The Prologue
Can’t Change
The Prologue
Kassandra Kush
T
he Things We Can’t Change: The Prologue
Kassandra M. Kush
All rights reserved.
Smashwords Edition 2015
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The information in this book is distributed on an “as is” basis, without warranty. Although every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this work, neither the author nor the publisher shall have any liability to any person or entity with respect to any loss or damage caused or alleged to be caused directly or indirectly by the information contained in this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Design © Regina Wamba
Mae I Design
Models Kelly Kush & Kate Luzniak
ALSO BY KASSANDRA KUSH
The Fallen Chronicles
Guardian
Protector
Messenger
The Things We Can’t Change Series
The Prologue
The Struggle
The Healing
The Love Story
The Epilogue
The Lightwood Legacy
The Summer I Gave Up Boys
The Summer I Gave Up Boys: Isaiah’s Story
Coming Soon:
The Fallen Chronicles Book Four:
Light Bringer
The Summer I Got Back with Cooper Grace
A
The Things We Can’t Change
Novel:
Staring at the Stars
Shatterproof
Evangeline
Prologue
Evie, I love you baby, I’d never do anything to hurt you. I love you so much, I’d die without you, Evie.
I scrub furiously at my hands, the words echoing through my mind, whirling round and round in a furious maelstrom, until his voice is all I can hear, the lies consuming me, filling my mind.
Ah, come on, Evie, you know you want to, I swear I’ll make it good for you.
Memories assault me next, shapes and blurs more than actual images; a dark, looming presence right above me, countless times where my wrists are grabbed, stinging pain that seems to tear me apart from the inside out. It’s all disgusting and repulsive, and I scrub harder at my hands. They’re feeling raw now, bright pink under the hot water, but still I go on.
Don’t do this, baby, I swear, I’ll never do it again, I’ll never lay a hand on you like that again. Please don’t leave me, if you leave I’ll kill myself, I can’t live without you, I swear I can’t.
“GET OFF!” I scream, water flying everywhere as I violently pull my hands out of the water stream and shake them, rub them together fast and hard. The towel wrapped around me starts to loosen, and I grab at it, tears stinging my eyes. My hands make a fist in it and my feet slip on the slick bathroom floor. I stumble, grab the edge of the sink and fall in a sort of slow tumble, hitting the floor with my right hip. I huddle there, pull the towel more securely around me and choke on my tears.
I stare at my legs, and even though the blood is gone, I can still see it. A river down my inner thigh, streaked on my hands from trying to stop it, from trying to clean it. I
had
cleaned it, but in my mind’s eye, it’s still there, still so glaringly visible. There’s no more anywhere on my fresh, pink-from-scrubbing body, but I can still feel it, still somehow see exactly where it was.
It has seeped into my pores, down in the layers of my skin. It’s been absorbed, deep down, back into my bloodstream. But now it’s poisoned blood, black and dark, floating along back toward my heart, where it will stay for the rest of my life, forever haunting me.
I’m still clean and normal on the outside, but my inside is forever changed.
Ezekiel
1
Acting the part of the badass would be a lot easier if I had something more impressive than the side of a high school to lean against. A motorcycle, or maybe a classic Camaro. As it is, those things are so far out of the realm of my life, I don’t even dream about them. Not really, at least. Instead, to keep up my image, I take one last drag on my cigarette and then toss it to the ground, grinding it beneath the heel of my battered steel-toed boots.
I look up toward the school building and instantly meet eyes with Evangeline Parker. For a long moment, we stare each other down, polar opposites, the queen bee of Grandview Heights High School literally looking down her nose at the poorest, lowliest person on the social ladder. Her eyes are a startling violet color, and my fingers get the old itch. I banish it instantly. I don’t do that anymore.
Instead, I sneer at Evie, and she tips her nose up even further at me. Before I can make any kind of move, to maybe scare her a little just because it’s early and I have nothing better to do, her hero appears. Anthony Stull, Evie’s boyfriend of three years, swoops in, every bit her equal; it’s fate, pre-destined, written in the stars that they should end up together. Tony and Evie are probably the two richest kids at school. Tony is the offspring of some hotshot lawyers and already has his name written on the Harvard acceptance list, while Evie’s father owns several pediatric clinics.
I can already see exactly how their lives will unfold: they’ll go to college, spend ten years getting degrees in medicine and law, only to graduate, have their parents die, and live off the lay of the land, dabbling in their parents’ businesses but not
actually
working. Tony will have some raging affairs with hookers and prostitutes, while Evie will pretend not to know that ‘staying late at the office’ really means he’s banging some chick. She’ll slowly fade, put all her focus on her children. Eventually, they may divorce, or she may cut off his dick. I’m not sure about that part, but I can see it all, and it’s yawn-inducingly predictable.
Tony is Evie’s knight in shining armor, rushing in to carry her off in his silver BMW any time she cries for help. He walks through school with his arm over her shoulders, carries her books, the smug smile on his face saying he knows he has the hottest girl in school and daring anyone to contest it. Sometimes I wonder, when I find myself thinking about life a little too deeply, whether he actually likes Evie, or just the status that they have together.
This time, when he swoops in and throws an arm around Evie and tries to kiss her on her cheek, I notice how her shoulders stiffen and she almost pulls away, but at the last minute she restrains herself and allows Tony to lay a wet one on her cheek. He begins to whisper in her ear, and I’m the only one who can see Evie’s face. It’s drawn tight, her lips pinched together and her whole body still stiff, as if she can’t stand to have Tony so close to her. I even see her fingers, clutching the strap of her designer purse, trembling, just a little bit.
Interesting.
Finally, Tony manages to convince Evie to come away with him and they turn toward the school, but not before they both glance back at me, matching expressions of repulsion on their faces. I don’t give a crap. I’d rather die than try to get their approval, and if my appearance keeps everyone at a distance, all the better.
I wish Tony luck holding onto Evie, because if there is one thing I already know well about life, it’s that everything you care about always gets taken from you. And that’s that.
“Yo, Quain!”
I jerk at the sound of my last name and look around until I see Dominic, my closest friend since the third grade, walking toward me. He takes his time, probably hampered by the fact that his black jeans keep falling down over his butt and he has to keep one hand on his belt, looking like he’s walking with a mean swag, but really to keep the pants up in the front. His skin is a dark roast compared to my more coffee-with-cream tone, and he looks the part, with a Black Pyramid hat over his buzzed head, hiding the intricate designs shaved into his hair. He has on a baggy white t-shirt, and the only thing ruining his look is the backpack on his shoulders, loaded with books.
I give him the nod and fall into step beside him, my own battered, literally-light-from-over-washing jeans belted loosely, but tightly enough so they don’t fall down over the curve of my ass. I have on a OSU hoodie, gray and faded. My boots make a loud
thumps
on the sidewalk, competing for noise against the occasional squeak from Dominic’s much newer Jordans.
We attract surreptitious looks as we walk down the hallway, and while I know a lot of the disdainful ones are because of our clothes, there are quite a few girls who stare more openly at us as we walk by. Still, no one confronts us, because we look the part. I’m the only person who knows the black tear tattooed on Dominic’s left cheek is the result of a drunken dare two years ago, not a summer spent in juvie (he was actually at his grandma’s, helping restore her house). My own tattoos are mostly hidden by my long sleeves, but my Chris Brown/Rihanna style stars trailing up my neck, into my hairline and around to my right ear are visible, as are both the large diamond studs in my ears.
It always amazes me, what old, baggy clothes, some tattoos, and a darker skin color can cause people to think about you. I’ve never cared. All I want is to keep people at a distance, and so letting them judge me and write me off is exactly what I want.
At the end of the hallway is our usual crowd, and Cameron Fuller is heading the group, like always. Cameron
has
done time in juvie, and he’s a mean sonofabitch, but he doesn’t scare me. He’s knows that and it’s always caused a little bit of tension between the two of us, but I have no desire to lead his little pack of misfits and puppy dogs. I have a crowd to stand with in the morning and look tough, and that’s all I want.
“Quain, Alverson.” Cameron greets us as we walk up, and Dominic and I both nod at him.
