Eternal Rains: A Dystopian Trilogy (BOUND Book 1)

by Doug McGovern

  I rush into my house and up to my bedroom. Mom is sitting on my bed, playing with her phone. She looks up at me and smiles, leaning forward. “I’ll go start dinner,” she says, kissing my forehead and leaving Charlie and me.

  “You good, kid?” I ask, throwing the sub on her bed and sitting on mine.

  “Yeah. Today wasn’t too bad after the first hour or two. How was school?” She asks.

  “It was school. Everyone wants you to feel better.” I lean back and onto my pillow. Should I tell her about Hayden or just act like it never happened?

  “Well, mom was talking about starting some kind of treatment for the tumor,” Charlie begins. I look at her and shake my head.

  “Do you want that?” I ask.

  “I mean, it would be nice to stop having seizures all the time, but it would be a waste of money. I’m not going to die from a benign tumor. I’ll live just as long as anyone else,” she states logically.

  “But if you get treatment, you wouldn’t have to deal with it as often,” I reason.

  “That’s true, but it won’t ever go away. It’s completely inoperable and there is no way to even see it beyond an x-ray. So as long as it doesn’t grow—and the doctors are confident that it won’t—I’ll be fine without treatment.”

  I shrug and roll to face her fully. We have conversations like this sometimes. What if the tumor was operable? What if she didn’t have seizures? What if the tumor grew and pressed on the part of her brain that makes her normal? What if this “harmless” tumor kills my sister?

  “Either way, this entire situation sucks,” I groan.

  “On the bright side, I get a lot of food out of it,” she smiles, taking a bite from her sub. That’s Charlie—always an optimist, despite having hundreds of seizures in her lifetime and expecting to have hundreds more.

  “Food is always something to look forward to,” I agree.

  “Hey, is that blood on your shirt?” she asks, pointing to the corner of my cardigan. I look at it for a moment and notice a few microscopic droplets of blood. This is just another sign that Hayden was, in fact, a real person.

  “No,” I lie, finally making up my mind. “Must just be a stain.” As far as anyone is concerned, I never met a boy named Hayden.

  *****

  Chapter 4

  “Charlie, come on. We’re late,” I shout through the house. I hear her banging around in cabinets and she rushes into the room, flustered.

  “Sorry, Jo. I woke up late.”

  We rush out the door and throw ourselves into my car rapidly. I almost forget about the bloodstains, but when I notice them, I pray that she doesn’t say anything or notice. “So how many people did you tell about my seizure?” She asks.

  “I’m pretty sure they all know about it, but it won’t be a big deal. Most people assume that you had one when you missed school.”

  Charlie sighs and leans back in her seat. “I swear, they think I’m a freak.”

  I know my reaction is not fit for a vulnerable moment, but I laugh and bite my lip in hopes of concealing it. “Charles, I’ve never seen anyone judge you for your seizures. In fact, I’ve never met a person who doesn’t absolutely adore you.”

  “Alright, but it’s not normal.”

  “Normal is boring. You’re fun and different and sweet and drop dead gorgeous,” I say. I blow through a yellow light and release a breath of air when it doesn’t turn red. I’m used to her insecurities after missing school because of a seizure, but nobody ever treats her differently or as if she’s fragile.

  “Thanks, sis,” she says with a trembling tone.

  We pull into the school and Charlie tightens her grip on her bag. If I could help her feel more comfortable, I would. I yank out my keys and lock my car as soon as we’re both outside. “Yo, Jo and Charles,” I hear from across the parking lot. I look up and wave at Lydia, who rushes toward us. “Feeling better?” She asks Charlie.

  “One-hundred percent,” she says with a smile.

  We all rush into the school and head to our separate lockers. Charlie being back is the talk of the school and I am happy for her. As a sophomore, I never had many friends, but Charlie is friends with everybody.

  When lunch rolls around, I sit in my seat that I claimed as my own at the beginning of the year. “The interception was your fault. Your pass was a foot too far back and there was no way Michaels would have been able to slow down in time to catch it.”

  “It’s Michaels’s job to catch it. It’s my job to make a pass that’s catchable.” Romo argues.

  “Catchable for the opposing team?” Karter argues. The rest of the table is holding their own conversations, but I take an interest in this one.

  “That interception was not my fault,” Romo shouts, clearly getting angry.

  “Man, you saw number 52 attempt to intercept all of Michaels’s passes. He was on his ass the entire game, so you should have known not to chance a far pass like that,” I interrupt. “And he was fast, so we knew if he got the ball, he’d run it past all of our guys. I’m the only one who could keep up with him and I couldn’t take down the dude. It was your fault, man.”

  “Are you kidding me, Jo. You couldn’t take down a guy all year. Don’t judge one of my passes,” Romo hisses.

  I chuckle. “Sorry that I’m about a foot shorter than all of them. And I didn’t think my job was defense. Try critiquing me on something I did wrong, not something I was never taught to do.” He knows that I’m the best kicker the school has ever seen. I’ve never missed a field goal or kicked a return too short.

  “It was one damn pass,” Romo shouts, pounding his fists on the table and standing. He turns to walk away, likely to get his lunch.

  “One damn pass that ruined the state championship game for us,” I correct. His tightening shoulder muscles and clenched fists indicates that he heard me.

  “Y’all might be good friends, but Romo is wound tighter than a rubber band ball when it comes to that game. I wouldn’t push his button’s too hard,” Karter chastises.

  I chuckle and lean back in my seat. “He won’t pull anything with me. We’re as close as you and Charlie.” I turn toward the door, glancing at the others sitting at our table. “Speaking of Charlie,” I begin, glancing at her. Karter sits up a little straighter and watches Charlie place her books on the table in front of him.

  “Can I sit here?” Charlie asks Karter, pulling out the chair beside him. She is convinced that she intrudes at this table, but Charlie is as important to the group as anyone.

  “What kind of question is that?” Karter asks, pushing another guy’s books down the table and clearing the area for Charlie. “So, how're things?” Karter asks.

  “Heard you had another spill C,” a linebacker at the end of the table shouts.

  “Yeah, it wasn’t a big deal. I’m back and healthy as ever,” she says, pulling her hands into her shirt sleeves and crossing her legs.

  “Do they hurt?” he asks.

  “What kind of question is that?” I ask. “Do you think a seizure sounds pleasant?”

  Charlie chuckles and I take a deep breath. “O-of course. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just happy you’re good, C,” the guy elaborates. After that, nobody else brings up her seizure. It’s almost like nothing has happened, even though we know she’s sick in a way we won’t ever understand.

  Romo sits at my left and Brad, our second-string quarterback, places his tray at my right. I don’t pay him much attention and instead lean back and look at Romo. “You cool, buddy?” I ask.

  “Cool.”

  “Hey sweetie, you’re about to sit in my seat and that’s not a good idea,” Lydia says from behind me. I don’t even bother to look at who she’s speaking to, knowing it’s Brad. Lydia always sits beside me at lunch, regardless of where I sit.

  “This is my seat,” he defends.

  With a shake of my head, I look toward the door, something drawing my attention away from the minor dispute occurring inches away from me. I immediately
meet a pair of galaxy eyes and still, unsure of how to react. It’s impossible.

  I have never seen Hayden around the school, and I wouldn’t have missed him. He can’t go to this school. There is no way. I can’t look away from him. Everything around me zones out and all that’s left are our two sets of eyes, mine hazel and his extraordinary. It looks as if my secret victim is walking in my direction and I try to peel my eyes away from him.

  “Jo, who’s that guy?” Romo asks, nudging my shoulder. I shake my head.

  “I don’t know. I’ve never seen him before,” I lie expertly. I glance at Charlie and she is looking at me intensely. I glance toward Lydia and find her mesmerized by her food and unconcerned with our conversation.

  “He looks like he recognizes you,” Romo replies in a protective tone. He’s always been protective over me. He acts like I’m his little sister and I consider him my brother.

  “Maybe he came to one of our games or something. I think he’s new,” I explain.

  “Our games were over before Christmas, and it’s April.”

  I squint my eyes. “I don’t know, Romo. What do you want me to say? I don’t know the dude.”

  He shakes his head and digs into his food. I do the same and ignore Hayden, not even glancing in his direction. I don’t know where he is, but I can feel his eyes on me.

  Charlie’s snort catches my attention and I look in her direction immediately, only this time, it’s merely a laugh. She covers her mouth and her shoulder’s shake rapidly, so I turn my attention back to my bowl of food in front of me. I twirl my fork through the noodles and slurp them.

  “That is completely unrelated,” Charlie yells at Karter.

  “But I’ve heard of dogs making a difference, why can’t you just carry around a seizure alert fish or something,” he says seriously.

  “A fish can’t tell me when I’m about to have a seizure.” Charlie shakes her head, unable to understand Karter’s stupidity, but I get it perfectly. He just wants Charlie to be safe, no matter the solution.

  “But a dog is thousands of dollars. If we could find a way to train a fish, guinea pig, or something cheaper, you’d at least have some kind of warning.”

  “Honey, I do have a warning. Sometimes I just don’t notice,” she explains. Karter likely knows more about what she goes through than any of us. She confides in him for everything, including how she feels during seizures. It’s likely why he’s so worried about her all the time.

  “Isn’t it frustrating sometimes?” Romo asks, drawing my attention from Charlie and Karter’s conversation.

  “What?” I ask, unsure to what he’s referring.

  “Dealing with Charlie all the time. I know you love her and would do anything for her, but it seems like her seizures are your entire life. When was the last time you did something without Charlie or without worrying about if she is okay?”

  “It’s not,” I insist. I don’t think twice about my answer. “All I care about is her safety, and if it means going to the ends of the earth and sacrificing a portion of my social life, so be it.”

  “I don’t know how you do it. You’re always protecting her and she never does anything in return,” Romo says, shaking his head.

  “She does plenty in return. She has never asked for more than I give her and she appreciates everything I do. I don’t want anything back for loving my sister.”

  “Why don’t you come to a party tonight?” Romo asks. “You haven’t been to one since your junior year,” he insists.

  “I can’t, I have to…” I stop myself. I have to watch Charlie tonight. “I’ll go,” I agree.

  *****

  Chapter 5

  What are the odds that Hayden is in all three of my classes after lunch? I initially thought that the odds were slim, but I would have been wrong. And during each class, he stares at me constantly. His glare is unwavering and almost animalistic, though I am unable to fathom the interest he clearly holds in me.

  Charlie and I rush from the school as soon as the bell signals the end of the school day. She doesn’t know about the strange boy and our history, but she knows something is wrong. “Okay, what’s going on?” She asks as soon as she shuts the door to my car.

  “Nothing, we’ve just got to go home. I’m not feeling well,” I lie. I feel as if everything I’ve told Charlie today is a lie, but I don’t know what else to say.

  “Are you sure?” She asks hesitantly. She’s always been perceptive, excluding the Karter situation.

  “Of course,” I mutter.

  We pull up to our white, outdated home only a few moments later and I rush into the house, needing a few minutes to be alone and think about my situation. Do I have a stalker? Is that what this is?

  “Hey, Jo. Come in here, please,” Mom shouts as soon as the door opens. Charlie goes the opposite direction and heads toward our bedroom.

  “Yeah, mom,” I say, hoping to rush our conversation after asking about the party.

  “Do you think you could stay with Charlie tomorrow, as well? Your father and I have to run some errands in the morning,” she asks, clipping her name tag to her scrubs.

  “About that,” I start, twisting my fingers. “I know I said that I’d watch Charlie, and I do watch Charlie all the time. I have no problem staying with her, but I kind of got invited to a party today and I never go out on Friday nights because I know you work,” I allow her to develop her own conclusion instead of finishing the question.

  “Who do you think can watch Charlie? I sure can’t,” she says, pointing to her scrubs.

  I didn’t think that far and I look at my feet, trying to think of a quick solution. “Dad’s always home on Friday nights,” I state.

  “Your father doesn’t know what to do like we do,” she says, taking a deep breath. “Honey, I know you want to go places, but your sister really needs you. Maybe do something tomorrow night. I’m off work.”

  “Mom, there isn’t a party tomorrow night. Dad can handle his daughter for a night. I’ve given up so much for her, but I’d like to have some kind of life for myself.” Once the words leave my mouth, I instantly feel awful. Romo may think that way, but I can’t. If Romo were in my situation, he’d understand. “I’m sorry,” I mumble. “I really don’t need to go. I’ll stay here.”

  Mom shakes her head and leans into the counter. “You make this situation so much easier for all of us and you help so much. If you can teach your father how to care for her, and of course he agrees, you can go.”

  I widen my eyes and take a step backward. “No way, can I really?” I ask. Dad will agree to virtually anything, so now that I’ve convinced mom, it should be easy.

  “Be home before me,” she states firmly.

  “Of course,” I say, flinging myself into her arms. “Thank you so much, mom. You’re seriously the best.”

  She wraps her arms around me and kisses my forehead. “Go talk to your dad.”

  It only takes a moment for me to convince dad to watch Charlie for the night and it takes almost the same amount of time to explain everything to him. Just as a precaution, I write down all the instructions and hang them on the fridge.

  As soon as I’m sure my sister is taken care of, I rush to my room and get ready as quickly as possible. It’s a fast process with Charlie doing my hair and me doing my own makeup, so I’m out the door in less than an hour. As we discussed at school, I swing by Lydia’s house when she’s dressed and ready to go to a party.

  We pull into a long driveway, cars lining each side. I take a deep breath, having no idea that the party would be so crowded. “Are you used to this?” I ask Lydia, knowing the answer before the question fully leaves my lips.

  “Yeah, this is the best party spot. You’ll love it. There aren’t any noise complaints or neighbors to call the cops all the way out here, so we’re golden.”

  I shake my head and back my car in between two old cars near the house. I don’t even need to leave my car to feel the rumbling of the house and hear the loud music echo
ing through the night. I jump from the car and lock it, giving my handle and extra tug to ensure that it’s locked.

  I follow Lydia down the gravel driveway and admire her two-inch heels. I’m wearing basic sneakers and leggings, but Lydia is dressed almost in a formal, completely unconservative manner. Her skirt barely reaches the top of her thighs and her shirt is pulled down to expose as much as her cleavage as the top will allow. Her midriff is bare and her hair is pulled from her neck, preventing her from sweating.

  And the two-inch heels complete the classy hooker look.

  The inside of the house is dark and vibrating. People rush around exuberantly, some with cans of beer and some with cups. I can imagine the contents of the cups. “Do you want a beer?” Lydia asks, extending a can in my directions. It seems as if she pulled it from thin air.

  “No, I’m driving,” I explain, being the responsible one in our relationship.

  Lydia shrugs her shoulder and sets the unopened beer can on a nearby table. I follow her through the crowd of people like a lost puppy and greet a few people as we pass. When we finally reach the back of the house and the crowds begin thinning, Lydia opens the back door and leads us outside, back into a thick crowd of people whom I’ve either known for years or never met.

  “Oh my God, truth or dare,” Lydia screeches, handing me her beer and running toward a large circle of people. As I make my way toward Lydia, who finds an empty seat in a matter of seconds, I recognize most of the people within the circle. Most of them are past teammates or school acquaintances. A few are friends of my friends, but I know—or rather know of—everyone here.

  “We ready to start?” Romo’s voice echoes through the crowd of people, and it feels almost as if a wave of silence ripples throughout all of us. We watch him intensely. “Alright, so rules are simple. If you are dared to do something and cannot follow through, you’re out. Not just out of the game, but you’re leaving the party. If you tell a lie, same rules apply. You all know what you’re getting yourselves into?”