor, her smile falls. I feel her hand gripping mine inside of hers as the story goes on, to the point it becomes painful, but I don’t move. I don’t try to retrieve my hand. I don’t try to fight her as I come clean.
I don’t talk about the fact it had always been planned since the day I arrived in Notre Dame, though. I know it would paint me in a good light, but it’s not like I can actually succeed in my mission.
The mission has failed already.
The mission had failed even before it started.
As I tell Cassiopé my parting words to Elhyor, she stands and discards my hand without paying any attention.
27
Angélique
“That bastard!” she whisper-yells.
I’m shell-shocked.
What does she mean?
I was expecting her to yell at me. To tell me how selfish I was, how evil or how bad.
I wasn’t expecting her to yell at whoever thatheis.
Somehow, I can’t see her yell about Elhyor.
“Show me,” she orders me, and in this instant, I’m reminded that she’s way older than me because the only thing my brain computes is the command, and I turn.
I know exactly what she means without having been told.
I didn’t bother putting on a shirt this morning, so the scars are in plain sight, just partially hidden by the back of my sports bra.
Like she did for the inside of my hand, she slowly traces the scars on my back.
