Chapter 3 Estranged Siblings ##3

• He recalled them talking about the famous painting in class. "Expressionist Edvard Munch painted The Scream in 1893 in Oslo, Norway. He was important--"
• "No, Andre. I'm not looking for historical facts. I'm asking for your impression of the painting. Your interpretation of what it's saying emotionally," the teacher corrected gently.
• He stared at the desk surface and remained quiet. It was a painting of a cartoonish figure screaming. He didn't know what to say. He knew he wouldn't get away with using one of the answers he'd used on the assignments.
• She turned the page to Gustav Klimt's painting, The Kiss. All the facts popped into Andre's head, but he knew she wasn't interested in hearing them.
• She looked at him with a sad expression and closed the book. "I have a nephew who has the same difficulty with connecting emotions and expressing--"
• "I'm nervous. You're making me feel very uncomfortable," he blurted defiantly.
• Her brows rose in surprise. "Oh! I'm sorry. It wasn't my intent. I'm just trying to determine what challenges you're having in my class. You aren't exactly the same as my nephew, but there's a large gradient on the spectrum. You must be very close to the top, as you seem to have no difficulty with most activities," she said gently.
• He blinked at her in confusion.
• She paused as she saw he didn't know what she was talking about. "Have you not spoken with a doctor about this?"
• He frowned as she was making no sense, and he was growing more nervous by the second. "I've been to the hospital before. I've seen doctors," he snapped. He began preparing to leave.
• She saw she wasn't connecting with him, so she'd just let him go for now and keep an eye on him in her class. She believed she understood now and would compensate for his condition. She decided she would revise and resubmit his class marks. He was doing very well on the elements he could do, so he deserved to have this reflected in his grade. She stood, and his eyes flicked to her once more nervously. "That's all I wanted to speak to you about. See you in class tomorrow?"
• He stopped moving and looked at her again, then nodded.
• She turned and left, and he watched her go. He glanced up at the clock. His half-hour of peaceful reading wasn't going to happen now. He needed to walk off his stress. He put his earbuds back in and left the library. He made it outside and walked around the block a few times until he felt himself recenter.
• It was time for class.
• Cassandra gave her departing customer a professional smile, immediately turned off the light at her wicket, and locked her drawer. She ignored the scowls of the customers waiting in the line and headed for the hallway leading to the basement lunchroom. Two of the other tellers were sitting at a table together, talking and finishing up their lunch. They should have returned to work minutes ago to free her to leave on hers. She'd waited long enough.
• They glanced at her, and their eyes immediately went to the wall clock.
• "Shit! We're late!" Wendy cursed.
• "Yes, you are," she commented over her shoulder as she went to the fridge to get her lunch.
• She heard them scrambling to tidy up and the whispered bitch from Wendy, which wasn't unexpected from her. Helen snorted and stifled her laughter. They hustled out of the lunchroom to get back up to their stations. Not that they were in any danger of being challenged by the manager. Wendy and Helen would just bat their eyelashes at him and preen for his leering eyes, and he'd let it slide.
• Cassandra ensured she wasn't late, completed her work on time, offered the bank's services to the customers each time they approached her wicket, regardless of their need or interest in them, and maintained a professional attitude throughout her business day. She had the best rating for sales amongst the tellers aside from Hamesh, who was a terrible flirt with the older ladies who approached his wicket.
• Truthfully, Cassandra didn't care how much she sold and didn't want top spot on that leaderboard. This job was just a placeholder for her, but she would ensure she received an excellent referral.
• Retrieving the lunch Andre made for her, she stopped by the TV mounted on the wall and turned the volume down. She didn't need to hear the news while she read her book. No one else would join her for the late lunch period.
• She sat at the table in the corner, facing the door, and she pulled out her paperback.
• She took the sandwich out of the bag and added the fresh tomato slices. Her first bite was heaven. He knew exactly how much mayo and how much pepper to add. She ate slowly to draw as much pleasure from her small meal as possible. Andre was a treasure!
• Something flashed on the TV screen and caught her eye. It was a local story of child abuse being exposed.
• Invading her peaceful thoughts, her memories of the police arriving at her apartment two years ago surfaced.
• It had been so unexpected. The officers first confirmed she was the sister of Andre Volkov and took her to the hospital, where they said he was recovering from a beating.
• All the way there, she was thinking of her father's hot temper and was terrified to see the damage he'd done to the skinny little boy she'd last seen three years earlier.
• When she'd been guided to the exam room where Andre was resting on the bed, she'd locked up as she'd thought they'd taken her to the wrong room. The man stretched out on the bed was a complete stranger. The skinny and frail thirteen-year-old boy she recalled was now a muscular and handsome sixteen-year-old young man, aside from the black eyes, bruises, and the broken nose. The muscles were the most surprising of all.
• When his eyes turned and locked on hers, she felt that connection like a physical jolt. She saw him then. The boy she remembered was inside those eyes, and he was desperately sad. She'd immediately moved forward and gently kissed his forehead. She didn't know where to put her hands, as he was so bruised.
• Finally, she just took his hands in hers. His eyes were very glassy as he'd been given painkillers, but she saw the joy in them, and that filled her with a happiness she'd forgotten she could feel. When she blinked away her tears, she saw he was asleep. She stared at the damage that monster had done to her brother and felt her rage slipping free. She turned to face a nurse who was waiting inside the drawn privacy curtain. That seemed a little odd.
• "Where is he? He won't get away with beating Andre like this," Cassandra said softly, to not wake him.
• The nurse shook her head and gestured for her to follow her outside the curtain. She gently released his hands from hers and kissed his forehead again to calm him.
• Stepping outside, she looked at the nurse. "I've been with your brother since he was admitted, and he opened up to me. Perhaps because we look similar," the blond nurse added with a small smile, then continued. "Your father didn't beat him. It was his stepmother, Gloria," she said quietly, and Cassandra was rocked by the news. The nurse pressed on. "Andre confessed the woman has been sexually abusing him... for years."
• Cassandra broke down and cried on the nurse's shoulder as guilt ripped through her for abandoning her brother in that house of vipers.
• The tickle of the tear rolling down her cheek brought her back from her memories. She wiped it away and went back to eating the sandwich he'd made for her. She ate slowly to cherish every bite.
• The chocolate pudding he'd packed in the bag satisfied her need for something sweet. She watched her weight and did her best to not overeat. Her only overindulgence was occasional binge drinking. She knew that wasn't healthy, but it was her only outlet for dealing with her frustrations and unhappiness.
• Andre was the only bright spot in her life, and she'd failed him so terribly. The man he was today was still very much a stranger to her, as he didn't seem to open up to anyone. He rarely spoke at all.
• She couldn't help but feel that was at least partially her fault.