9. Cain
Cain
Julian was moving with a frantic, jittery energy that usually follows one of his grander delusions.
He was currently struggling with a tangled string of colourful balloons, his face set in a mask of determined cheer that looked more like a grimace.
He wanted this to work. He wanted to fix her with streamers, sugar, and a chorus of “Happy Birthday,” but I knew better.
I stood by the window, my arms crossed tightly over my chest, watching the domestic chaos unfold. Nineteen years old. The air in this house felt heavy, thick with the things we weren’t allowed to say.
“Cain, for the love of God, grab the other end of this banner,” Julian whined, his voice a pitch too high, straining under the weight of his own forced enthusiasm.
“Is the glitter really necessary, Julian?” I asked, not moving from my post. “She’s grieving, not entering a fucking pageant.”
“Try celebrating something other than yourself for once, Cain. I promise you won’t spontaneously combust.,” he countered, pointing a finger at me. “Just… try to be a decent human being for three hours. Please.”
I looked away, staring out at the driveway.
Since the accident, June hadn’t been the same.
She was our little rain cloud now, hovering silently in the corners of the house, her eyes perpetually fixed on something a few inches behind reality.
I’ve always been the practical one, the one who doesn’t let emotions cloud my judgment, but looking at the empty space she used to occupy even when she was in the room, I felt a familiar, bitter pang of guilt.
It wasn’t for her cousin. Annie’s death was a tragedy of the human condition, a fault of physics and timing that had nothing to do with us. My guilt was for the future. The life we were supposedly preparing her for, felt more like a cage than a celebration.
June’s Grandmother paused near the coffee table, wiping her hands on her floral apron. She looked at us with a soft, weary smile. “She’ll love it, boys. She needs to know she’s still surrounded by family.”
I nodded out of politeness, but my jaw tightened until it ached.
She spoke of family as a comfort, a safety net.
She didn’t understand that for people like us, family was a complicated, dark bond that you couldn’t just walk away from.
She saw a birthday party, I saw a girl being pushed closer to a reality she wasn’t ready to face.
I often found myself staring at the walls of this house, wondering how much longer we could keep up the act.
Julian played the part of the protector who wanted to save her, while I was the one who couldn’t stop watching her, tracking her every movement like a predator waiting for the right moment to strike.
“Cain? Are you even listening?” Julian’s voice broke through my thoughts. He was holding a tray of refreshments, his eyes searching mine for some sign of solidarity.
“I’m listening,” I said, my voice flat.
“She’s coming back in ten minutes,” Julian whispered, his bravado finally flickering. “We have to be ready. We have to make her feel… special.”
I watched him and the grandmother move through the living room, adjusting the trays and fluffing the pillows.
It looked like a celebration, but to me, it felt like applying a colourful band-aid over an oozing, infected wound.
All the glitter in the world couldn’t mask the fact that I had already claimed her.
I was never letting her go. I’d follow her into the next life just to drag her back to me.