CHAPTER 197

CAIN POV

My crazy idea for Brian’s career wouldn’t let go once it started. That’s why I called the bank today and set up an appointment. That’s why I marched in there with a hastily drawn up plan and opened a new account all ready to start.

 It’s crazy but perfect. Perfect for both of them.

      I can’t fucking wait to fill them in on the news.

I’ve got more money than I’ve ever known what to do with, and more than enough time around work to help with the practicalities of setting up something like this. I make sure I’ve got my folder of ideas on the passenger seat as I buckle up and head for home.

 I know I’ll be earlier than Brian, I’ll just have to keep my mouth shut until he gets there.

      There’s a crunch of glass under my foot as I step inside. My brow creases as I stare down at it, and it takes me a second to realise it’s the mirror from the wall, smashed to pieces.

      What the fuck?

      Memories of walking in on Moona for the very first time come flooding back to me, and I guard myself against any incoming crows. But there are none.

      There’s chaos like I’ve never seen it, but no bird in sight.

 I stare open-mouthed at the carnage. My TV’s been put through and my sofa’s been slashed to shit. A kitchen knife is sticking out of the cabinet and the frames I replaced just days ago are smashed all over again.

      What the holy living fuck?

 A stool’s been smashed apart in the kitchen, another has oil and glass all over it. My fruit bowl is in pieces amongst it all.

  I don’t want to look inside the dining room but I do it anyway. The display cabinet doesn’t have a single whole piece of glass in it, not in the windows and not inside either.

      My breath catches in my throat and stays there at the sight of my new glass sculpture in pieces on the floor.

It takes me a moment to see her, curled into a ball by the back door in her new boots.

      “Moona__” I begin, but she shakes her head.

      And I don’t understand it. I really don’t understand it.

      “Are you alright?” I ask, racking my brain for an explanation other than the obvious, but fuck knows what that could be.

      She shakes her head again, and I wonder what the fuck’s gone down here.

      Nothing’s happened but the boots.

      Surely it can’t be the fucking boots.

      Surely one little gift can’t spin someone out that bad.

      I crouch at her side but she shuffles away from me.

      My voice is harsher when it comes out next. “Moona, what the fuck happened here?”

      She shuffles further but I grab her wrist. It’s easy to see the bruises with her pale skin against my fingers.

      I heard about the bruises. Self-inflicted, so they say.

      “Talk to me,” I say. “Moona, you’ve got to fucking talk to me.”

      Her eyes are wild and wide when they land on mine. She chokes over a couple of words,

her nose wrinkles as she fights back tears.

      “What happened here? Did someone do this to you?”

      My heart drops when she shakes her head.

      “It was me,” she said. “I did it.”

      It feels like she’s kicked me in the fucking gut. “But why? Why would you do this?”

      She looks anything like the brash girl who trashed my house the last time around. Where once she was cocky she looked broken. Where once she was full of backchat she had nothing.

      She shrugs and that’s all.

      One fucking shrug.

      I don’t even know what to say.

      “I thought you were happy,” I tell her and she shrugs again. “I thought you liked it here. I thought you were happy with us.”

      She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t say a word.

 “This was your home, Moona. All of ours.”

      Was.

      She flinches as I say it.

And with that she dashes from her spot, racing through the house so quickly I have to sprint to catch her. I grab her at the front door, pulling her back inside just as she’s about to launch herself from the front doorstep and bail on me. Bail on us.

 I’m so fucking hurt I don’t know how to handle it. My whole world spinning at the thought I could’ve got this all so wrong.

      But I didn’t.

      I know I didn’t.

      “Why?” I ask, and my voice is raw. 

“Just tell me why!”

      “Because I'm in trouble,” she hisses. 

“Because I bring trouble on everyone.”

      I shake my head because I won’t believe it.

      “Is this because of the boots?” I ask and all her aggression shrivels to nothing. “Is this because you don’t think you deserved them? Fuck, Moona, you more than fucking deserved them.” My breath is ragged. “But I don’t deserve this!”

She shrinks from me, backing into a wall as her lip quivers.

 “Tell me you didn’t do this,” I say, but she won’t. “Please, just make me understand. You’ve got to help me understand.”

 But she doesn’t. She doesn’t say a thing.

      I’m lost. Floundering. Sick to the stomach as the whole world comes crashing down around me.

     

And then, before I’ve even managed to find my bearings and get some of this shit cleared up, I hear Brian’s car on the driveway.