All I've Ever Known

How Long?

After a sleepless night in the bathroom, I waited until I heard a few students milling about in the halls before I left. I turned my phone back on and raided the nearest lost and found for a change of clothes. I found a random sweatshirt and shorts that smelled... off. But it's better than everyone staring at me as I walk across campus in my dress from last night. When I get back to the townhouse, Jordan is on the porch, halfway through a cigarette. Relief flashed across their face before it was replaced with annoyance and maybe... jealousy?

"Whose clothes are you wearing?" They asked, disdain covering the concern in their tone. They flicked the ash from their cig. I looked down at my outfit and brushed off imaginary specks of dust. With my silk dress shoved unceremoniously in a plastic bag, I looked less like a college student from a well-off family and more like a sad and unemployed tech bro.

"No idea." I said, making my way up the steps to stand next to them. A few months ago, I would have rushed inside. But I was willing to do almost anything to steal a few moments with Jordan - even sit in these stale strangers' gym clothes.

"Where'd you go? No one saw you after you took pictures, and then the power went out... we hoped you might have ditched before anything happened." My brow furrowed in confusion and I turned to look back at them.

"Luke was with me up until maybe ten minutes before the power went out. He wanted to make sure I spoke to some of our dad's associates." I said.

"He told me he hadn't seen you since he took pictures with you. He was convinced that you must have left before the power was cut." Jordan replied, just as confused as I was. I shook my head.

"That's a lie." I said, my voice barely audible. I realized my hands were shaking. I sat heavily on the bench. My ears were ringing, the world was spinning around me, and I thought I might actually be sick. There's a lot I don't understand, but there is no good reason that he would lie about that. Every red flag I had been ignoring was being waved in my face. The truth I had been fighting for months was undeniable now: I could not trust my own family. Not with my dreams, not with my secrets, and apparently, not with my life. And I had to go spend a whole month with them, the longest I'd been away from Godolkin since The Incident.

"Mouse?" Jordan's voice snapped me out of my reverie. "You with me?" I looked up at them, unsure if I could even vocalize the tangled mess of emotions coursing through my veins.

"I'd been wondering why he didn't call me. He..." I couldn't even bring myself to try to hide my fear anymore. "Jordan, I don't know what's going on, but something is wrong." I looked around nervously, trying to see if there was anyone else around and lowered my voice. "I keep telling myself I'm being paranoid. When the power went out last night, it felt like everyone around me - my dad's associates or whatever - was surrounding me. Grabbing me, pulling me. I, you know," I mimed pushing the energy outwards. "Pushed them off, and bolted. Spent the night in the performing arts library, hiding in a bathroom stall." I took a steadying breath. "I can't think of any good reason why Luke would lie about seeing me at the gala. I'm worried that there's something I'm not seeing."

"Maybe he just wanted to keep me from worrying?" Jordan said, but even they didn't sound like they believed it. We sat for a moment, rolling the information over in our minds. Our bodies instinctively turned into each other, seeking solace and connection in the face of danger.

But the moment ended too soon. Andre came out onto the porch, we quickly changed the subject, and I didn't get another chance to speak to Jordan alone before the winter break. It killed me. I wanted to spend another few minutes just sitting with them. It was the only place I felt understood. But they had a train to catch, and my parents sent a car to pick me and Luke up to take us to some house they rented with our aunt's family. I was dreading every second of it. Last Christmas was two months after Sammy disappeared, and even then, my family sent me disapproving glares every time my eyes got watery or I got lost in my grief. I haven't even been to my parents house since then - he had been erased from the house. Photos - removed. Bedroom - remodeled. Belongings - buried in boxes in the attic. I remember the day after Christmas, I fled to the attic, grief and sorrow wracking my body. I unpacked every box, searching for something of his that I could hold onto. Something real. But everything was cleaned - scents and stains scrubbed from fabric and wood alike. Some items were missing - donated or regifted, most likely. I ended up falling asleep on the rough wooden floor, surrounded by old clothes. Either no one else in my family noticed, or more likely, they didn't care. Sam was to be forgotten - our story rewritten as if he never existed. Any violation of that rule was to be ignored, a social faux pas not unlike an unexpected yawn.